#probably really much thought behind the implications maybe?

[icethinggigachad]

This is gonna sound like a wet blanket moment from me but I think the instance of ford not showering to keep away bill(?) (If i'm remembering that correctly) is more sad and terrifying for him than a silly trait.

It's an extremely common response to being abused to stop doing things like self care (ex. showering) to try to keep your abuser away. And its so weirdly specific and uncomfortably realistic it just feels icky to make it a silly ford moment.

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[wormspoodle]

okay. au thing (?) i needed to get out of my head (its been sitting there for 2 months) its pretty half baked so bear with me

more context/ drawings under the cut:

im not sure if this has been done before, im pretty out of it fandom wise,, but!! this takes place during "Time Traveler's Pig" (s1 ep9)

the idea is that, while fighting over the time tape, dipper and mabel end up running into krampus and henceforth get taken by the krampus and the time tape gets dropped/ left behind in the process (classic)

ford hears the ruckus ofc and goes to investigate like he does in tbob j3 pages and also gets taken by krampus,, dipper and mabel see him and assume it must be a young stan or something bc at this point in the show they don't know anything!

they've never met bill, they only really know/remember mcgucket from the gobblewonker, and they don't know stan has a brother

so they just assume life was hard on stan and he looks different because he's younger (something still feels off to them ofc)

anyway story proceeds how it does in canon, ford is arguing at the krampus while dipper and mabel remember that they dropped the time tape and are also trying to plot a way out, mcgucket shows up and saves the day, and because dipper and mabel don't really know where to go from here, they decide to see if that guy is stan (which he is but not the one they're thinking of)

they all make their way back to the lab/shack for the time being, dipper and mabel find the time tape on the way back and it's damaged (another classic) so ford and mcgucket will have to fix it ofc

some conversations are exchanged, information is gleaned, dipper and mabel watch tv to pass the time and end up seeing on of stan's commercials on the tv and the dots start to slowly connect that something is going on here

those are the more. fleshed out concepts, everything else is pretty vague and undecided but ill also probably never revisit this

some more details/thoughts:

- ford is wearing no winter clothes bc im assuming when he grabbed the lantern to investigate the foot prints, he didn't think much and just threw on his boots or something, which is why he has to take refuge in that cave to stave off frostbite

- dipper and mabel don't connect that old man mcgucket is fiddleford mcgucket bc i don't think they a) think about mcgucket that much to make that connection at this point and b) assume he's just related and not the same person given how old old man mcgucket looks

-dipper does have the journal on him but he's keeping it hidden ofc just in case,, after they find out about stan he'd find out ford is the author probably but i don't want him figuring it out beforehand bc it would complicate things (i also don't think hed show ford his journal bc of. time/ space continuum reasons

- maybe bill will show up or something i dunno. dipper and mabel are armed with the j3 that knows bill is dangerous but they've also never met bill

- idk if they'll find out about the portal, idk if mabel will try and bring stan and ford together, idk what happens,, maybe the time police catch them before they do anything,, shrugging my shoulders

-this au doesn't really have a point i just wanted to draw it bc its fun for me to think about the implications !!

[raytoebiter]

xii. aneurysm (written work)

“Goodluck, [Name]!” Hu tao waved the fuck out with the biggest enthusiasm in her voice, and in return, you gave a genial smile with all the underlying of malice in it.

In retrospect, it was a harmless inside joke between the two of you to say, ‘goodluck’ to the other when parting ways; and usually, you never really give a crap about it. Hell, might even slip a laugh here and then. But now?

God, that shitty ‘goodluck’ only has one implication that is the standing elephant in the room.

Said elephant also has the appearance of a snarky little twink with grape hair. You might have flipped her off if it weren't for the influx of people gathering in the gates.

You just don't fucking get it! Usually, usually, in societal norms, it's completely within the ethical law to not piss off others for the sake of lousy jollity.

Well, not necessarily, but it's still so wrong. And so far in your life, people have been respectful enough to not push buttons, and not prod shit they shouldn't even prod at.

But..

Your palm stings under the vice grip you have on your backpack as you stomp at one of the leafs under your feet.

That fucking absolute asshole? The one that goes by the name of Fucking Raiden Scaramouche? God.

You're practically convinced you live in a fictional world where ethical laws are considered as a gag joke in the author’s goddamn hell of a mind.

Just when you thought that maybe, maybe after the whole two days of working with Scaramouche in that café would ease down the hatred running your rivalry, but no. Of course not.

It got fucking worse.

Scaramouche expressing odious hatred is one thing, yeah. But him expressing spurious tolerance in the face of others while verbally battering at you? That's, so far, the worst.

The trees rustled, leaves sweeping along the breeze as you stopped in your tracks.

..Though, you suppose it is a good thing. Because as much as the others dub your dynamic as a ‘hell of a slow burn’, you actually don't think that the two of you will be able to get along at all. Not with these circumstances.

A long sigh left your lips as you glared down on a leaf that had fallen just right at the center of your eyesight.

It wouldn't be so bad. Yeah. It's just 4 hours on the shift with him. It's gonna be fucking okay.

–

And surprisingly with all your shitty luck combined, the universe seems to be fucking on your side today. Gracing you with all the blessings of pettiness it has to offer.

Because—

“I'll be supervising the both of you to see if you two are, indeed, fit for the job. Not that I'm underestimating both of you youngin’ abilities, of course,” your grandmother chuckles, sound low and grainy, meanwhile the nerves under your skin start to vibrate and an antagonistic thrill runs over your body, “I just need finalization to really put you on the Friday and Saturday job.”

And as your grandmother arranges all the papers necessary, a malicious grin reaches all the way to your face.

–

When the familiar sound of bell chimes echo in the interior at sharp 4:00PM, not even 30 minutes since the epiphany of the Holy Grail, you know exactly who arrived.

It's also then that the same malicious grin creeps to your face as you turn to the fuming man stomping all the way to the counter.

“You fuckasser! I told you this morning to leave your fucking doors unlocked—” he abruptly pauses, shock dawning on his face as his eyes set on to the person behind you, “.. oh. hey, granny.”

Nanny to granny, huh?

Silence stretched on as Scaramouche darted his two fucking eyes between you and one miniscule movement for the person, who, hopefully, is probably fuming right now, before a small smile rests on top of the Asshole’s lips.

An awfully sweet tone comes out, “ah, apologies for my crude manner. I.. had a rough day earlier.”

What.

The sound that comes out of your lips upon that.. godforsaken of an excuse is ugly and dirty. And just as you're about to look at your beloved grandmother and call out for his bullshit because it's so fucking obvious—

A chuckle.

Did I hear it wrong? You blinked. Are you having auditory hallucinations now?

Your skin rattled, blinking in a concerning amount for a split second before turning heads and—

What the living motherfucking fuck.

Your grandmother is absolutely having the time of her life believing the shittiest bullshit you've ever heard up to date.

What. The fuck.

For the 5 minutes that you tuned out and tuned in into, there's tidbits of them getting the fuck along by conversing about fucking flour of all shit, Scaramouche's disgustingly honey tone, and what the fuck!? He's a kind man!?

It's up to exactly 7 minutes of standing in absolute consternation that your grandmother takes the shitty pleasure of forcing you into the conversation by putting her wrinkly and soft hand on your bicep, just resting there. “I'm sure the both of you will get along, right, dear?”

It's not gonna be fucking okay.

–

Okay, nevermind. You're absolutely gonna be okay.

A wheeze comes out of the corner as you grasp on the cup perched over the counter and oh my god, did he just fucking bump into me again!?

“Stop bumping into me!”

“You're bumping into me, ass–” a snarl, a hiss, a whatever sound is he even making, “assarita’s stinky as–butthole!”

Another wheeze as you froze, clutching onto the cup in white knuckles before an ugly, “pftft” resonated in the space between you and the Asshole. Your grandmother cackles in the corner, conversing with a regular, “doesn’t he have a lot of strange monikers for my dearest?”

Strange monikers. You snorted again.

Three hours of watching Scaramouche suffer.

Familiar thrill rushes to your nerves like high-blood and you chuckle pettily to the man beside you while handing over the wrinkled cup to an oblivious young lady, “how's that for Mr. Polite, huh? Strange monikers, how adorable.”

Silently and slowly, his gaze flickered to you, a recognizable challenging glint in them as his lips tugged into a smirk you knew too well, “how adorable of you to also get 89 in a physics test you swore to beat me over, huh, fruitcake?”

Okay, fuck him.

“Haha, is that so?” You viciously clicked at the button, coffee dripping slowly into the cup, “at least I don't look constipated but I guess that's just me, right?”

Again, sweet tone that you fucking hate, “you’ve been eyeing that guy for awhile, haven't you? You should date him.”

The second to the last word is loud.

So, so loud in such a deliberate way. Your face burns.

“What!?” a few hollers in shock.

Again, your face burns.

“No! No! It's not—” a snicker just right beside you as another customer was tended to, “it’s not like that! I'm not interested in him! I don't even know him!”

Said student tilts his head at an exact 45° degree, probably having not heard of your wailing and flailing.

As you writhe uselessly under the whimsy teasings and coos, your grandmother, who finally got the situation after having same regular explain to her, speaks up in genuine fucking confusion and curiosity, “oh? I thought you and Scaramouche here were dating?”

And-

Your world crashes the fuck down. You were absolutely not going to be fucking okay.

What the fuck.

The color drained from your face way too fast, knees feeling weak as the air from your lungs constricted.

What the fuck? Is that why grandma adored the asshole? Because she thought–

She thought that you adored and loved him all the same!?

You whipped your head abruptly, hearing a few cracks but that shouldn't matter because–

“Perhaps,” he smirked, eyeing you with a glint.

And, nevermind that, what's more is that–holy shit. Holy shit!?

Is the idiot actually fucking agreeing. Like, as in, fucking agreeing that, yes, they are fucking dating as if you don't have a fucking hate page for him? Are these people being serious right now?

Because what the fuck. Perhaps? Perhaps???

Holy shit, you're actually going to commit murder and it would be in front of your beloved grandmother.

“We're not dating,” you wobbly smile at the regulars, who don't seem to be convinced with how barely restrained the corners of your lips are.

Thank fuck for your grandmother though, for believing words as they are though because goddamn, “oh? really? apologies haha, so, you two are good friends, yes?”

An expectant shine in her eyes as she smiled. Snickers to the side as they eye you with a mockery of, ‘yeah, totally not dating.’

And good friends? God, what a joke.

You sent a split-second glance to the unusually quiet twink beside you; eyes distant and face devoid of its usual scowl.

Weird.

“Something like that,” you awkwardly chuckled, swallowing the bile rising up to your sternum before perking up in hopes to change the motherfucking topic, “but, uh. I think it's our break–”

A brief glance over the clock. 6:27PM. 3 minutes before your break, but who gives a fuck, anyways.

“Yep! Break time, indeed. I'll see you guys later!” You rushed to the door, completely forgetting to put the damn ‘On break’ sign on the counter, before you felt a cold hand grasp on your wrist just right on the doorway.

And you're abruptly turned to a pair of violet eyes and a pleading. Pleading—what?

“Fucking—” a tentative split second pause, “date me.”

Then, your world crashes down again.

You might have thought that hearing those words would lead to a Shoujo Manga setting with all the flowery background and shitty bubbles and shitty blurred surroundings and shitty soft tone–but, no.

What leads, instead, is a fucking punch to the stomach and the shriek that comes out of it.

“What the fuc–”

“If you think you can get whatever the fuck you want with your bullshit, then fuck off. If you pull that shit on me again,” you viciously glared down at the Asshole, “I swear you're not making out of this alive.”

A broken snort.

“Oh, piss off, fruitcake. You ain't intimidating.”

“I don't give a shit if you think I'm intimidating or not. Whatever we have is purely rivalry. Nothing more, nothing less.” And exhale, inhale, exhale– “So whatever bullshit like rivals to lovers you’re planning with me; just.. shut up about it.”

Silence stretched on. Ticking minutes and so.

Then, he looked away, and with a muffled voice, “fuck. just when I thought it would work.”

What?

Your gut squirms. Stomach flipping over like a damn pancake.

Holy shit. Don't tell me.. he actually likes me? What the fuck? Wait, hold on. It makes sense now! That's why he was acting so fucking flirty. Hu and the others were right?? But, then again. No fucking way, he definitely hates me, doesn't he—

You shivered, hoping to fucking ask him to expand only for him to stand up, shove you by the shoulders and then roughly hold you by same shoulders that's suddenly fucking tense, “I don't fucking like you, dipshit. Get your head out of the gutter. I need to fucking stay here for long, and what I mean by long is a fucking long, long time.”

He inhaled, sound sharp, “I figured that maybe being a suck-up to your shitty granny would help in making me stay longer, but fuck.”

Your shoulders sagged under white knuckles, watching him, your rival of two years, grit his teeth in defeat.

And, god.

This defeat was weird. Weird in a way that was helpless, and hopeless. Not in the way you knew all about him when it came to that word; challenging and thrilling. Vibrating with the incessant need to win the next time. Always making sworn promises afterwards to conquer stupid triumphs next time.

And fuck, you just realized, you can't believe that your first ever real conversation with the Asshole is happening in the same damn hall you caught your grandparents doing the nasty.

You gulped, feeling your heart race as the hands on your shoulders loosened, “I won't fire you.”

His hands tightened once again as he turned to you, genuine perplexion on his annoyingly pale face, “what?”

“Deaf much? I said I won't fire you,” you crossed your arms, peering over at him with a pounding heartbeat, “I don't pity you for that shitshow earlier, by the way. I didn't even think about firing you, so I don't even know where you got that idea from.”

He blinked, the familiar taut of downward muscles pulling onto his face, “the fuck you mean? You didn't even think about firing me? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, slapping his hands from your shoulder, “you were freaking out over nothing like an idiot.”

He opens his mouth but you beat him to it, finally looking at him square in the eye as your heart beats in tandem of your voice, “and workers here last a long time anyway because my grandmother likes them. And unfortunately for me, she likes you too.”

6:45PM. It's been 15 minutes. Your heart calms down in the meanwhile. It takes a while though, because you're staring at fucking purple. And shit, it's so fucking ugly your heart is considering it as a danger alert–

“So, I just.. freaked out over nothing infront of you,” he bluntly states.

“Yeah,” a snort came out of your lips before being replaced with a gasp, “damn, I wish I recorded it!”

Irked, he dragged a hand over his face, groaning out a, “Ugh, fuck off! Goddamn, I shouldn't have done that. Shit, I hate you so much.”

“Likewise, you asshole,” you shrugged with a smirk, absolutely relishing in the fact that he was flustered.

“Fuck off! Where's your fucking dinner?” He turned to you, teeth bared and body tense as if he was a cat hissing at you to get the fuck away.

Ha, cat. Cat..

“...You don't get to—”

“Yeah, no. Piss off,” the same cold wraps around your wrist once again, “you're not keeling over until this shift fucking ends. And we're equals now in crashing out, you fucking fruitcake.”

He paused, a victorious ugly smirk growing on his goddamn shitty ugly face.

“..Now that I think about it, you crash out more than me. So, that means..” a disgusting, ugly fucking smile, “..one out of four, dipshit.”

Okay, fuck him and his stupid pettiness.

You snapped your wrist from his—gentle?? soft??—hold, “shut up! at least I don't look pathetic begging for their rival to date him!”

“I don't even fucking like you!?” “Still asked me to,” you scoffed, “what a playboy.”

“I don't even fuck with girls?”

…

Long dramatic pause as a shocking yet not really surprising realization dawns on you, “are you actually fucking gay?”

And another dramatic, comical deadpan as he narrowed his eyes, “no, you fucking shithole. I meant that I've never fucked around with girls.”

“Oh, right. So shocking. I'm so sweeped over by the feet. Oh, what could I ever do with that.. jackshit of information!?”

He rolled his eyes, turning away from you as you perched on one of the stools, “I don't know. I'm not the one who fucking asked. ‘Sides, ever heard of fuckass blackmail? Hello?”

“Yeah,” a scoff left your lips, “with the way you proudly said you don't fuck with girls makes it truly blackmail worthy.”

Unbeknownst to you, a cheeky grin spread over his face as he scurried around the cabinets, probably looking for food as to what he promised just moments ago, “oh? I was just letting you know, though. Maybe, you'd like it if I was single.”

The undeniable sting in your throat makes its home as you grimaced, “god, you're such a horrible fucking matchmaker. first, it was that guy who was just innocently eating and now you? ew.”

Scaramouche snickers, the sound evil, “mind you, I'm the best fucking guy to be with. You should be lucky I even asked you to date me.”

“I feel the unluckiest. My bile thinks so too.”

“Liar–” he cut himself off, the rattling becoming a little louder, “also why the motherfuck do you not have any food here!?”

Your eyes imperceptibly widen at the same time as your brows furrowed.

“..I don't eat that much.”

A hideous grimace twisted his pale facd, oblivious of your internal freakout, “well, tell granny i’m going out for food then.”

What. The fuck?

There's approximately 15 minutes left before both of your break ends, and what the fuck does he mean he's going for food? What the fuck?

You narrowed your eyes at the Asshole who's currently fucking counting his damn rich paper moneys infront of you, “why the fuck are you even buying me food anyways? do I owe you something?”

He chuckles, mean and low, “No way. Just doing it ‘cause I pity you.”

A psuedo gag.

“So dramatic,” so he says as he rolls his eyes, heading towards the doorway.

“Think of it as..” he placed one finger on his chin, faking contemplation before sticking his tongue out at you except this one's not.. exactly mean, “think of it as my gratitude for letting me stay in this shitty café.”

Then, he's out the door. Just like that.

(You took a short moment to mentally note the fact that he had gone outside; which means he was going to take longer than the break time curfew. Which then leads to you having to tell your grandmother that her shitty little pissy went scavenging for food.)

“Gratitude gift,” you murmured in disbelief.

..Well, nevertheless if this day ended great or not, with the way he had uttered the name, “fruitcake” with so much disdain proves that at least, at least he wasn't serious in asking you out nor did it answer the question whether he liked you or not because, frankly?

You would never want to know what it would feel like to be asked out or worse: loved by a bastard like him.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - lying is the most fun a girl can have with taking her clothes off by panic! at the disco

• LETS HAVE TEEN HEARTS BEAT FASTER FASTER SO TESTOSTERONE BOYS AND HARLEY QUIN GIRLS if orgot the lyics

authors' notes - gonna disappear off of the face of earth rn

(ask to be added or removed)

[thewertsearch]

JOHN: what i'm wondering is, once we crashed through that window, weren't we supposed to like… JOHN: enter a new game session? the reset one? JOHN: and meet up with karkat, and vriska, and all the trolls, and i guess maybe also a bunch of dead trolls too??? like troll ghosts or such. JADE: yes that was the basic idea

Hm. That might be a problem, actually.

These two are flying directly from one Fourth Wall to another, presumably emerging in post-Scratch Derse at some point during the B2 session. It doesn't look like they'll be able to take a quick detour to the Furthest Ring, except perhaps by taking a nap - so unless they find another solution, we'll be forced to split the party for a while.

I thought Jade might be able to teleport them directly to Rose and Dave, or vice-versa - but if she could do that, the two groups would already be united. It can't be that easy.

There's probably some restriction on Jade's powers, which prevents her from taking this obvious course of action. Like, maybe if she teleports someone who's moving at 99% the speed of light, it causes some sort of nuclear explosion.

JOHN: oh god, rose and dave!!! where are they now? did one of them do the suicide mission thing? and what about the other? did they get scratch'd??? […] JADE: they did not actually destroy the sun. trust me, i would know if it was gone. now that i know what i know, it was kind of silly of us to think it would ever be destroyed…

Are you sure?

Doc Scratch - if we assume his 'honesty' schtick was legit - certainly seemed to think it could be destroyed by the Tumor. It was created by the Tumor, after all, so it makes intuitive sense that a bomb on the same scale could at least fuck it up a little.

...god, I still haven't even begun to digest the implications of Scratch creating the Sun. It's yet another hint that English is motivated by more than just his appetite, and is working on something much, much bigger behind the scenes.

JADE: and as it happens, rose and dave are not dead either! i have received very reliable reports that they survived

...when?

JADE: when i was dead there for a few minutes, i had one last very informative nap

Oh, ok, that makes sense.

So - from now on, every time our heroes fall asleep, Aradia et al. can reliably fill them in on what's been happening in the afterlife. Everyone say thank you, Feferi!

JOHN: so is this place like that yellow lawn ring thing karkat was talking about? […] JADE: its the yellow yard JADE: we have to cross it to break through the next wall […] JOHN: thats not a yard. JOHN: yards are like these flat wide patches of grass, surrounded by fences and stuff. JOHN: if anything, it's more like a road. […] JADE: kinda like the yellow brick road? JOHN: sure, why not!

Well, we have plenty of Witches and tin men, but Nepeta's really more of a kitten than a lion. Plus, she sure ain't no coward.

JOHN: what… JOHN: the fuck… JOHN: is that?

Do not look upon the face of God.

[sook9i]

— NAKED IN MANHATTAN

⋆｡°✩ After a drunk conversation leads you to question your feelings for your bandmate and friend, Hueningkai, maybe a night together in Manhattan is just what you need to clear the air.

. . . GENRE ! Hueningkai x reader | smut | fluff | friends to lovers

. . . CONTAINS ! virgin!kai, virgin!reader, 6th member!reader, afab!reader, talks of virginity, mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption, swearing, loss of virginity, unrealistic first time? (not that i would know), no established dynamics, fingering, protected sex 🙏, some aftercare, a little too much foreplay, consent checks, kinda just porn with plot, the other members tease them about their virginity (don’t do that)

. . . WORD COUNT ! 4660

. . . NOTES ! i’ve been writing this for,,,literally ever and i’m so glad it’s finally done !! this is inspired by naked in manhattan by chappell roan however considering that it’s a sapphic love song i’m still kinda unsure if i’m going to keep the title of it for this fic. if anyone has any opinions let me know!! anyways i hope you enjoy!!

. . . ADMIN ! written by callie 😼

Bright lights twinkle across the floor like stars. You can’t see the real stars up in the sky, but you make do with the high-rises lighting up the horizon. Cars beep and blare their horns stories below you. This sweet symphony fills the cold, empty hotel room like a lullaby. However, it isn’t really empty. You’re there, staring out across the Manhattan skyline. Kai’s there, just there behind a closed door in the bathroom. Bare only for the comforting hot water of the shower he was in. He’s there, racing through your thoughts like always. Around and around; an ever-looping track of vice. This boy, your friend, your bandmate, driving you crazy just by standing beyond a wall.

This isn’t exactly how you imagined spending a night in New York City. The rest of the boys took full advantage of the free night. Taehyun had wanted to explore, last you heard he was in Time Square. Beomgyu and Yeonjun had gone out to get some dinner and god only knows where they ended up, now five hours later.

Soobin, on the other hand, was the reason you ended up in this position. Having approached you after your radio show taping and apologetically begging you to let him have the single hotel room for the night. And how could you say no? You cared for your members, and your leader especially seemed like he could use a night with just himself. He was probably spread-eagle on the hotel bed, 5-steps deep into his skincare routine right now, and watching whatever show he’s been raving about for the past week; probably having the time of his life. However, when you agreed to give up your room, you failed to think about the implications. You didn’t consider that you’d now be rooming with whoever Soobin had left behind. You didn’t even think about how he usually roomed with Hueningkai. Not a single thought passed through your head, except sweet old sympathy for your leader. Now, you were considering disavowing kindness for the rest of your life because of where that nice gesture landed you.

You heard the water shut off in the bathroom like the final clock strike right before midnight. Face embarrassingly hot, you keep your back to the door as it opens. New light slants across the floor, fluorescent and harsh. It mingles with the soft rush of humidity into the room and claws at your pajamas. Begging you to turn, to look, to face the perpetual inhabitant of your dreams. You tried to ignore the way your heart sped up simply hearing him shuffle around behind you. Still, your blood ran hotter, building up in your cheeks and neck.

You’ve had your fair share of innocent crushes over time, including the one you’ve harbored for Huening over the past 4 years. However, none ever left you feeling like this. This disoriented, this flustered, this desperate despite actively trying to dismantle your feelings for months now. He’d manage to send you tumbling back down, head over heels, in one quick night. Just the thought of his voice, the way the words came to him so easily, kept you spiraling.

The night’s high spirits had long settled down. Celebrating the start of your world tour with drinks and food had kept the mood quite energetic. Now, spread out on the dorm floor, nursing a half-empty soju bottle, you find yourself prattling off to silence.

“Sooo…what are you guys most excited for in America?”

Yeonjun snorts from the couch above you, “You sound like every American interview we do.”

“Okay, well…you can be like 100% completely honest with me.”

“I wanna try some cool food and drinks or something.” Beomgyu jumps in, “Like the themed ones from specialty bars that people always post.”

The oldest hums in agreement, “It would be pretty nice to go out one night.”

“We’re in New York for a few days, I’m pretty sure we have an open night there.” Soobin pipes in, curled up in the couch corner.

“Maybe I’ll go visit the Lego store.”

A sudden chorus of laughter erupts at your words. Struggling to sit up, you frown at all the amused faces now in view.

“What’s so funny, assholes?”

“Y/nnie, you should get out more.” The words coming from Beomgyu were almost hypocritical.

“You’re one to talk! And, yeah, that’s why I’d go shopping.”

“We mean, like, get out and meet people. A different country is a great place for that, especially for us.” Taehyun sits in an armchair taking a slow sip from his can, “Go out, have a fun night, and just make sure they sign an NDA afterwards.”

Another round of laughter strikes up and it dawns on you what they’re actually talking about. Your face feels hot and a pout stretches on your lips.

“You guys all suck! I told you, it’ll happen when it happens.” You cross your arms, almost whining like a child, “Why don’t you ever tease Huening about this? I’m not the only virgin in the group!”

Yeonjun snorts, “Damn, way to throw Kai under the bus.”

“Wait, no,” You frantically turn your head around to his seat behind you. “Huening, I didn’t mean-”

He breaks a small smile, “It’s okay, Y/n, I get what you meant.”

“We’re, like, virginity pals.” You stupidly bump your shoulder into his which elicits a very awkward laugh.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

Beomgyu is quick to the draw, immediately beginning to ramble on about his latest meet-up with Jeongin. You don’t get a chance to catch much of it as lips brush along your ear.

“You know, if you ever want to fix that, you can just ask me.” His voice is low and even, his breath leaves goosebumps along your neck. The words swim up and around your head, wiping away some of the haze; snapping you into a brief sense of clarity to process what he just said. You feel your heart almost sputter to a stop. Unable to choke out a response, you turn to look at him only to find cold air. Huening is up and away in the kitchen getting another drink, leaving you alone and flustered. Caught in his words’ web like a helpless fly.

They’ve been plaguing you since their utterance 5 days ago. Orbiting your brain like an ever-present moon. Driving you so far up the proverbial wall that, once you come back down, you will surely die on impact. You’ve never felt this confused, wondering if he meant what he said, if he even remembered it. Perhaps you were driving yourself insane over something inconsequential to him. How were you going to survive this night?

“You wanna watch a movie?”

So easily, he has you trapped. You have to face him, face this, and act completely normal. Act like your thoughts haven’t been full of him; the things you’d let him do to you and the things you’d do to him in return. Act like the way water drips from the edges of his hair, tracing his bare collar, isn’t driving you mad. Wet spots decorate the thin, white shirt stretched across his shoulders. It sticks to the vaguely visible skin trailing down his torso. A pair of sweatpants hang dangerously low off his hips, you struggle to bring your eyes away back up to his face. There his face is soft, head tilted and eyes crinkled, expecting an answer. You want to shrivel beneath his sweet gaze.

“I-um, yeah, sure. W-what movie?”

“Oh, I don’t really know. I was just going to see what’s streaming, maybe order some room service.” He drops a laptop onto his bed. Crawling atop the sheets, he flips it open and looks back at you. Waiting, expectant. His hand softly pats the duvet beside him and you have nowhere to run.

The sheets are standard fare for a hotel and the mattress is stiff as you sit. You’re practically almost hanging off the edge trying to keep a safe distance from Kai. If your skin so much as brushed his, you’d be broken. You weren’t willing to risk bumping knees. If he thinks it odd, he doesn’t say anything. Looking at the screen, he’s now scrolling through a bunch of movie options. Title after title flys by. Two of his fingers push along the mouse pad. The muscles of his hand twitch with every movement; veins shifting, knuckle tucking in and out. From fingertip to wrist his hands are huge, probably enough to completely cover your face. His fingers especially, are very long, so thin-cut and delicate. It can only make you wonder just how deep they could reach. If he knew how to really use them.

You feel your brain melting into a cesspool of depravity the longer you’re around him. Squeezing your eyes tight, the thoughts barely dissipate. Although, you’re granted a small peace as he picks your mind with something else.

“How about Spider-man?”

“Hm?” Peeking back at the screen, his cursor had landed on a Spider-Verse movie. Although, you didn’t really know which one. Your head feels so cotton-stuffed, you simply nod without a thought. So he clicks on the card to play. Opening credits roll in and you fall further into the static. This movie should’ve been the perfect distraction, something exciting and enjoyable. However, the soft heat of the boy curled beside you permeates your skin like a fever. It’s no use, you can’t fight the speed of your heart. The blood rush through your ears takes up everything in the room. Eyes, laser focused to the laptop screen, yet mind somewhere far away. So far you don’t notice the sound of the movie stopping suddenly.

“Y/n?”

Kai’s knee softly bumps yours as he faces you. It’s like a lightning strike right to the chest. Heartbeat rocketing, your words get jumbled. “Wha-um-what?”

“I…Is something wrong? Did I do something?” He avoids eye contact, hands twisting up.

“N-no, no-um, Huening…what’s up?”

“I just…I feel like you’ve kinda been avoiding me? His eyes slowly drag up to your face. “Like, you won’t even look at me.”

All you can hear is the blood rushing over your chest and cheeks, it’s all you can see as well. Kai’s eyebrows are knit together in an expression that should not be nearly as hot as your overdriven brain thinks it is. The words jumble up in your throat, a 4-year confession and a week-long confessional-in-the-making. Your brain goes blank. Everything seems to spill out.

“I-I’m not…upset. I’m-Kai-it’s um, just…do…do you remember that conversation we had…like the night of the first show?” Your stomach twists, ready to eat itself up in embarrassment.

“Um, maybe…” His eyes flit around as if trying to grasp the memory from the air. Brows draw in tighter before he stills. A chill settles between you two. His face explodes in Saharan heat. “Oh god.”

The realization fills up the room with its horrible heated mortification. Your head hangs, guilt pooling in your lap.

“Oh-oh god, Y/n, I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry! I should’ve never said that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m so sorry-”

“No-no, you-you didn’t. I just-” You bury your head in your hands. Your cheeks burn the skin like a radiator, your heart feels like a supernova. The room is caving in on you. This wall you’d built up, a protective shell around your fragile heart, crumbled. The words taste sour on your tongue. “Did…did you mean it…what you said?”

Silence sinks into your bones, shriveling under the weight of your humiliation. You can’t bring yourself to look at Huening. You want to run, hide, jump off the roof, but you're stuck to the mattress; to the darkness of your eyes; to his sharp intakes of air.

“I did.” An angry red flush covers his face and a pillow now covers his lap. His voice and eye contact remain steady, nonetheless.

The room is too small, too hot. You need to crawl out of your skin and cool off, but the words just keep coming.

“S-so…if I wanted to-um-take you up on your offer…”

Your hands fist the sheets fitfully, you can’t meet his eyes beneath the weight of your shame. This is all you have thought about for the past week, and, suddenly living in your fantasy, you feel like a creep.

The touch of soft fingertips brushing over your jaw jolts to your already frayed nerves. He turns your gaze up to his. Something deep and unfamiliar has settled in his eyes; a darkness that bores right down into that depraved nest in your heart.

Somehow, his voice keeps calm, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please-“ You can't finish the word before you’re silenced. Smooth, honey plush lips blanket yours, like something out of a daydream. The first sensation to hit is his taste: mint toothpaste and vanilla chapstick; you have to fight the urge to bite at his lip for more. Your crossed-knees touch, bodies leaning forward to meet in the middle. Your noses knock and bump awkwardly before you settle into a rhythm. He borders an intense line between inexperienced eagerness and hesitant care. Keeping your hands firm at your sides, unsure how to move, he runs his fingers up and over your arms, coaxing them to cradle the nape of his neck. In turn, he does the same.

He unravels you. The rigid rod holding back your shoulders dissipates; fingers curl into the soft, still damp hair at the base of his neck. A sigh pulls at your lips as you lose yourself to this building heat. Slowly, inhibition slips away. You find yourself moving with an unprecedented fervor. Kai leans further into you, tilting your head back to his will, nails scratching deftly at your scalp. A conflicting pain trembles over your skin, swirling with an untapped pleasure until the two are indistinguishable. He pulls a jolting gasp from your chest. The sound which follows, you can only categorize as embarrassing. A strangled sort of noise; something long built-up, catching in your throat and struggling out in a breathy whine. Your face flares up, you wanna disappear as Kai pulls away slightly. Softly, his breath hitches. Creaking open your eyes, you’re met with a sight that almost drags the sound out again.

Kai’s eyes, half-lidded and dark, bore down on you, haloed with pink, heated cheeks. His lips are kiss-bitten red and glossy. A wet dream come true. You tug him back to your lips, a new heat building in the kiss.

You aren’t sure who makes the first move, who bites first, but when his tongue pushes up against yours, you succumb fully to this new feeling filling you up. An unfamiliar greed beats in your chest, a rabid craving for more. More and more sounds mingle between both of you, unabashedly. With every sweet whine of Kai’s, the hunger grows. Your fingers tug at his hair, his press hard into your waist. Air is inconsistent and unnecessary.

“Kai-” Lips keep moving against yours. “More.”

“Can I-”His hands fumble around your waist a bit, mouth still keeping in time. “Your shirt.”

You begin nodding without even thinking about it. Finally, you break from each other. His hands hike your shirt up your chest before you peel the rest off. You move to do the same for him but he’s already ahead of you. His shirt comes up and over his head before being tossed alongside yours. The porcelain skin of his chest lays out before your eyes. Heart beat picking up, you trace each ridge and jut and mole back up to meet his gaze, one just as entranced as you are.

As your lips meet again, they move with much more care. Something deep and unspoken swimming on your lips and stirring up your chest. Fingers drift gently over freckles and goosebumps running up both your sides. Your back melts into the mattress; Huening’s intoxicating touch burning up your brain. His hands glide up and circle your chest softly. Brushing the sensitive, supple skin, more whimpers tumble out. Your hands copy his, nails dragging faintly down his soft stomach. His lips shudder against yours, breathing groans over your tongue. Knees sit on either side of your hips, keeping Kai’s body hovering precariously over you. The tantalizing promise of his weight above you draws your fingers lower. Just a fingertip dipping into the waistband of his sweatpants. The hitch in his breath is slight.

The kiss disconnects once again as you look at each other, drinking in the sight. His hair mused back wildly and eyes blown wide, a million emotions fly between you. Keeping your eyes locked, that curious hand of yours hesitantly slips from its place. Pulling out of Kai’s waistband, it snakes atop the fabric, coming to cup the prominent bulge beneath it. Your heart stutters at the heavy feeling of him in your hand. Kai’s eyes widen infinitesimally. Your curious fingers squeeze softly and you watch as the last bits of his composure crumble. Head dropping into your neck, his moan is guttural and desperate. His hips buck further into your palm and it becomes incredibly apparent just how big he is

“God-y/n, please…” The desperation with which he speaks your name, the whine and groan and guttural need pouring from his throat, finally breaks you.

For a moment, the only thought running through your head is how quickly you can get his sweatpants off. He seems to be thinking the same as his fingers pluck at your own waistband. However, as you’re about to give in, something stops you.

“Kai…” Embarrassment floods your face, “Do you…have a condom?”

His eyes widen, jaw dropping softly. A subtle red paints his cheeks as he slowly crawls off your body.

He awkwardly shuffles over to his bag on the floor before pulling out a small box of condoms. “I-I wasn’t, like, planning on using them. Or anything…Yeonjun-hyung put them in my bag…”

“Well, thank god for Yeonjun, I guess.”

Laughter eases the embarrassed tension as he rips open the packaging. Although he hesitates to take out the latex. You eye the clothes still covering both your bottom halves.

“I-I can…take mine off first. If you want?”

He matches your gaze, moving back towards the bed, “Are you-Do you want this? Like, 100%?”

“Yes.” Your head nods before you can even think about it, “Yeah, I-I do. Do you?”

“Yes.”

Leaning up, your lips meet his in a soft, sweet kiss. You slowly take his hand in yours and move it back down to your hip, to the bare skin beneath your waistband. Then, you tug your shorts down with his fingers. Finally, fully unclothed, you muscle through the timidity to open your eyes. The pure reverence in his face nearly calms your beating heart.

“Kai, please. Touch me.”

Huening makes quick work of his own bottoms. They pool at his ankles though your eyes are glued to the way his cock smacks against his stomach. He rolls the smooth latex down his skin and your eyes follow with a shiver. Even with little-to-no frame of reference, you’re all too aware that he’s big. Standing at the edge of the bed, towering over you, he is just as entranced with you as you are with him. Any room for embarrassment melts away into an unrelenting need.

You yank him back and his lips messily onto yours; tongues mingling and meshing. His fingers wisp up your bare thighs, sparking a lingering electricity. Your mouth lands on his neck with kisses and kitten licks. The breathy groan you pull from him with a soft bite sounds like heaven. Hands move further toward the inside of your thighs, brushing over your core. He fumbles for a moment before you reach to take his hand in yours. Awkwardly, you guide two slender fingers up to your clit, starting them in a circle motion. Your back arches into the feeling, head sinking into the pillows. Huening watches your reactions diligently, slowly gaining more confidence in his movements. The fingers slip away from the nub as one of them trails down to cautiously push into you. It takes a moment for the odd stretch to settle and melt into pleasure, but as your hips buck into his hand, Kai takes the hint. He uses his thumb to keep circling your clit while experimentally curling two fingers against your walls. This foreign pleasure is overwhelming and not enough.

“I-is this okay?”

Your voice feels stuck so you nod enthusiastically, eyes screwed tight. Fingernails dig into Kai’s scalp as you frantically pull him back to your lips. You work your tongue over his lips and onto his. Running your teeth down his jaw into the juncture of his neck, you litter the skin with soft bites. Lost in the pleasure, your movements feel crazed; desperate. That ever-looming climax is so close yet so far. You need it, like oxygen.

“Need more. Need you, please-please, Hyuka-”

Emptiness only fuels your desperation. Kai’s hips shift squarely over yours as his hand moves up between your bodies. His hard cock brushes your oversensitive thighs; the fog in your mind thickens. In the haze, you take Huening’s, now messy, hand into your mouth, licking over the fingers and tasting yourself on them. They tickle at the back of your throat, freeing a pleased hum.

Kai’s poor cock twitches against your leg and his chest stutters as you keep two lidded eyes on his. The fingers slip from your lips with a slight pop. His agape mouth falls onto yours, devouring your taste on your own tongue. That spit-slick hand guides his weeping tip down through your folds. It catches on your clit and teases your entrance. A gasp breaks your mouths apart. Kai’s fluttering breaths paint your cheeks.

“I-I’m gonna…can I…?”

“Hyuka, just fuck me. Please.”

“Oh-okay-uh, tell-tell me when to move.”

With a deep breath, his hips begin pushing into yours. The stretch sets in; a fire rippling between your legs. Like being ripped apart while still getting stitched back together. A contradicting pain, spreading slowly with Kai’s hesitation. He breathes sickly sweet whimpers into your ears and cradles your hands with his. They mingle in the sheets; an echo of heaven. It’s nearly enough to distract you from the pain as he bottoms out.

“F-fu-shit-ah…you-you’re so…” His forehead hits your shoulder, punctuated with fluttering kisses. “…amazing.”

Pain subsides steadily in a flurry of sensations. The excruciating stretch melting into numbing pleasure. Kai’s touch and affection; everything about him surrounding you everywhere. His heat pressed into your skin, his breath mixed with yours, your hearts beating in tandem as you join completely. You are full of him, of love for him, of need for him. Like you’ve pushed all the air out of your body to make more room for him. Every part of you yearns for everything he has to give.

“Kai-god-” You gasp out. “Y-you can move.”

Shakily, he draws his hips back. You feel every ridge and vein run along inside you. And when he pushes back in, your chests shudder in unison; moans and groans filling the hotel room. He continues slowly; falling into overwhelming pleasure. It muddles your thoughts and weighs down your tongue. And—when Kai’s sloppy thrusts settle into an eager, consistent pace—it numbs your mind in ecstasy.

The room devolves into heady grunts and sharp whines echoing in your ears. A mantra of his name builds—a plead, an oath, a prayer—spilling from your heart, coating your lips. Huening answers the call, swallowing your desperation with his own. You lose yourselves in each other. In the heat of your skin and lips meeting recklessly again and again. You need him closer, deeper; filling up your lungs and pumping through your veins. He wants more. Fingerprints and hickeys litter their way down your body at his discretion. His teeth sink in your shoulder, your nails scratch down his back. It’s instinctual and awkward, yet perfect.

The whirlwind in your stomach grows stronger, closer and closer to imploding. You felt yourself teetering, standing on the edge of an unfamiliar precipice. With his breath and pace picking up, it seemed Kai was right there as well. His hand detached from its bruising placement on your hip. Moving his thumb over your clit in deft circles, an extra jolt of pleasure arcs up your spine.

“K-kai, there-please, please, please.” His name tumbles out in whimpers, as does to yours from his lips.

“F-fuck-close-I’m-” A shudder runs through his body, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. His finger keeps tight to your clit. Your lips clash as the bubble between you pops.

White explodes behind your eyelids. Mind-numbing pleasure fills your every limb. You’re floating on bliss like you’ve never experienced and everything else falls away. Except for Kai. He surrounds you, he fills your lungs and makes you whole. His weak whimpers and moans trail off in your ears like the sounds of heaven. His hips keep moving, stopping jerkily as pleasure seeps into overstimulation. Kai’s arms buckle trying to keep his full body weight off you. He rolls off of you, landing on his back.

Silence fills the air in the aftermath. You exchange heavy breaths, staring off at the ceiling. As the high slowly fades, so does the fog in your head. Realization settles sharp in your bones. Dread and elation stir in your stomach, brewing a dangerous cocktail of words.

“I like you.”

Huening sits up a little, “Huh?”

“I…god, I’m so sorry-” You pull yourself up and look back down at the man, turning the words over in your head until they spill out. “Kai, I really really like you…I have for the past 4 years! And I know this is probably a horrible time to be saying this, but I just…I don’t want this to ruin us or-or the group and I-”

“Y/n! Y/n…” He pulls your hands into his. A bright smile splits his cheeks, shining on your face. “I really like you too.”

Air collapses in your chest, soft and scared. “…R-really?”

His eyes shine and melt into raspberry cheeks with an eager nod. “I didn't mean for it to come out like this, but…”

“Maybe you should get tipsy more often.” Both of you spill over with giddy giggles. A brand new kind of ecstasy fills up your chest, beating in time with Kai’s heart.

“Maybe…”

Your heartbeat speeds, building with each passing second as you look at Huening. Sweet chocolate eyes you could drink in, overindulge, and just never stop. And they look right back at you with the same adoration that’s pumping through your veins.

“I’ll, uh, go get a towel so we can clean up.” Kai shifts off bed, disappearing into the bathroom to discard the condom. He returns with a warm towel, as promised, and begins to gently wipe up your thighs, staying cautious around your still-sensitive folds. The heat soothes some of the worse marks littering your skin, combined with Kai’s delicate kisses over them.

After he works his way up, he ends with your lips. You move in harmony, swapping sweet giggly pecks, fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. The way his hands cradle your cheeks—all encompassing, trapping their heat—feels like home. Neither of you can contain the joy flooding your faces with huge smiles. They remain even as he pulls away.

“Can we still finish that movie?”

“Sure, hyuka.”

Peace fills the space between you. Love wrapping around and around, building and keeping you safe in its embrace. The world melts away leaving only this room, this moment, the breaths shared between you, the heat of your bare skin melding into his. Curling together beneath the sheets, you bask in it; this revelation of reciprocated love. For a moment, nothing exists beyond you and Kai among the Manhattan skyline.

[suzukiblu]

Day three of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I–what?” Tim says like a useless idiot, attempting to shut his useless idiot brain up long enough for it to stop replaying Kon saying “you got me all this nice stuff” on a loop on literally every single possible level of his thought processes. It is, uh . . . not going well. At all. In no way whatsoever is it going well. 

Though “wear for you” is just a lost cause, considering. “Wear for you” is just the metaphorical elevator music of the rest of his life now, Tim guesses. That’s just a thing he’s gonna have to deal with for the rest of his life. When he’s sixty-five and faking being on his supervillain deathbed so he can retire in his alternate reality of choice, he’s gonna be thinking that instead of “Rosebud”. He’ll be thinking that on his actual deathbed, even.

“I mean–you like it when I wear the stuff you get me, don’t you?” Kon says and Tim probably wouldn’t notice the slight flash of self-consciousness that flickers across the other’s face if he weren’t literally on top of him and a Bat, but he is, in fact, literally on top of him and a Bat. “Makes for a way nicer wrap job than the comics page.” 

. . . Tim has a lot of thoughts about that phrasing. Just–a lot. A lot of very confused and tangled-up and all-over-the-place thoughts that he can’t even really narrow down to a specific emotion or genre of emotions or even “positive” or “negative”. 

Kon describing himself like he thinks he’s something to give him–something he’s willing to give him–that is just a very, very tangle-inducing thing to hear. 

“A ‘wrap job’,” Tim echoes slowly, because there are way, way too many ways to take that description, but not all that many good ones. He’s used to hearing Kon flirt like he thinks he’s the hottest thing since sliced bread, all cocky and smug and preening, not talking up the girls but talking up himself, way too self-centered and self-obsessed and– 

. . . ah, Tim realizes very, very slowly. 

He’s used to hearing Kon sell himself when he’s flirting. He doesn’t talk up the girls; he talks up himself. 

He talks up–the product.

“What, you don’t like presents, daddy?” Kon asks as he gives him a flirty, teasing grin with that flicker of self-consciousness still in the back of his eyes. Tim thinks about those opaque sunglasses he likes to wear all the time and wonders if maybe Kon isn’t used to people seeing his eyes this much. “

Tim decides that salt-and-burning Cadmus is actually not enough, and he also needs to throw Rex Leech into an active volcano and maybe also literally every single girl Kon has ever dated for more than five minutes, whoever said girls are. Just–this doesn’t feel like making out on the ledge did, where Kon was all soft and eager and overwhelmed and Tim felt like they were on the same wavelength; this feels more like . . . 

Talking up the product, again. 

“I like you,” Tim says, and shifts his hand down to Kon’s shoulder, which feels like–less risky territory right now, maybe. “That’s not–I mean–” 

“You know I’ll be whatever you like,” Kon purrs, and shifts his posture just enough to make himself less of a bed and more of a lounger; curved and shifted to support Tim more than himself, and Tim feels–

Tim feels very weird, suddenly, and not in a good way at all.

[silantryoo]

ENCHANTED [ WRITTEN ] — a nice day

the first meeting

WARNINGS: implications of stalking, mild self-objectification, implied trauma (2.4k)

y/n knew what she was doing was incredibly stupid.

she wasn't born with the cautiousness that alluded her mom. she was just as reckless, if not more. y/n could've changed her last name when her mom gave her the chance to, but she chose to wear it like a badge instead. she could've moved to the states with her uncle like he wanted, but she chose to stay right here with her mom.

she knew she was reckless, she knew she was stupid.

y/n had to be, considering she wanted to be in the industry that stole her mom away.

"what am i doing...?"

y/n looked at herself in the mirror. her eyes, dark and dull, swirled with their usual anxiety and fear as if anticipating the worst. she felt it all over her body - her head and chest heavy.

there were only two outcomes to this: kazuha was actually an idol that looked like moomin, or kazuha was a thirty-year-old man trying to catch a scoop on her mother.

(y/n didn't know why, but the possibility of kazuha being kazuha made it worth the risk.)

"mom is gonna kill me."

she was pathetic.

it was funny actually. being stood up by a stranger shouldn't have hurt as much as being stood up by her mom, but y/n could feel her lungs closing in on themselves as she waited.

each moment she waited, she felt like she was wilting. like a cold, harsh winter had taken refuge inside her, never settling down. the air she breathed was frost, and her delicate lungs were always on the verge of collapsing.

y/n looked at her phone. kazuha (or whoever it was) was twenty minutes late.

"i'm gonna kick minji's ass."

maybe it was a sign from the universe, that she needed to haul her ass out of there that instant. perhaps the adorably bright-eyed idol she thought was real was actually just a loser reporter with a microphone shoved up their ass and a notebook in hand.

y/n fiddled with her mask, the hot air hitting her eyes.

she's not upset that kazuha probably ditched her. no, of course not. kazuha was an idol, and if she knew anything about them, they were always in it for money and fame. granted, her friends were almost all idols and weren't like that but still.

she wasn't upset, really.

the breeze blew a bit too hard, the trees rustling in the wind as leaves tumbled pathetically onto the ground. y/n could hear the soft chirping of a bird around her, drowned out by the cars. the sun hid like everything in her life did, yet today, it still gave her the comfort she needed.

it was a nice day to be disappointed.

"y/n?" the voice was pretty, soft like snow, but warm like a fireplace. "you're y/n, right?"

a strong grip, one from trained hands.

y/n opened her eyes, her head tilting up to look at the woman in front of her.

the woman had a smile drawn like the cartoons, big and expressive and apologetic. she seemed out of breath, her hair tousled and cheeks flushed like she had been running. and her eyes...

she does look like moomin.

"kazuha?"

kazuha perked up at the sound of her name. she felt a cold shiver run along her spine, like a chilly gust of wind during fall.

"yeah, uh, sorry i'm so late!" kazuha cleared her throat as best as she could, trying not to sound too out of breath. "my unnie was helping me get dressed, then my other members came in and started using me as a barbie doll. i actually almost came with this really weird hat that looked like an angry bird."

plain dark eyes stared back into kazuha's. the idol could barely see them, hidden behind the shadow of her baseball cap.

actually, kazuha waited to approach her for a couple minutes, unsure that this random girl dressed in all black with a cap and mask on was actually the one she was supposed to meet.

the idol looked her over once more, ignoring the inkling of disappointment at not being able to see her entire face.

(she'd still brag to the rest of le sserafim - mostly chaewon - that y/n did exist.)

silence took over the two still strangers(?), the sound of the wind and the singular bird in the distance filling the empty space. the sun begins to shine a bit brighter, the sound of cars approaching in the distance.

kazuha takes another look at the shorter girl in front of her.

"why are you dressed as batman?"

"huh?"

kazuha froze, not meaning to say the words she just said.

sakura had told her to not let yunjin be near her before her meet-up with y/n. she had a tendency to copy their mannerisms when she was nervous, and the more she was exposed to it...

the wind blew harder.

"nothing." her ears rang as her cheeks burned. "never mind."

kazuha was definitely gonna explode once she got back to her dorms. she'd probably get chaewon to use a fire extinguisher on her, or maybe eunchae to dump a bag of ice on her head. hopefully, they wouldn't make too much fun of her for mentioning something nerdy on her date.

wait, this isn't even a date.

the idol looked at the sky, the rays blinding her. in that moment, she wished to be a leaf, blown away to (hopefully) a different continent. somewhere like japan would be nice, that way she could run to her parents and talk about the atrocious not-date she had that lasted five minutes. her dad would probably make her onigiri with too much rice in it like usual. speaking of rice, she needed to remind chaewon to stop eating all of her-

"were you talking about...?" y/n pointed to her mask, kazuha's eyes snapping back onto the girl in front of her. "oh, this is just a precaution."

it was the least y/n could do, considering she put her mom's career in danger again.

"oh." thoughts swirled inside kazuha's head, a long list of possibilities, both out of reach and self-deprecating. "for what?"

the two stared at each other, waiting for an answer to be spoken. yet, as reckless as the young kwon was, she wasn't stupid. sure, she met up with a random person on the internet that she met three weeks ago. maybe she did it because she thought the random girl claiming to be an idol was cute. and yeah, she did meet this stranger in a secluded park but regardless.

a secret was something you'd take to the grave.

y/n cleared her throat, a twisted sort of guilt stirring in her chest.

"let's go get food."

she walked off, the clouds following her every step along with the idol beside her. her legs moved as if they had a purpose, yet the only thing on her mind was who her blood belonged to.

it belonged to the kwon's, for one. her grandparents, her uncles, her mom. she was their little flower, their princess. the prized possession hidden from sight, enough to be valued but never to be spoken of. she wasn't the black sheep by any means, but more like a dog in a wolf pack.

then, there was the media. dispatch and sbs and whatever news outlet was out there with her description. to them, kwon y/n was a rumor, the headline of the biggest scandal of the kpop industry. her blood was ivory to them - a rare, heafty bounty with fame to spare.

y/n wondered what it would be like to belong to herself, or at least to someone who wouldn't hide her.

"you're prettier in real life." kazuha spoke, looking at the ground with her lips pursed.

this was awkward. the last ten minutes were filled with the sounds of daytime seoul - honking cars and mindless chatter around them. it gave kazuha ample time to check out look at the younger girl beside her, like one of yunjin's creepy dates from the stories she told.

"you can barely see me."

"i mean, yeah, but like..." kazuha hoped she wasn't being creepy. "y'know?"

y/n nodded, going back to whatever she was thinking before.

kazuha knew she should've brought her '100 jokes in korean' book. she didn't get half of the jokes in them - granted, she didn't get half the jokes she knew in her mother tongue - but as long as y/n was having a good time, kazuha knew she would too.

if only chaewon didn't confiscate it...

"so, uh..." kazuha cleared her throat. "you go to hanlim?"

the shorter girl stopped in her tracks, looking at the idol. her blood froze in her veins like a cold tundra had washed over her being.

"...how do you know that?"

her tone was thin and sharp, a blade ready to cut into the nearest enemy. y/n's eyes now gleamed with hostility, her plain irises now alert like a cat.

"in the photo." kazuha didn't know what was going on, but she was sure she messed up just now. "the photo you sent to me? your blazer. uh, the crest?"

the idol's hands moved around flimsily, drawing a square-like shape near her chest.

oh.

y/n was an idiot.

"i thought i covered that."

but then again, y/n was too busy trying to find a good-looking picture of her. considering that jinsol and hana kept taking photos of her annoying the shit out of jungwon, it was safe to say that her options were limited.

"you didn't."

the two continued to walk, the air feeling light through y/n's chest. her fingers buzzed with the knowledge that kazuha knew more than y/n wanted her to, running up her arm and sitting on her throat like poorly tightened tie.

her mom was going to ground her for the rest of eternity, if she found out, of course.

"are you okay?" kazuha's voice stumbled in her ears, clumsy yet caring. "uh, you look like you're gonna pass out."

"yeah, i'm fine." the younger girl took a breath, the light breeze carrying the smell of freshly grown petals.

y/n's head snapped towards the scent, her eyes zeroing in on the stand. mismatched bouquets littered the wooden shelves, mostly pastels, yet all eye-catching.

"you like flowers?"

"yeah." y/n didn't realize she was walking towards the stand until she was face to face with a pretty pink flower. "my mom, she would give me the ones she got all the time."

her hand moved on its own, gripping an out-of-place flower from the rest of the tulips. it looked weirdly valuable, its stem delicately wrapped in parchment paper and its petals free of dust. on the front, a sticker of '₩80000' was pinned neatly.

y/n took a sniff, the soft alluring scent nothing like she smelt before.

it was different from the roses and tulips and carnations, like a lone blackbird in a sea of swans.

"what does it smell like?"

kazuha leaned over slightly, her shadow blocking the bright sun just enough to shield y/n.

y/n hummed, rubbing the petals between the pads of her fingers.

"peaches."

the younger girl held the flower up for kazuha to take in, the idol's eyes wide with hesitation. the leaves and debris tumbled beneath them, the wind blowing strong for a moment before calming down.

kazuha leaned her head lower.

peaches.

"you two better not wreck that flower!" the two jolted up, y/n rushing to it back. "do you know how expensive that is?!"

kazuha stared wide-eyed, suddenly stiff like a tree.

a couple months after she debuted, she had already gotten in trouble? surely, this would be a scandal, and all the hard work she and the rest of the girls did would be overturned.

beside her, y/n stared at the broken stem.

"oh shit."

the old woman walked closer, her eyes burning as her precious (and overpriced, y/n thought) flower was no longer its usual pristine self. it had snapped under the pressure y/n had given it.

but she wasn't gonna pay more eighty thousand won for a single flower.

y/n grabbed kazuha's wrist.

"run."

the woman got closer, grabbing what seemed to be a rolled-up wad of newspaper.

"maybe we should apologiz–"

it wasn't the first time y/n got an ajumma mad.

"run!"

kazuha prided herself on being athletic. aside from being an idol, the japanese girl had a strict regimen that she had perfected during her years of ballet. it took blood, sweat, and tears to perfect, and not once did she doubt her abilities, not even next to the almost equally versed huh yunjin.

still, she had never needed to outrun the media.

the taller girl could feel herself being dragged along as the loud cussing of the older woman faded behind them. she could barely keep up, if not the wind pushing them along.

was this how birds felt like? she thought.

the two stopped minutes after, nowhere near where the area they agreed to meet up on, and even further from the ajumma then they had realized.

as she stared at the idol, y/n could feel hot air radiating around her.

"i'm gonna get in trouble with management." kazuha managed to puff out, her chest heaving and her hair tousled like before.

"yeah," y/n dropped her mask down to her chin, taking in the air. "you are."

pretty...

the leaves around them rustled, breeze picking up to cool the two off. kazuha could feel her skin losing heat, but her thoughts ran like a hamster on a wheel, thinking about all the possible outcomes from that encounter.

it was probably fine, the general public had no clue who le sserafim was, much less kazuha, that other japanese girl next to the miyawaki sakura.

she was fine, she was-

y/n laughed.

"sorry, sorry!" she couldn't help it. the way kazuha's face twisted in worry was so animated that it made her imagine the older girl as moomin. "just give me a sec."

kazuha broke out into a grin as the pretty girl in front of her laughed and laughed, the ice-cold tension melting off of her in the rays of the sun. the birds chirped in the distance, the lack of honking near them making it loud enough to register in her ears.

it was a nice day today.

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!

@sewiouslyz @gfriendsapple @zhivaxo @forever-in-the-sky2 @perfectsunlight @txtbrainrot @hopeworld45 @jisooftme @nkahydnxo @uzumakioden @hyp3boy @sweet-dhrafts @marimo-anura @awkwardtoafault @kyaitosz @eggomi @cine-cult @mits-vi @bzeus28 @woonie57 @lcv3lies @vvyuqi @sofakingwoso @pandafuriosa60 @444yizhuo @blue4hour @junoswrlld @jihyostolemyheart @isanggayfrog

[roxabellas]

How Dirty Girls Get Clean

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

part one part two part three

word count : 8,139

warnings : sex work (but it's not really mentioned in this one), cheating (he's still married), age gap (19 & 38), pussy eating, small tiny miniscule IMPLICATIONS of a feet kink, daddy kink, he's miserable

One night turned into another.

Then another.

Then another.

At first, it was once a week, like clockwork. You'd see him somewhere while you were out working, outside a bar, on a street corner, lingering outside a hotel lobby, trying to pretend he wasn't just there with the sole purpose of waiting for you. He'd approach you quietly, like he hadn't spent the past few days constantly thinking about this, even though you could tell he had.

Then it was twice a week. He'd stopped booking you for just an hour completely by that point. It wasn't enough. He only wanted whole nights with you. Those nights, though, he didn’t always fuck you more than once. Majority of the time, he just wanted to talk afterwards, like he needed the company more than anything. To lie there with you, his fingers tracing idle patterns across your bare skin as he let his thoughts spill out.

His wife came up in those thoughts more than you'd expected, especially since you'd thought he bought all these hours with you to get away from her.

Some nights, he said he loved her, how good of a woman she was to him, how they used to plan having a family together.

Other nights, he said he barely recognised her anymore, barely recognised himself, that they aren't the same people who got married to each other.

And you listened. You always listened.

And maybe that’s what kept him coming back as much as anything else. Maybe it wasn’t just the sex, the way you let him take what he wanted, the way you moaned daddy for him just the way he asked. Maybe it was the way you never judged, never asked him to be anyone other than who he was in the moment.

And then it became three times a week. He usually took you to a bar first, whether it had a hotel attached or not, just to spend a bit more time with you in a way that felt “normal.” He didn't want you to think he was just after the sex.

At first, it was just hotels. Different ones each time, never the same place twice in a row.

You didn’t even think about it anymore. About the fact that you were sleeping with the same man over and over, even though that had never been the plan. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work. You were meant to be a fleeting thing, a temporary indulgence. Not a habit, but that’s what you had become to him. A routine.

Then he asked you to come to his house.

It was late when he brought it up, in yet another hotel room, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden shadow across the crinkled, once pristine, white sheets. He was lying beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other idly tracing patterns against your inner thigh, the two of you still naked. He’d been quiet for a while, and you thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, but then, in that same low, thoughtful voice he always had when he was about to say something he probably shouldn’t, he asked, “Do you want to come to mine?”

You turned your head towards him slightly as he said that, meeting his eyes in the near-dark.

“My wife's away for a few days. Visiting her sister,” he added, as if that made it any better.

You should've said no, that you didn't trust him enough for that.

No matter how much time he spent with you, how nice he was to you, how good he fucked you, he was still just a client.

You never went to clients’ houses. Hotel rooms, alley ways, even the backseats of cars occasionally when you used to be more in demand, but never their home.

Hotel rooms were sterile and temporary, just as your time with your clients was. Houses were personal and long-term.

But you didn't say no.

Maybe you should've, but you couldn't. Not to him.

Whether it was curiosity or stupidity that led you to it, you just nodded a little, looked away from him again, and murmured a quiet “Sure.”

It was the next night when you ended up at his home, but as you stepped through the front door, the reality of it settled into your bones.

“You found it alright, then?” he asked as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Looks like it,” you replied, walking into the hallway and pulling off your boots.

His house was nice. Clean but lived-in, the faint smell of aftershave, clean linen, and something vaguely floral.

He shut the door behind you with a soft click, then asked, already walking towards the kitchen, “Drink?”

You followed him into the kitchen, taking in the space as you walked. It looked expensive, but not overly modern. The furniture was tasteful, but not new, the kind of pieces that had been chosen years ago and left unchanged because they still served their purpose.

He poured you both a whiskey, the spirit sloshing into the short glasses, and handed you yours when you came into the kitchen. You took a slow sip as you let your eyes scan over the room, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your chest.

There was a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter, as well as a vase of flowers that had just started to wilt, and a shopping list pinned to the fridge with a small, pink, heart-shaped magnet. Little details that reminded you that this was someone's home. Someone's life.

“She'll be back early next week,” he said, breaking the silence as he swallowed his mouthful, swirling the liquid in his glass.

You weren't too sure what to say to that, so you just nodded once before setting your glass on the countertop next to you.

“You've got a nice house,” you mentioned, turning your head to look around the kitchen once more.

He tilted his head back and swallowed the remainder of the whiskey in his glass before placing it down on the counter next to yours, his voice rough as he replied, “Thank you. I didn't pick much of the furniture though.”

“Wife?”

He nodded and laughed a little, but it was dry, humourless. “She's always had better taste in all that stuff than me.”

Your lips quirked up in a small smile, and he watched you as you picked up your glass again and took a sip.

His eyes scanned over your face, taking in every inch of your fair skin, until his eyes drifted down to your lips, pressed against the rim of the glass.

He hadn't kissed you there before. He'd kissed you just about everywhere else, your back, your neck, your pussy, your feet, but never your lips.

A kiss was too intimate. A kiss would break the barrier. He could fuck you, talk to you, spend countless nights with you tucked into his arms, but kissing? That was reserved for his wife. Even if he didn’t know if he loved her anymore, even if he told you that he didn’t think he could say those words with conviction, even if he whispered to you in the dark, saying things he could never say to her.

Still, he wouldn't kiss you.

But his eyes still lingered.

Maybe he wanted to, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, to cross that final line, to solidify his disloyalty to his wife completely. As if he hadn't already.

He watched as you swallowed down the last dregs of your whiskey before he pushed himself away from the counter, turning towards the doorway leading to the hallway with a quiet, “Come on.”

You set your glass down on the countertop next to his, accidentally knocking it against his with a quiet clink, and you followed him out of the room.

As you walked with him, your eyes were drawn to the wall, and you saw them.

Framed wedding photos hung proudly on the walls, lining the hallway with what should've been admiration, but instead left a bitter taste on your tongue.

He looked younger in the photos, but not by much. His hair was a little longer, his suit smart and perfectly tailored, and a wide smile spread across his face. He looked free, untouched by the things that now weighed down on him.

You tried not to stare, but your eyes flickered from one frame to the next as you walked. They looked so happy, so carefree, his hands lovingly touching her face, her waist, her neck. The same hands that had now been all over you.

It was one thing to know he was married, of course you knew that, but seeing it like this, laid out before you in frames, made it feel real in a way it hadn't before.

He must've noticed your eyes on them, as when you turned back to him, he had stopped and was looking at you with a soft face, the tiniest hint of awkwardness lingering beneath his features, before he moved again and turned the corner to walk up the stairs.

When you stepped into his bedroom, there was another framed photo of him and his wife perched on the bedside table. It looked to be taken in another country, maybe Italy or France, either on their honeymoon or just on holiday.

The soft bedsheets had a floral pattern, a nice, more homely change from the usual plain white sheets in hotel rooms. There was an indent on one of the pillows while the other one was plump and smooth, indicating which side he slept on, that he'd probably been sleeping in the bed alone recently.

He shut the door behind you with a quiet creak of the hinges swinging and a soft click of it closing, and you turned to face him, arms folded loosely over your stomach as you watched him start to unfasten his jeans, a motion you'd watched him do countless times now.

As he shoved them down his hips, letting them crumple and pool at his feet before kicking them off, you asked him, “What do you want?”

Without hesitation, as he pulled his top over his head before perching on the edge of the bed, he said, “I want to eat your pussy.”

It wasn’t a request, wasn’t phrased as a question or an uncertain suggestion. It was direct and confident, and it sent a slow warmth curling through you, simmering deep in your lower stomach.

He'd eaten you out before, of course he had. He was the kind of guy who got off on making his partner cum, but still, each time he asked for it, it sent those same shivers through your body.

A slow smile pulled at your lips. “Yeah?”

He nodded, his gaze heavy. “Yeah.”

There was a quiet pause after, and just as you began to pull off your own clothes, sliding your skirt down your legs, he spoke up again. “You are staying the whole night, aren't you? I'll give you the money later.”

You nodded, lifting your shirt over your head, but then he asked, “Can you stay tomorrow too?”

Something flickered in his expression as he spoke, something almost hesitant. Vulnerable. Maybe a bit embarrassed, thinking he was coming off as desperate.

Staying one night was expected and had become the norm for you two, but staying two blurred the lines. Made it something else, as if it wasn't already something else.

“Yeah,” you agreed with a soft voice, reaching behind you to undo the clasps of your bra, letting the straps fall loose over your shoulders before tossing it in the same direction you'd flung your shirt in just moments before.

His eyes flickered down to your tits for a moment as he swallowed hard, admiring your soft skin and perked up nipples, his thick, hard cock outlined and straining against the soft fabric of his grey boxer shorts.

You climbed onto the bed, settling yourself against the pillows as he made quick work of kissing along the side of your neck, his rough, chapped lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

His lashes gently ghosted over your skin as he closed his eyes to gently suck on your neck for a moment before unlatching his lips to continue kissing down your chest.

He lavished both of your boobs with kisses, licks and sucks, massaging and squeezing one of them with his hand as he focused his mouth on the other one. His teeth grazed over your nipples as he sucked each of them into his mouth just enough, making you moan softly for him.

“Daddy…” you breathed out as he gingerly bit down on your right nipple, leaning your head back against the pillows as one of your hands came up to gently stroke his hair.

He moaned softly himself at that, at both your soft voice and the feeling of your hand on the back of his head, gently threading your fingers through his dark brown strands.

He made sure both of your tits were equally reddened by his desire before continuing his descent, kissing and licking stripes down your stomach until he reached your hips where he pulled away for a moment.

He settled himself on his front between your legs, leaning in and pressing a kiss right in the centre of your pussy, still covered by your panties.

He hooked his thumbs under the waistband, slowly pulling them down your legs, taking his precious time.

Just as they were almost off, your black panties now loose around your ankles, he held your feet in a way that he tried to make seem casual, like he wasn't thinking about it, like he was just doing it to help get them off, but you could tell there was more to it, something you could tell he'd rather not voice right now.

Once they were off, he set them aside on the bed before lowering himself down again, your thighs draped over his shoulders and his arms hooked under your hips, his wedding ring cool against your skin. He never took it off, even when he was inside you.

His breath was warm against your inner thigh, lips brushing your skin before his tongue followed, teasing, slow, just enough to make you shiver but not enough to satisfy. He always took his time with this. If there was one thing about him, it was that he loved this. He adored the way you reacted, the way you tensed and relaxed beneath him, the way you exhaled sharply when he finally dragged his tongue over your cunt.

His hands gently gripped your thighs as he dipped his head, licking a firm, deliberate stripe from your hole, all the way up to the hood of your clit before sucking it into his mouth for a moment, his lips sealed around it as he sucked gently.

You sighed softly, your back arching off the sheets ever so slightly as he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue before wrapping his lips around it again, suckling with just the right amount of pressure. He didn't rush, wasn't sloppy or desperate, instead he savoured it, tasting you like he had all the time in the world.

His stubble scratched lightly against your skin, rough in contrast to the heat of his tongue, but you loved it. And so did he, by the sounds he was making.

He groaned against you as he covered you with his mouth again, the sound muffled but sending a deep, aching pulse straight through your core nonetheless as his hips slightly bucked against the mattress. You could tell he was enjoying this, almost as much as you, if not more.

He ground his hips down into the mattress, trying to get some friction, to ease the painful ache in his cock, purely from pleasing you.

You rolled your hips up against his face with a moan as his tongue delved inside your slit, flicking it rapidly as he pulled another daddy from your lips, making him hum against your cunt while his nose nudged against your clit.

His hands started to massage your thighs as he got more into it, his tongue tracing all over every inch of your middle, until he unhooked his left arm from underneath your thigh.

He gently dipped his middle and index finger inside while he sucked on your clit, glancing up for a moment to meet your gaze. Your face was flushed, lips parted and eyes hazy, your chest still red from his previous affection and rising and falling quickly with your breath.

He smiled a little before his eyes fluttered shut and he slid his two fingers inside you all the way, his knuckles bending and curling in all the right places as he sucked harder on your clit.

You reached down, your fingers tangling in your hair for something to hold onto as he drove you closer and closer to the edge, the constant suction combined with his long fingers massaging that spongy spot nestled inside you was too much, sending you hurtling towards the edge faster than your mind could keep up with.

You moaned loudly, constantly, one of your hands making a futile attempt at gripping the sheets while the other tugged at his hair, the word daddy spilling from your lips with each cry.

With a final bend of his knuckles, a final flick of his tongue on your clit, you came. Your back arched high off the bed, your thighs quivering around his head, and you tugged so hard on his hair you thought it was going to rip out.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as your orgasm tore through you, and you whined a broken, “Fuck, daddy..!”

He coaxed you through your high, circling your g-spot with the pads of his fingers while he sucked on your clit until you gently nudged his head away.

He gently released your clit from his swollen red lips before slowly dragging his fingers out of you, teasing your oversensitive walls on the way out.

He pressed one last kiss to your clit, then another one to your lower belly before pulling away. He unhooked his other arm from underneath your thigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before sitting up.

He moved up the bed slowly, his hands gliding over your thighs, your waist, your chest on the way up.

He settled beside you, one arm draped lazily across your stomach while the other slipped underneath you, holding you close to him as the remnants of your orgasm ebbed away.

His fingers traced soft patterns along your side, his touch absentminded and slow. You could still feel the final dregs of your orgasm pulsing through you in lazy waves, your body still humming from the way he'd made you fall apart with his mouth.

Your breathing matched his; deep, slow and steady, and for a long while, neither of you spoke. His hand stayed on you, slowly and gently stroking your skin, until he moved slightly beside you, his hand still resting on your stomach.

He exhaled, shifting his head to glance down at you. “Do you want me to run you a bath?

You blinked up at him, surprised for a moment. You'd never been offered something like that by a client before. Once they’d finished, they either left or let you leave, or, if they’d paid for the night, they let sleep take over without much thought about anything else. But then again, was he just a client anymore?

You smiled a little, tilting your head against his shoulder. “Sure.”

A small smile pulled at his lips as well, before he slid his arm out from underneath you, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

You watched him for a moment while he ran a hand through his hair, and how he hesitated for half a second before standing up properly.

He pulled open the door of his bedroom and walked out, down the hallway to the bathroom. A few moments later, you heard a click as he switched the light on, followed by a soft creak as he leaned against the bath to turn the taps on. The rush of the water filled the air, a soothing sound, before you got up yourself, your legs still a little weak, and you followed him into the bathroom.

It was small but tidy and clean, the white tiles cool beneath your bare feet as you waited inside by the doorway.

He reached for a bath soap from the row of bottles in the cluttered shower shelves and crouched beside the tub before unscrewing the top and pouring some of the pale pink liquid into the warm water, filling the air with its soft, floral scent.

It wasn't his soap, it couldn't have been. It was too delicate, too “feminine.” It was hers. But you didn't say anything, didn't ask, didn't press. You just watched as he adjusted the temperature and swirled the water with his hand as the bubbles started to form, clouding the water in a soft layer of white foam.

The scent of the soap clung to the steam, making the whole room smell like her, like the woman whose wedding photos were hanging in the hallway, the woman who was supposed to be the only one in his bed.

When the bath was full and he was content with the temperature, he turned the taps off and straightened up before looking over at you.

His gaze flickered down over your body, still completely bare, before he just stepped aside, gesturing a little awkwardly to the bath.

You pushed yourself off the doorway and let him help you settle into the water. You winced slightly at the heat before he slowly lowered you down, letting the warmth envelop you completely, soothing your skin. You let your head rest against the edge of the tub, exhaling as the bubbles clung to your arms and chest, and he watched you with soft eyes for a second before he slid down to the floor beside the bath, his knees clicking quietly as they bent, his back resting against the tub. He stretched his legs out in front of him, his fingers tapping idly on one knee for the moment as he listened to the gentle lapping of the water as you shifted slightly.

He draped his right arm over the edge of the bath, his fingers absentmindedly trailing through the bubbles.

For a while, he didn't say anything. He just sat there, exhaling softly through his nose while his fingertips skimmed the water’s surface.

You kept your head rested against the edge of the bath, watching the steam curl upwards, feeling the warmth of the water seep into your muscles. It would've been comfortable, would've been peaceful, if not for the fact that the air smelled like her.

You heard him take a quiet, slow deep breath in before his voice cut through the silence.

“I don't know why I asked you to stay tomorrow.”

His voice was soft and low, like he wasn't quite sure if he was talking to you or just thinking out loud.

“I just… I don't want you to leave.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but he wasn't looking at you. His head was leaned back against the outer edge of the tub, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling.

You didn't respond, didn't know how to. You just let him talk, something you'd grown used to and fond of over the weeks you'd been seeing him.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before he spoke again. “I think about you a lot,” he admitted, his voice barely a murmur. “Even when I'm not supposed to.”

You let your eyes slip closed for a second, breathing in the warm, scented air. You wondered if he realised what he was saying, what he was admitting to. You wondered if he knew that once words like that were spoken, they couldn’t be taken back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he continued after a moment, his fingers still idly stirring the water, the foam and bubbles twirling under his movements. “I don’t even know why I keep coming back to you. I just… I do.”

You turned your head towards him, resting your cheek against the porcelain tub, looking at the back of his head.

You could tell his jaw was tight, like he was frustrated with himself, trying to make sense of something that refused to be understood.

You watched the way his fingers played with the bubbles like he was trying to calm himself down, the way his knuckles tensed and relaxed, the way his gold wedding ring caught the soft glow of the overhead bathroom light. He still hadn't taken it off, not once, not even when he was talking about how much he didn't love her anymore.

“I think… I think I'm certain now. That I don't love her.”

His voice was quiet beneath the gentle sloshing of water, and a lump formed in your throat.

“I think I've known that for certain for a while now, but I just didn't want to admit it to myself. But at least that's the hard part done now, isn't it?” he let out a small sigh, something that would've been a laugh if it wasn't so bitter.

You should've told him to stop, that this was his marriage, these were his feelings, and that it had nothing to do with you, but you didn't, because deep down, you wanted to hear it.

So you let him talk. Let him confess everything in the dim glow of the bathroom, with your naked body submerged in his wife’s bath soap and his hand tracing lazy patterns through the water. You let him unravel, piece by piece, right there on the cold tile floor beside the bath.

He let out a breath through his nose as if trying to clear his head, and you stretched your legs out beneath the water. There was another few moments of silence that filled the small space between you two, until you spoke for the first time since stepping into the bathroom

“Do you ask her to call you daddy?” you asked, your voice smooth and curious.

He didn't answer you right away, just kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling above, his jaw tense. A flicker of something passed over his face, something that resembled shame, before he shook his head.

“No.”

You hummed, letting his response hang in the air for a moment before you replied. “Why not?”

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. “Because she's not you. It's not like that with her.”

He turned his head towards his hand in the water, and you caught a glimpse of his face. Guilt. It was written all over him.

“You don't tell her a lot of things, do you?” you murmured with a gentle voice.

He shook his head slowly, and you asked, “What don't you tell her?”

His shoulders tensed a tiny bit, but just enough for you to notice. His fingers stilled in the water, and for a moment, you thought he wasn't going to answer, that he'd shake his head and change the subject, telling you it didn't matter. But then, he spoke again.

“Everything.”

His voice was quiet, almost lost under the drip of the tap.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your lips pursing slightly. “Everything?”

He let out a short, dry, humourless laugh, tilting his head back up towards the ceiling. “Yeah. Everything.”

He paused, his tongue slipping out and gliding over his dry lower lip like he was trying to find the right words before he continued. “I don't tell her that I don't think about her when I fuck her anymore. I don't tell her that I have to try to want her now. I don’t tell her that I don't even want her to touch me.”

He swallowed before adding, “I don't tell her that I think about you more than I think about her.”

You felt a shiver crawl up your spine despite the heat of the water, and he let out a long sigh.

“I don't tell her that I'm not happy, that I haven't been happy for a long time,” he admitted, his voice tight like the words were painful to force out. “And that I wonder what my life would be like if I never even married her at all.”

“I don’t tell her how much I think about leaving,” he continued, voice lower now, ashamed of the confession. “I don’t tell her how often I wonder if we’re just wasting time. If we’re just staying because it’s easier than leaving.” He sighed. “I don’t tell her that I’ve already left in my head.”

You didn't say anything, but your sat up slightly, your fingers curling against the edge of the bath as you shifted, the water sloshing against the sides of the bath as you moved. He lowered his hand further into the water as you moved, tentatively finding your knee before resting his hand there under the water.

“I don't tell her where I go at night, or that I drive around for hours just to be anywhere but home.”

He let out a shaky breath and swallowed hard, his voice sounding brittle as he added, “I don't tell her that I don't want to go home anymore.”

He gave your knee a slight, gentle squeeze, his fingertips tracing small, absentminded circles and patterns against your skin under the water. A fleeting motion, something to ground himself with.

His breathing changed, quieter, slower, but with a slight unevenness that betrayed him. His jaw was clenched, his Adam's apple bobbing with each thick swallow, and it was clear he was holding something back.

His chest rose and fell too deliberately, like he was focusing on it, trying to regulate it.

He kept his head tilted back against the outer rim of the tub, blinking hard up at the ceiling, like if he just kept looking up, the tears wouldn't fall.

He was trying not to cry.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he dragged his left hand down his face, as if he could physically wipe away whatever it was that was threatening to spill over. “This is pathetic.”

He sniffled and shook his head as if the war that was waging inside his mind would fall out of his ear, before he spoke again, his left hand clenched into a fist.

“I don't kiss you on the lips,” he said with a strained voice, like the words were choking him on the way out, “Because if I do, I won't be able to pretend that this doesn't mean something.”

You watched him carefully, his words hitting you a little harder than you'd expected.

He let out a breath, his fingers easing open again as he rubbed at the side of his face. “I can fuck you,” he continued, his voice quieter, trying to gain some semblance of control over his emotions again, “I can touch you, and I can say things to you that I definitely shouldn't be saying, but kissing is…” He sighed sharply. “It's different.”

You remained quiet, letting him work through his own thoughts and words.

“It's just…” he trailed off, turning his head back towards his arm half-submerged in the bath water. “It's too much.”

He gently rubbed your knee with his thumb while he spoke. “I used to love kissing her,” he admitted, his voice softer now, like he was talking to himself. “More than anything. Before bed, when we woke up, even when we fought, I’d kiss her just to remind her that I still-”

He cut himself off as his voice broke slightly, followed by a humourless breath of laughter. “I don't even remember the last time I kissed her like that.”

You swallowed, watching him as he kept his head turned towards his arm in the water. The way his lips parted as he took another deep breath in, his gaze fixed the remnants of the bubbles floating on top of the water, as if he was afraid that if he moved his eyes too much, he wouldn't be able to stop the tears.

“I can't kiss you,” he murmured again, the faintest quiver audible in his voice. “Because then this wouldn't just be sex. Then it's something else.”

His breath hitched, just a little bit, barely noticeable, but you caught it. His face had flushed, just slightly, his jaw tight, and his mouth had drawn into a thin line. He wasn't going to cry, he refused to, but he was close. He was so close.

“If I kiss you, then I won't be able to lie to myself about what this is.”

You inhaled slowly, letting his words settle in your chest.

He was already blurring the lines, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Maybe because he was still clinging to the remnants of his marriage, still holding onto the illusion that there was something left to salvage. Or maybe because he knew, deep down, that kissing you, really kissing you, would make everything that much harder to walk away from.

He ran his left hand through his hair before letting it rest limply on his bare knee again and he looked down at his lap, still in just his grey boxers from earlier.

“I have to remind myself sometimes,” he said quietly, his other hand shifting against your knee, making the water ripple gently under his movements. “That you're nineteen.”

He said the number like it burned his throat, like he could barely stomach the bitter taste of it on his tongue.

“I don't know. It’s easy to forget,” he continued. “I feel bad, keeping you to myself. You shouldn't have to look after some old man.”

“You're not old,” you say softly, a half-hearted attempt at reassurance.

“I'm thirty-eight. That's double your age.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist.

“I shouldn't be doing this, I know that,” he said quietly, his fingers on your knee under the water resuming their absentminded patterns. “I can't stop. I don't want to stop.”

You stayed quiet, letting him say whatever else he needed to say.

His voice was even quieter when he spoke again. “I keep telling myself that this is just a phase, and that it’s just something I need to get out of my system.” He looked down at his hand. “But every time I see you, it just… it gets worse.”

His throat bobbed as he continued.

“I think about you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper now. “When I’m at work, and when I’m at home, and when I’m lying in bed next to her.” His jaw clenched, his breath coming a little shakier now. “I think about you when I shouldn’t.”

“And I can’t fucking stop.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned his head slightly, his left hand lifting and pressing his knuckles against his lips like he could physically stop himself from saying more.

After a few moments, he let out a long, shaky sigh. He lifted his hand up from the water and shook it as a half-hearted attempt to dry it, his fingertips wrinkled, and he stood up from his spot on the floor next to the tub, his knees creaking as he stretched.

He turned around and he reached for you, his grip firm and steady against your warm, wet skin as he helped you rise from the water. He placed his hand under your arms at first, lifting you up out of the bath gently before sliding down to hold your elbows, then down to your hands. The steam curled around you both, rising from the water in soft, ghostly tendrils, wrapping around your limbs before dissipating into the cool air.

He helped you step over the side of the porcelain tub, then he let go of your hands to grab the towel from the heated rail while you stood, water sliding down your skin in thin rivulets.

“Come here,” he said, his voice softer than it had been all night.

He held the towel open before wrapping it around you, his hands smoothing over your shoulders and your arms before drawing it snug around your frame.

The slightly scratchy fabric was warm against your damp skin, and he pulled you closer. He held you there for a moment, your bodies barely touching, his breath warm against your temple. Then, he started to dry you off, his hands dragging the towel over your arms, down your back, and across your thighs, the fabric absorbing all the water droplets.

Then, without much of a warning, he gently pressed his lips to your bare shoulder, then another kiss, on the curve of your collarbone.

He brushed the damp strands of your hair that still clung to your skin back before trailing his lips to the base of your throat, the movement slow and indulgent.

The towel moved with his hands, tracing the outline of your body with a soft friction against your skin.

He slowly dropped to his knees in front of you, his fingers gently gripping your thighs as he pressed a lingering kiss against the slight dip of your navel. Then he travelled lower, the scrape of his unshaven jaw dragging against your damp skin, pressing one to the swell of your hip, then the inside of your thigh, his breath warm as it fanned across your sensitive skin.

He leaned his head forward and gently rested his forehead against your lower belly for a few moments, his eyes closing, before lifting himself up again.

By the time he was done, by the time your skin was dry and his kisses had mapped out a path across your body, your heartbeat was unsteady, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavier than a tonne of bricks.

He wrapped the towel around you again, tucking it under your arms and folding it over your chest. He didn’t say anything as he took your hand, leading you out of the bathroom, down the hall, back to the bedroom.

The bedroom he usually shared with his wife.

It felt different stepping inside now. Before, you hadn’t really had time to think about it. It had been new, unfamiliar, but the weight of it had been lost in the heat of his mouth between your legs. But now, with your bare, damp feet sinking into the plush carpet, with the slightly unmade bed in front of you, with the dim glow of the bedside lamp he'd just turned on again casting soft shadows across the walls, it felt heavier.

He leaned over the bed, picking up your black underwear from where he'd put them after taking them off earlier, then turning around to pick up your shirt you'd discarded on the floor.

His fingers skimmed the towel where it was still loosely wrapped around you, then slowly pulled it away, letting it fall open before dropping to the floor. You stood there, naked in the soft lamplight, and for a moment, he just looked at you, down over your body, just taking you in for a moment.

He helped you back into your shirt, small damp spots forming on the fabric from where your wet hair still stuck to your back as the neckline settled atop your shoulders, before pushing your arms through the sleeves.

He held your underwear in his hands, glancing down at your feet for a moment before kneeling down, letting you step into them. His fingertips grazed over the tops of your feet, just ghosting over your toes, before pulling the soft fabric up to your hips.

The bed dipped as you lay down together, and he pulled the covers over you both. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing your back against his chest, his fingers sprawled, as if trying to touch as much of you as he physically could at once.

His warmth surrounded you and seeped deep down into your bones, but there was still something cold about the way he held you. Not physically. Physically, he was solid, secure, grounding, but emotionally, there was a heavy weight in his embrace.

You felt the tension in him, his chest rising and falling against your back with each breath, that small patch of hair on the middle of his chest gently scratching your shoulder.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your head, holding his face there in your hair for a moment, before pressing another soft, lingering peck to your temple.

His lips lingered just a fraction too long with each press of his mouth against your skin, then after what felt like a century of silence, he spoke.

“I do want to kiss you,” he whispered, that faint rasp threatening to creep in as his throat tightened just slightly, but he was still determined to not cry. “Properly.”

He let his head drop back onto the pillow, his eyes vacant as he stared at the back of your head. “She wouldn't even know,” he breathed, slowly swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “But if I did it, I feel like it would be worse than everything I've done already.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you just a little bit closer, and you could feel his heartbeat thrumming against your spine.

His hands, which had moved and touched with such certainty and deliberation while he was deep in the heated moment, now cradled you tentatively.

His breath was hot against the back of your neck, long and slow exhales flowing past his lips, and he gently stroked your side with his thumb.

“I want to have children, too,” he admitted quietly, a subtle tremor in his words, “I've always wanted a family.”

His arms curled around you tightened once more, his body seeking, needing, the comfort of someone to anchor him.

“I think I've left it too late for all of that,” he continued, and you heard him swallow as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he might not get to have the life he always wanted. “I don't know. If I split up with her, I don't think I'll be able to find someone else who'd want children. With me, I mean. Someone my age.”

He pressed his forehead to the back of your head, and you closed your eyes as you listened to him. “I won't be able to find someone who’d want to build a life with me. Again. But if I do, if we get to the point where we'd be stable enough to have children, I'll be too old. Far too old to be a good father. Or be a good partner. Be a good anything.”

He let a few moments of silence drag by as he collected his thoughts to pull together another jumbled sentence.

“I want to be able to give my children everything,” he murmured, now talking more to himself than you, just to get the feelings out of his system. “The love, stability, the… time. But I don't think it's going to happen. I'm running out of time.”

You heard him sniffle before he added with a fragile voice, “I don't think I'll be able to have it.”

You didn't respond, you didn't think that was what he wanted. He wanted to be vulnerable, to just spew his feelings and thoughts with no consequences, no repercussions.

He exhaled slowly but shakily, like a heavy weight had just been lifted off his shoulders, but now he was just left with the persistent ache it left behind.

His body tensed, his muscles locking up as he fought to keep the weight of everything that had been building up inside him, all the unresolved emotions, the fears and regrets he'd tried to suppress, starting to slip through the cracks he had tried and failed so hard to keep sealed.

The first few tears that he'd accidentally let spill were subtle, just a faint tremor in his jaw, the briefest rivulets dripping down his cheeks that he quickly wiped away, embarrassed by simply letting go. He took a few deep breaths to try and steady himself, his emotions, but it wasn't enough.

The dam inside him that he'd so carefully built and fortified, began to crumble and break under the weight of everything he thought he could handle.

The tears came slowly, one after the other, and his breath hitched in his chest, the act of crying catching him off guard. His shoulders trembled as he made one last feeble attempt at trying to stop the tears, but it was futile.

He turned his head into your shoulder, hiding his face as much as he could in the crook of your neck, but his sobs were soft and muffled against your skin. Each deep breath in and shaky exhale out was laboured, the overwhelming grief forcing its way through him.

He didn't speak; there were no words left that could explain the turmoil inside of him. The suffocating guilt, the fear of his future, the loss of something he didn't know he had.

His tears dampened your skin that he'd only just dried, endless at first, each sob carrying the weight of a thousand forgotten promises and unspoken regrets.

You felt the warmth of his tears against your shoulder and you flickered your eyes open again, placing one of your hands over his. You didn't have answers for him, maybe fabricated ones that he wanted, but not the ones he needed.

For a while, he just let himself cry, the sounds soft but heavy, like releasing a pressure that had been building for years.

The tears didn't come all at once, but rather in waves. He'd be quiet for a moment, breathing deeply and shakily as if trying to compose himself, to stop being weak, but he didn't get far before another sob would escape him, wracking through his chest, raw and unrefined.

Even as he unraveled, as his petals wilted and fluttered off, he held you close and tight, and you let him.

Eventually, his sobs began to slow, the shaking of his body gradually becoming less forceful, less pronounced. The tears continued to flow, but the intensity had dimmed, though his breath remained shaky and brittle.

He pulled his face away from your shoulder, your skin damp from where he'd cried, and you turned over yourself, now lay on your back with his arm underneath you while he lies on his side beside you. He looked down at you, his eyes red, wet and swollen, his cheeks streaked and his lips slightly parted. His eyes were clouded with a mix of vulnerability and exhaustion, and he whispered, “I'm sorry.”

His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognisable. “I didn't mean to cry. I didn't mean for any of… anything to happen.”

He pulled one arm from under you to wipe his eyes and nose with before rolling over, lying flat on his back. Maybe an attempt to stop more tears flowing.

He stared up at the blank ceiling, his deep breaths quiet, barely breaking the silence as he tried to control himself, before he closed his eyes.

His fingers traced gentle patterns and lines across your skin, a small, unconscious motion you'd noticed him doing. Usually when he's talked a bit too much, or he’s just feeling the weight of his life pressing down on him. It seemed to calm him down, bring him some comfort.

“I don't want to keep hurting people,” he said with a small voice. “Especially if they don't know they're being hurt. Or don't know the extent.”

He swallowed and opened his mouth before promptly closing it, then quietly adding, “I don't want to hurt you.”

His fingers gentle patterns continued as they drifted across your skin, and he turned his head towards you, opening his eyes once more, meeting your gaze.

He gave you a small, sad smile, or at least what he could muster up of one, and he sighed softly, a breath of relief almost too deep for someone so burdened, before he whispered, “Thank you.”

You nodded once, just a small movement to show your acknowledgement, and you gave him a slight smile back. The moment faded into the stillness of the room, letting the quiet envelop you both.

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

am i overdoing it with the mentions of the wedding ring? probably. i don't know what id put in any subsequent parts nor do i know how id end it as a whole so 💔 idk what to do with him

[abyssalzones]

hi!! apologies if this has been asked/answered a million times before, but i'm curious about how you came to be the CEO of transfem stan.. obviously there doesn't need to be a "reason" for any trans hc, i do it myself all the time just for funsies, but i wasn't sure if you had some kind of analysis on or reasoning behind it. i don't think i've seen anyone hc it before and i love your work (art as well as writing) so yeah i wanted to ask!!! have a good one :-)

the CEO ??!?!? jeezzzz that's a lot of responsibility. do I get a desk plaque?

but no, unfortunately I haven't compiled a big work of analysis about this, if I'm honest I was taking a shower and thought absently "haha maybe estrogen would save her". and then started thinking about it a little deeper and went wait a minute. estrogen... WOULD save her.

if you're looking for 'reasoning' as in 'canon evidence', there's a lot of little things you could point to on the surface level: the whole duchess approves thing ("It's just like my life!... in a way"), the senior citizen ponytail kit gag, mullet as a compromise on having long hair (and the implications of having to eventually cut it to "pass" as a male character)... there's probably more but honestly that's not the point to me and not what I care about when it comes to "headcanons". It starts to feel a little goofy pointing at what are mostly jokes and going "look! Evidence!" when the basis I'm working off of is... very much not a joke.

so to tell you the truth, there are a lot of writing reasons why I really like transfem stan as a headcanon: I think it would suit her arc very well, it makes for a very interesting element to throw into her dynamic with ford, it creates a lot of mabel-stan bonding opportunities if you see them both as transfem (which... may or may not be the subject of a comic I'd like to make...), but plain and simple I just think it owns. I like the idea of a 60-something year old egg who starts transitioning after 30 years of pretending to be something she isn't, and can only now begin to have her own identity without shame breathing down her neck.

also butch women are very cool 👍

[nomazee]

dan heng x gn reader — 1.6k — long overdue continuation of my dumb delinquent au (and the two remaining fans cheer in delight), high school au, probably very americanized, probably ooc, very super incredibly vague implications to sad things but it's so blink-and-you'll-miss-it, himeko is dan heng's adoptive guardian in this au, do u guys hate me for the hoops i'm jumping through to squeeze every character in this au, reluctant friends-to-crush-to-lovers fast/slow burn unbearable unspoken feelings trope

drabble no. 1 of this series/universe, u should probably read this first heh...

notes: hi guys, i'm back after taking yet another unplanned year-long hiatus, hope u missed me! (the crowd stays quiet) i bring u another delinquent au drabble because the worms got to me and i couldn't help it OK, OKAY?!?! enjoy! :3

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

Dan Heng hasn’t seen much of you in the last week. 

It’s unusual, he defends his worries to himself, very unusual. Despite not having a single class with you, he sees you often. In the last few months since he’s known you, he’s seen you at least three times a week after school, sometimes bloody and other times free of any injury, but the point is, he sees you. Talks to you, lets you walk him home (and pointedly doesn’t let you take him to any antique stores or overpriced tea shops on the way there). 

Today is Friday, and the fifth day straight that he’s stood in the courtyard behind the school for thirty minutes after dismissal, waiting for you to show up, appearing in a breeze of glitter and dust like a poorly-practiced magician. It’s the fifth day straight that you haven’t shown up, and he’s starting to realize how paradoxical your friendship feels. 

Dan Heng is hesitant to even call it a friendship. It feels weird—it’s like he’s known you for years, like he’s grown up with you on the same block in the same neighborhood, except in truth he’s only known you for three months, and he just learned your birthday last week after (embarrassingly) prying it out of you. He doesn’t know where you live, which front door to knock on so that he can check up on you, he doesn’t even have your phone number. All he can do is circle the perimeter of school grounds, waiting for you to show up, or looking for a top hat somewhere so he can pull you up out of it like he’s the poorly-practiced magician and you’re the bunny that he’s unethically shoved into a top hat. 

Luckily for him, though, fifth time’s the charm, and on his (miserable, lonely) walk home, he bumps into you as he rounds the corner to his block. Like, really bumps into you.

He hears a semi-familiar shout of horror as he stumbles back, the sudden slam of pressure on his nose making his eyes water, and he clasps his hands over his nose (it doesn’t hurt that bad, he swears), and then your hands are grabbing his shoulder and giving him a firm shake before he can even process that it’s you he’s just stumbled into. 

“Oh!” You shout, and he registers the tilt of your head through his watery, cloudy vision, “It’s you! I was looking for you.”

Dan Heng feels like— laughing, dryly, or maybe grabbing your shoulders back and shaking you until you reflect on how ridiculous you sound—as if he wasn’t the one wandering school grounds for an hour each day for the last week in search of you, like a lost dog, and god he really hopes no one caught him doing that, but at the very least March 7th definitely saw him, which means it’s going to hit the rest of his social circle eventually and he’ll have to hang his head in shame and stay silent when all his friends ask him why he was moping for five days straight. 

“Looking for me?” he mumbles, repeating your words instead of coming up with a thought of his own because he’s still sort of reeling from the sudden sight of you and the buzzing ache in his nose. “Am I bleeding?” 

“Oh,” you say, yet again, and he feels your hands take his wrists and pull them away from his face so that you can get a good glimpse of him. “Nope, no blood. Thank god. I’d feel really bad if I had to return you to Himeko with your face mangled.” 

“Return me,” he echoes again, and in two seconds flat he sobers up and straightens his posture and finally gets a good look at your face. “What? Where have you been?” 

“Around,” you answer vaguely, like you always do, and Dan Heng is now half a step closer to actually shaking you by your shoulders and turning you upside down until the truth falls out of your pockets like cartoon coins. “I’m back now, though! I wasn’t going to get a perfect attendance award anyways, so it’s kind of whatever.” Your lips quirk up into a stupid smile, and your eyes are scanning his face and his potentially bruised nose bridge. “Did you miss me?” 

“Yeah,” he admits, like an idiot, and he unfortunately doesn’t miss the sudden stalling of your expression, the way your smile freezes for half a second and the twitch in your brow. “No,” he quickly rights, but it’s a moot point by now, “whatever. What do you mean, around? Have you been at school at all this week?” He finally looks down at your clothes, which are very much not any kind of school-uniform-adjacent garb, but rather a collared shirt with some kind of logo on the top left. 

“I’ve been working,” you say, and it’s maybe the most honest and straightforward answer that Dan Heng will ever get from you, so he relishes in it for a moment. “You know, a job. Have you heard of that before? Jobs? Employment?” 

“That’s allowed? Are we allowed to work?” 

“Well,” and you do it again, glance off to the side before coming back to him, “I hope so. I’m not looking to quit this job so soon. They hired me, so it’s all good. I just had to miss school this week so they could train me, but I’ll be back on Monday. You’ll get your daily dose of me again soon, don’t worry!” 

Working. Dan Heng doesn’t know much about your schedule, what you do after school besides annoy him and walk him home and get into fights with seemingly invisible and untraceable and unnameable people, but this feels like one more piece in a thousand-piece puzzle where half the pieces have been drenched in water and bent. He feels two steps away from knowing more about you at the same time that he feels miles away. 

“I’m at the movie theatre,” you tell him, “so you should come visit with your friends some day. Four to ten P.M. on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. You can introduce me to your friends properly, you know,” and you have that nearly-tense, nearly-dishonest quirk of your lips, and you’re looking right at him like you’re trying to tell him something without saying it, “unless you’re too embarrassed to let them meet me.” 

This is not the first time you’ve said things like this, not by a long shot. Dan Heng thinks back, and is sure that you say something along the lines of aren’t you embarrassed at least once for every two times that he talks to you. Scared you’ll get caught with me? you asked him just last week, like being with you was a surefire way to get cursed or shunned or ostracized. Dan Heng doesn't get it, and it doesn't sound like you want him to. 

“No,” he says, steadfast, realizing belatedly that your hands are still around his wrists from when you’d tugged them down off his face, and his skin beneath your fingers is heating up rapidly, but so are the tips of his ears. “That’s not it,” and he really doesn’t have the strength to say anything deeper than that, so he dodges, “what were you doing on my street? Did you go to my house?” 

You’ve been caught. Sheepishly, you let go of his wrists, one hand going up to scratch the back of your neck instead, looking at his neighbor’s dead half-dead rose bush next to the sidewalk. “I kind of figured maybe I’d check in on you, or something. Ask to hang out. But when I came at three, you weren’t home yet, so I just kind of hung out with your mom. I was leaving just now. Figured you were busy, or something?” 

It’s an open-ended question, one that Dan Heng is very unwilling to honestly answer—if he did, he’d have to admit that the task that was oh-so-arduously occupying his time after school was sitting in the courtyard like a grieving wife waiting for her spouse to come home from war. He shakes his head instead of explaining anything—that should be enough of an answer. 

“She gave me cookies,” you continue in lieu of a real response from Dan Heng. “Seriously, am I the only one that eats them, or am I, like, stealing your only source of food every time I come over?” 

“The first one. I hate those things. They’re dry. I don’t understand how you eat them like that.”��

“Woah! Rude! Whatever, more for me. Hey, you’ll help me with all that schoolwork I missed, right?” You punch him in the shoulder playfully, which might’ve knocked the wind out of him had it been aimed any closer at his sternum. “I think we have almost all the same teachers. And I'm a quick learner, so it won't be so bad for you."

“Fine,” he says with a faux reluctance that would really only be convincing to a child, “I can walk you home.” 

“Haha,” and you punch his shoulder again, soothing it this time with a pat before you trail your hand up to the side of his neck, clasping the side of it with your warm palm, like you’re holding his pulse in your hand, and Dan Heng holds his breath so you won’t easily feel the rapid thump of blood underneath his skin, “maybe next time, champ.” 

You’re smiling again, laughing when you look at the paling expression on his face, like you know something he doesn’t, and he barely has time to feel disappointed at your easy rejection before you laugh, breathy, one more time, and say goodbye. 

(Himeko, to Dan Heng’s utter misery, hounds him for “details, the whole story, what did they say, Heng?!” the second he steps into the threshold of his house, keys still dangling from his hand. Terrible, awful, miserable. He does in fact, tell her everything.)

[fisheito]

THE YAKUEI FANGAME

for those who don't know: there is a yakuei fangame!! for free!!! IN ENGLISH?!?!? that i am about to ramble about!! It's got great art, ForReal writing, and as much humour/😨 as NuCa itself 😊😊 also, (almost) everyone has animal traits. YE,A BOYE!!!!

The estimated playtime is 1.5hrs, but I spent 4 hrs trying to complete everything without a guide;;;;;;

Expectation: i bet it's a short visual novel! a oneshot but in game form? if the creator REALLY went hard with the gameplay, maybe they'd throw in a few choices? to unlock diff dialogue branches? an hour of content at most, probably. maybe fluff about yakuei living their everyday lives and being cute/silly together 😊

Reality: everyone in the clan is here. they are in character. their lives are all intertwined and there IS a plot. there are puzzles. multiple endings. multiple CGs. you will need to think. OOPS! EMOTIONS!! GET WRECKED!!! eiden is, as usual, in a neverending Situation and you WILL feel the effects. this is a full-ass game with mistakes lurking around every corner HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE TO MAKE??!?!?! i.e.,

Keep Reading only if you are ok with SPOILERS.

Before we even reach the title screen, content warnings pop up for: sexual implications, cannibalism, drug abuse and my immediate response is HAHAHAHA! Of course!! can't have a yakumo game without cannibalism or vore in it, amirite??? aaaaaaahhhh cLASSIC yakumo 😙😆 <- i'm having a giggle but not really thinking about it. oh, but i'll be thinking about it in approximately 3 hours. fool.

Come to think of it, I don't think this game has a Log function. If someone finds it, please share the magic keys 😥 i wish i could have read past text... i've accidentally skipped a lot of stuff... oh well. let this be a warning to my future self: USE ALL YOUR SAVE SLOTS! FREQUENTLY! EVERYWHERE!

HALF SNAKE YAKUMO! HALF SNAKE YAKUMO!! HALF SNAKE YAKUMO!!!!!!!!!! *slams my fists on the table*

having yakumo worming/trailing behind eiden is so cute i'm just gonna walk around in circles on the screen while his tail wiggles

this demon king shows up and i immediately wonder if it's the other Eiden. he has the same goofy dramatic energy. please don't kill Other You, eiden... make love, not war.......

edmond as a horse yokai is PERFECT 😭

the way i YELLED when i saw edmond appear!!!!!!!!! i thought this game was just gonna be yakuei. to have MORE characters included?!?!? AMAZING! MORE THAN I COULD ASK FOR!

i really truly wish to disturb the worker in the fields, . please. please let me disturb them

the FEAR i felt when the bartender said his cookie had alcohol in it=--!! I WAS RIGHT THERE WITH EIDEN, SLAPPING THE COOKIE OUT OF YAKUMO'S HAND. NONE FOR YOU. FORBIDDEN

eiden being respectful and constantly saying "I'm not that nosy" in other peoples' houses?? WELL I *AM*!! LET ME INNNNNNNNNNNNN

"It's empty, like my soul." 🤝 we too

looks like i managed to screenshot morb and aster ? i was probably so enamoured with morvay's roundness that i simply had to take a picture. HURRAY FOR FAMILIARS!!!! THEY'RE HERE!!!!!!! and they're bickering, like usual. these sprites are adorable. i stare at morb a while longer.

aster is EVERYONE's landlord. so powerful and cute at the same time. terrifying. i legit laughed tho because really, the writer has SYNCED UP with the nuca wavelength. plot holes? no such thing. everything is explained, but with reasons across the entire spectrum from Logical to Ridiculous 😆

BLADE AS A FLUFFY SOFT PUFFBALL 😭 AND HOW HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND DANTE'S TSUN-NESS . THEYRE SILLY TOGETHTTEHR!!!! blade dressing up as fluffy sphere is so precious… like how he would wear pajamas even though he doesn't need to sleep!!! he wants to look cute and dress up like his friends!! and have fun sleepovers together!!!!!!!!!

In retrospect, this was where i went wrong. At this point, i had ALREADY COMMITTED A GRIEVOUS ERROR. This early in the game, and i'm locked out of the true(?) ending!! WOOPS;;; I thought the game would be straightforward? HAH! Not to a tomfool such as myself!! This was the beginning of Me Making Every Possible Wrong Decision , thus extending my playtime to a time faaar longer than expected 😅. I am not a Gamer. Nor am i genre-savvy. my poor decisions have doomed me to wander through the assets for eternity, trying convoluted tactics that have no effect on the story, while not noticing the IMPORTANT stuff.

What did I do? I chose to accompany morv through the forest. "i don't want morv to be in danger! At least if eiden and yakumo are with him, there'll be less chance of him getting morvnapped!" WRONG! Morvay is perfectly capable of scouting by himself. i should have believed in him more. i shouldn't have tried to smother him with my love. this incubus is older than me, and i should have respected my elder's independence 😣😩

I do not wander deeper into the forest as a result. Straight to rei's we go. Mr. Science Bird sends me out on plant-picking duty, and I think I'm soooOOoo clever by gathering more plants+flowers than I need.

Rei says he only needs 3 of each, BUT THERE ARE MORE THAN 3 HERBS/FLOWERS IN EACH FIELD. Thus, I shall pick MORE than the minimum amount! Maybe it'll be like the Rainy Day event, where the virtualias will be the key to escaping the yokai realm...?? where every person who needs to escape , needs to have their own flower?? so if i gather up enough to save at LEAST yakumo and eiden, and maybe some others who might be trapped.......

WHY IS THERE ONE VIRTUALIA THAT I CAN'T REACH? ?!!?💢💢 (inhales deeply) it's fine. i'm sure the creators wouldn't have designed that so it would be a game breaker. besides, it's not ethical harvesting to take EVERY flower at once. i need to leave some behind so they can regenerate at a healthy rate. don't be greedy!! don't clear-cut the forests for their strange herbs/virtualia resources!!!!! (i later went back to both fields and clear-cut the forest floor of all their strange herbs/virtualia, since i was paranoid and thought i would need a pair of plants for every clan member in the game. i don't know why i thought that. i didn't even know what the plan was afterward. the numbers don't even work out!!!! i just collected EEVERYTHING I COULD REACH . IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. UNPREDICTABLE PLANT EMERGENCY)

got to pet the dog . Top tier game A+++++

I hand over the plants. Rei shoos me out. I panicked when we first finished chatting with rei because SUDDENLY, THERE WAS NO WIGGLY SERPENT BEHIND ME AND I WAS LIKE YAKUMO? YAKUMO WHERE DID YOU GO? YOU DIDN'T WANDER TOO FAR OFF, DID YOU? IF I GO INTO THE FOREST ON MY OWN, WILL EIDEN DIE? IS THIS WHERE IT ALL ENDS? YAKUMOOOOOOOOO WHERE ARE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU oh./ oh, there you are. HI!!!!!!! phew [yakumo and eiden have a cute lil moment by the campfire and i am relaxed, content, just chillin.]

(once again, in retrospect, i should not have been so attached to yakumo. it's good to spend time apart....)

I can't access the forest paths that I missed earlier, so I go ahead with the plot and tell Rei that the food is ready.

At the demon king's castle, i have a grand time investigating all the assets: - Discount statues - that suspicious bookcase (EVERY bookcase in this game became suspicious after I read that restaurant menu. I kept thinking kuya was going to pop out of one. That, or I had to collect 9 bookmarks from 9 separate bookshelves in order to gain the 9 Leaves of Respect kuya holds for eiden, which would somehow ensure a successful escape). - stained glass windows just like in the Nu World event - ominous clock ticking at me - that massive door that WON'T BUDGE? err.... well maybe it'll unlock after I explore the rest of the castle!

I find it a bit strange that the game would include so many clan members, but not quincy or kuya. maybe... they were too powerful to be dragged into a world like this? or they're super elusive and aren't meant to "show up" as obviously as the others??? <- delusional thinking. quincy and kuya ARE supposed to show up. skill issue.😑

So I explore the RIGHT side of the castle. um. and finally the doubts about yakumo are starting to solidify.

Audience: You're kind of slow, aren't you, Fish?

WELL!! i know that the disclaimer at the beginning said that "following yakumo's advice" would not necessarily get you the ending you desire, ., , , , so i knew that yakumo would have his own goals in mind....... but.................idk, i didn't have a reason to go against his decisions so far in the game?? he and eiden haven't been faced with a huge divisive decision so far, right???

Audience: what about "make sure to stay close to me, Mr Eiden"?

yeah.. when he said that, my instinct was to immediately split off from him in the castle but i... never got the option... 😞

anyway. i'm wandering thru the flesh maze in which i check EVERY dead end. i try to INTERACT with every dead end. idk if there are multiple rooms hiding in here. i gotta be thorough (.there were not multiple rooms in there. flesh-scouring chump.)

Only when I'm standing in the yaku-room replica do i give a SEVERE side-eye to yakumo He won't let me check the thing next to the anemones HOW DARE HE STOP ME FROM LOOKING AT SOMETHING. WHAT AR EYOU HIDING. LET ME BE NOSY. I'LL INVESTIGATE WHATEVER I WANT

what are the red anemones for, yakumo. what are they for? WHAT SECRETS ARE YOU HIDING FROM US?!?!?! HIDING THE TRUTH DOESN'T PROTECT US YOU KNOW, TELL US THE TRUUUUUUUUUUTH

After eiden TRIES😒 to investigate everything and i have a giggle at yakumo weakly yet firmly stopping eiden from talking about their roleplay mirror escapade (yakumo. it's just you and eiden in the room.are you only stopping him from speaking because you'll die of embarrassment? come on 🤣), i leave the room... i investigate the out of place knight statue in the main hall... it tells me about the hidden mirror! and i

ENDING 2/3: WHAT THE FUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ I THOUGHT WE WERE JUST HAVING A FLUFFY GOOD TIME DOING FAVOURS FOR FRIENDS AND ADMIRING EVERYONE'S ANIMAL EARS YAKUMO WHAT DID YOU DO WHERE IS EIDEN ARE WE EIDEN? IS EIDNN REAL??????????? YAKUMO SPEAK TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAA

NOW BEGINS THE TIME OF RELOADING SAVES. REPEATEDLY. AND STARTING ENTIRELY NEW GAMES BECAUSE MY SAVES WERE NOT VERY ORGANISED OR PLACED AT KEY JUNCTURES.

I START COMBING THROUGH *EVERYTHING*. VISITING THE SAME BUILDINGS AFTER EVERY PLOT POINT. TALKING THROUGH THE SAME DIALOGUES AGAIN AND AGAIN. I WILL FIGURE THIS OUT.

Going through the game more carefully makes me realise how many things i missed. This... this is no joke. This game has LAYERS and GrassTheOriginator was noT PLAYING AROUND WHEN IT CAME TO THE DETAILS

FIRST OF ALL!! I CAN'T BELIEVE I MISSED LUNCH!!!! HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED LUNCH WITH YAKUMO'S BELOVED GRANDPARENTS?!?! i was positively negligent. how could i have not checked in with granma and granpa at every step of the way to make sure that they knew where we were and that they were both healthy and thriving. i cannot believe i only checked the house ONCE in my 1st playthrough. i missed out on eiden bullying yakumo + yakumo getting flustered + grandma's "youth are so lively♥ haha". HOW DARE I!!!!!

When I GET TO EXPLORE the forest paths i missed last time, Discovering the bed in the woods had me go🌲🌲 AHA!!!!!! YES! i knew something was missing from my first playthru!! i did NOT MEET EVERYONE and we all know eiden's not completely happy until we're with EVERYONE IN THE CLAN

mr quinquin hasn't made his appearance. that elusive beast. i must lure him out. for completion's, sake. for EITO'S TRUEST HAPPINESS!!!!!!!!! *RANSACKS GRANDPARENTS' HOUSE FOR SNACKS*

because i saw that ONE little tree glitter with animal essence, i started suspecting EVERY tree that looked like it

I save scummed for a while to see if approaching the ✨tree at different points would bring out kuya or something. or maybe even the tanuki. something that will help me get the good ending?

(it was probably the tapir. i forgot that the game page on itchio mentioned fanciful capriccio until i got to the true end.. so... Past Me thought kuya was jumping from tree to tree to make me chase him around)

i ended up inspecting EVERY LITTLE TREE I COULD TOUCH

yep, definitely a tree.

GET OUT HERE YOU DAMNED FOX YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE I HAVENT MET YET!!! GET YOUR UGLY FACE IN HERE!!! OLD MAN!!! BESTOW UPON ME YOUR REALITY-SHATTERING WISDOM, RIGHT NOW!!!!

Quincy SAID you were lingering around. SHOW YOURSELF!!!!

I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THAT GRAVESTONE IS. IN REI'S YARD…. REI, PLEASE…… THERE ARE TOO MANY SECRETS. IS IT MOM? IS IT THE REAL REI? IS IT SOME RANDOM CORPSE YOU STOLE FOR EXPERIMENTS? PLEASE!! I'M LOST IN THE WEB OF LIES

i love how every time i check rei's shelf, i see a new drug. Bone fixing juice (not a drink)? Pure liquid caffeine (maybe garu got into that…)? fox repellant??? 🤣🤣🤣 only the necessities!!

* crawling out of the dirt, bruised and bleeding, after trying slight differences here and there . to try and figure out the true ending for myself* WAIT… I HAVE ONE LAST THING I MUST TRY… THE HERBS… GIVE REI THE WEIRD LITTLE GIFTS!! THEY'RE LUCKY GIFTS, RIGHT? IT'S NOT BAD TO USE GIFTS LIKE THIS, RIGHT..?!??!?!

YEAAAASSSSSSS!!!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS YTEAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NEW PATH! NEW THING! I BROKE THROUGH! THAT'S THE LAST CLAN MEMBER YEAH! YEAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!I MIGHT BE ABLE TO MAKE IT THIS TIME!!!!!!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU STUPID OLD FOX!! YOU'RE INFURIATING IN EVERY UNIVERSE!!! IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND (or maybe i'm just bad at this game. maybe everyone else playing this diidn't spend hours Doing EVERYTHING wrong, before FINALLY doing the ONE correct thing 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣) the whole "seeing kuya's expression all blurry" is such a cool image tho i'm like, of course yakumo is fighting it but kuya is stubborn and will still knock at the glass between his purple self and dream-eiden heheheehheeh ominous purple peepaw is here to insult everyone in a plot-expository manner. finally.

Just taking a moment to appreciate yokai birdy rei putting yakumo through the lab assistant wringer. :) destroy him, sweetie.

.approaching yakumo at the campfire afterward. WAIT NO I COULDNT RESIST AND I MADE ANOTHER BAD DECISION BECAUSE OF THE COMPLETIONIST'S URGE

"don't tell hiim", i told myself. if you tell him, that alerts him to kuya's presence, and your new knowledge,, and he's going to DOUBLE DOWN on keeping you captive and i've only gotten 1 ending despite all my random tinkering so I BET YOU THAT THIS IS WHERE THE LAST TWO ENDINGS SPLIT

Brain: DUDE DO NOT TELL HIM Me: But yakumo keeps saying "Please feel free to tell me if anything is bothering you, Mr Eiden." So why wouldn't Mr Eiden tell him about what is bothering him? :< Brain: YOU'RE GONNA BE SO PISSED OFF Me: [tells yakumo anyway] …….timeskip…………. -> yakumo going "i didn't want to do this to you" Me: SAVE FILE????NOW???????!😨 -> ENDING!!! GET EATEN, IDIOT

Me: 😶 Brain: what did i tell you. i told you not to tell him. AND LOOK WHERE THAT GOT YOU. YOU FOUND OUT WHWERE THE CANNIBALISM CONTENT WARNING CAME FROM, BECAUSE YOU CANNOT RESIST MAKING STUPID DECISIONS Me: but but but isn't it good to keep the line of communication open? how is it a healthy relationship if eiden keeps secrets from yakumo? wouldn't it be more progressive to tell him the truth of seeing kuya, so he can have time to contemplate his actions-- Brain: YOU IDIOT!! YAKUMO IS NOT IN HIS SANE MIND NOW. OPEN COMMUNICATION IS NOT THE SITUATIONALLY APPROPRIATE MOVE. HE'S BEEN KEEPING THIS WHOLE WORLD'S TRUTH A SECRET FROM YOU,, RIGHT??? SO YOU CAN KEEP A SECRET. SHUT UR M OUTH. Reload your save and pick the right answer for once in your life, PLEASE Me: 😔 ….. ………… ok but what if i DON'T reload from the decision of whether or not to share kuya's presence with yakumo……. AND I JUST RUN FROM HIM *NOW*? THERE HAS TO BE A REASON THERE'S A SAVE POINT THERE, RIGHT? if escape was impossible, they wouldn't give you a checkpoint like that, RIGHT??

Audience: you.. you didn't think about running at ALL? Me: Nope Audience: what, so you just let him get you? Me: Yep. Just stood there. I figured my decisions already sealed my fate. The cutscene was just playing out. Audience: After a save point. Me: Yes, after a save point. Audience: Have you... ever played games like this before? the little adventure rpgs with pixel art? Me: No, but i've seen people play things like Ib and Ao Oni Audience: you need to run- Me: right... you DID need to run in those games Audience: after strategic save points. because there's a chance you might want to RETRY that sequence Me: OH..... Audience: ,if you didn't just. stand perfectly still Me: ... i may have zero survival instincts. please be patient. 😂

Brain: OMFG WHY MUST YOU INSIST ON-- Me: I SWEAR I SWEAR!!!!! I JUST WANNA SEE WHAT HAPPENS. IT PROBABLY WONT CHANGE ANYTHING MAYBE. AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH RUN TO THE YAKUROOM WE HAVE THE PATH MEMORISED SINCE WE'VE GONE THROUGH IT SO MANY TIMESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

actually. this chase reminds me of something. you remember back on DIK Island and eiden is chasing dante on the beach and if you're foolishly optimistic enough, you can pretend they're surrounded by shoujo bubbles and flowers while they giggle and prance along the shore but reality hits and it's full of claws yeah. Eiden dreaming of a flowery situation while ACTUALLY dealing with something ... a little less peaceful. there's no end to eiden's troubles, huh.

ok. back to it. let's see what's in the yakuroom... ]reads the new description for the anemones[

[hisses in a breath] yikes….///////////.😬 not the "anticipation" yakumo lied about…. uhm, uh,..... maybe i accidentally made it onto the true ending path. maybe it WASn"T about lying to yakumo at the campfire Brain: I am so fed up with you Me: 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 WAIT!!! NOW I'M IN THE ROOM ALONE!! TIME TO READ HIS DIARY AND GO THROUGH ALL THE STUFF HE DIDN'T WANT ME TO CHECK YEAAAAAAAAAAA Brain: all this hiding stuff ,,, feels like... being held captive in an unhealthy relationship, bro Me: you're a bit behind the plotline dude we just narrowly avoided getting devoured like pull-apart bread Brain: fair enough. carry on.

oh…. yakumo…………. baby………………………..😫😢😭😭😭…………………… eiden was so right… indulgence is NOT necessarily the best step… urrgh,, eiden you are so cool and emotionally smart and skilled and i'm so glad you can navigate these messy social waters better than i ever could..!! especially when so much is at stake 😨

wait. why is there a flesh maze in the first place? Audience: it's yakumo's braaaaaaaaain and what are the weird holes?? Audience: yakumo's brain on DRUGS!!!!! we're running around in yakumo's brain on drugs, full of dead ends. Got it!

then we're talking to yakumo in the shifting void: my expression the entire time is EYES BulGING. FACE FROZEN. MOUTH IS :| I AM SO STRESSED

gets reset

SUNUVA ABITCHUOIGFHFHFHFFIEOFDSRDFKOWAPESOI I ANSWERED WRONG, DIDN'T I I DIDN'T MATCH THE RIGHT NAME TO THE RIGHT ACTIVITY i"M GONA FEAUISRHGOIEFRIEOSGPAWEFISPIPDKAESEPFESFAFPGO 8CRAKCS OPEN YAKUMO'S DIARY we're MEMORISING THIS WE ARE EMBEDDING IT INTO OUR LONG TERM MEMORY. LET'S GO COME ON! WE WILL DO THSI!!!!!!!!!!!

Brain: Wait. How did you answer the clan member section wrong Me: um. i. well, i just based it off memory. i didn't think the number of blank spaces meant anything….. Brain: dude. the number of blank spaces SPELL OUT THE NAME OF THE CORRECT PERSON, SO MAYBE THEY MATTER. Me: oh. uhhhh. ahahahaha. well. it's 2AM. we've been at this for a while. i don't think i'm picking up on obvious clues anymore. um...not that i was picking up on them earlier either….. Brain: facepalm faceslap deskpalmdeskface sigH

oh. OH!! ok, so!! trying it again!! eiden moves closer with every right answer, right?! yeah! so! we might be able to reach yakumo if we-- AH SHITE HE DIDN'T MOVE FORWARD FOR THAT ONE

gets reset

OH COME ON!!!!!! YAKUMO!!!!!!! YOUR LOVE IS WAY TOO INTENSE YOU'RE KILLING ME HERE I'M GETTING DELIRIOUS FROM EXHAUSTION I CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS <- will continue doing this until I GET THE ULTIMATE HAPPY ENDING FOR THESE TWO. DON'T CARE IF MY EYES DRY OUT. WE HAVE TO DO THIS TONIGHT

reloads last save YAKUMOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [YELLING INTO THE VOID]]] YAKUMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PSPSPSPSPSPSSPSPSPSPSSS COME HERE SAD SNAKEY THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM! I"LL GET YOU THIS TIME, YOU ACCURSED OVERBEARING SNAKE

i wonder what happened when eiden locked himself in yakumo's room. did that door slamming in yakumo's face wake him up a little? did yakumo regain a bit of sense, like, "OH NO MR EIDEN DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME... I'VE SCREWED UP..." because i feel like if he really wanted to, he could... idk, phase thru the door or just break it down or something but he didnt

so, does that mean he still respects eiden's agency in that sense? did he immediately deflate when he lost direct sight of eiden? ? ? like one of those predators in a trance where if you remove the target from their sight they just kinda... flop like fhlkjlbbvvvbvrnrmbrbr.

did yakumo immediately start crying and sulking and wallowing like "ohhhhh i'm so horrible how could i have thought of hurting mr eiden i can't believe i was about to vore him i'm so hopeless and terrible and i've screwed it all up and --- etc.etc."

and curled up into a ball and that's where we find him in the void later? he slinks off to some one dead end of the flesh maze and stews in his silent sadness until eiden emerges from the room and finds him...🤔? and tries to talk to him..? oh please oh please let eiden reach yakumo this time ----

Yakumo: Mr. Eiden--

[I IMMEDIATLEY START SCREAMING IN MANIC EXCITEMENT] YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA BEAT THE LOOP, BAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HE WOKE UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA bashing my head repeatedly on my desk at6 the pretty picture AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA :'3 and now i'm smiling… oh…. my heart… they're going to be ok…. yakumo is going to heal…. …… WAIT DID I EVER GET AN OFFICIAL ENDING #3? IS THERE STILL ANOTEHR ENDING?! I HAVE TO GO BACK IN

Brain: you NEED TO GO TO SLEEP

Me: I DON'T NEED SLEEP I NEED YAKUEI ANSWERS goes into an old save ok. what if THIS TIME i DON'T tell yakumo about kuya? ….. ………. OH THE HALLWAY WON'T EVEN LET ME IN. OK 😫 ALRIGHT SO THAT'S NOT AN ENDING BRANCH. but. BUT! THAT MEANS I WAS RIGHT ! Mr Eiden SHOULD feel free to tell yakumo what's bothering him! HAHAHAAH!!!! ONE CORRECT DECISION MADE !!! SUCCESS!!!!! Brain: you could have reloaded a save file where you did something ELSE wrong, you know. it's not like you're actually keeping track of which-- Me: YYou know what. i'm satisfied. i got the good ending after evENTUALLY figuring things out! i played the game!! i did it !!! i can finally check the guide and see what i actually missed. aahhh. what a feeling of accomplishment. my eyes are indeed dry and burning. I REGRET NOTHING!!! I have felt many emotions tonight and i will not forget this Experience…

reads the guide omg i gotta go back in the game and find the extra content THIS IS TOO GOOD TO PASS UP

The first time i tried pulling rei out, i felt so bad that i never tried again because why would i want to hurt rei?? the game dialogue actually changed to include his broken bones, so that means i did substantial damage. rei is delicate!! he doesn't like pain! i will treat him gently!!!!!

If you DON'T treat him gently... Does dream rei get so fed up with Eiden's actions that he slams a book on yakumo's head and ends it all? he's like: no more. no more of this stupid dream pain. you have both found the end of my patience. [BOSS BATTLE CHIME, GAME OVER]

But the guide tells me something happens if i try 5 times. so. [does it]

i was laughuing so hard at the "well, now he's got more broken bones" BUT THEN HE ACTUALLY DIED I OH MY GOD REI I AM SO SO RYRRE SORYRR AHHHH NO I MEAN well, i . what did i think trying to . . . how many bones did i break. what a way to go. under a bookcase because a couple idiots were incapable of learning from their actions (me. I'm the couple idiots). oh… REI I'M LAUGHING BUT CRYING HOW DID THEY THINK OF THIS ENDING. WHOHOW>>??? IT'S . SO RANDOM. BUT SO HILARIOUS BUT ALSO I'M SO MAD AT MYSELF I FOOLED MYSELF INTO THINKING THAT REI WOULD BE FINE AFTER ALL THAT PHYSICAL DAMAGE WHY WOULD I EVEN BELIEVE---😂 I'M CRUSHED (not as crushed as rei AHAHAH OHHHHHH oh now i've made myself sad again)

----------------------------------------------------------- ok. time for the last thing i didn't do?

when the game first told us NOT TO WANDER, lest the knights deem us a threat, i was INTENT on wandering "after i meet aster, i'm gonna wander as much as i like!!! they can't stop me!!!! THE LAW CAN'T KEEP ME DOWN! I'm a REBEL"

i was not a rebel. i thought that daring to interact with the knight's tents AT ALL would count as "wandering". so after leaving aster's tent, i investigated all the other tents, expecting to get in trouble for interacting with the king's stuff. But punishment never came? so i thought i was getting away with something >:3 Haha!!! I wandered successfully! No. i just followed instructions without realising. I needed to NOT visit aster first. that's ACTUAL wandering. let's try that. 😑

HOLD ON I THOUGHT the King would ARREST US for trespassing and , maybe we get executed..? BUT I DIDN'T EXPECT DANTE AND BLADE AND FORCE US INTO TRAINING GIVE US A GUN AND SHOVE US INTO THE CASTLE ON A SPEEDRUN 😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣

OMG THE AFTER SCENE DID. DID THEY MAKE ASSETS FOR THE BROKEN STUFF TOO OR--- DID IT ALREADY EXIST---- WELL WHATEVER IT'S STILL FUNNY AS HEUEIFJISJIAOIKPAL oh… OH THIS was tHE LAST ENDING uhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I MEAN I GUESS YAKUEI ARE HAPPY IN THIS ONE, TOO but… wow… gee…….. i'm….. i need to do some thinking about all this… and the ramifications…. and… yeah……….. totters off in a daze

[katyahina]

The 'haired' helmets are strange..

It IS odd how we get to wear the characters' hairstyles, as it is just really unlikely they're scalps! I suppose the explanation is the same as why we are able to completely change upon looking into a mirror at Roundtable's Hold; as long as the Tarnished is guided by Greater Will, they'll have its aid and be transformed into whatever they see fit to keep carrying on! So I think the implication here is that we do, physically, grow the hair of the demigods (or champions) upon trying to tap on their power! I think if GW abandons a Tarnished, or if they abandon it, they lose this 'ability', which our playable character never does, so..

I am not sure whether it is Maliketh's own long mane or also a decoration! I'd like to think the former, in which case, same logic as with hair of Malenia, Godfrey and Radahn applies! Vargram's "hair" definitely is a decoration, and specifically for the purpose of imitating shadowbeasts:

Ensha's armour goes even further and not only gives us a hairdo, but makes us a skeleton:

We even get his power of slight regeneration, similar to Erdtree's normal powers:

All implications considered, I really doubt that this is just how armour looks, especially considering no change in size. We are not 'wearing' the skull, we ARE the skull now fhhsfd And this time the NPC data inside simply exists because Ensha does use NPC code and mechanics. So, we turn into a corpse! Again, should not matter much since as long as we're carried by GW we don't need to eat or sleep or... anything, really. (I'll also die on the hill of the theory that Ensha was one of the deceased Marika's offspring whose Mausoleum crashed and what was left from him crawled out but that's another story fdhfhds)

Here are other instances of hair simply decorating a helm:

Niall is that one guy we fight in Castle Sol, so similarity in this case ALSO checks out! Also cute idea: what if decoration for the helmets of Godrick's Knights IS his own hair? ;-;

That could also be speculated about Redmane Knights, but I feel like it'd be more appropriate for Godrick's. Radahn would be stingy about his amazing lion mane whereas Godrick can not only take body parts but also give them XDDDD yeah yeah terrible whatever

The black hair on Night Cavalry's helmet can be removed, also confirming that in this case it is a decoration. This hair does have interesting flowing animation though! Maybe it IS the hair of Night Cavalry themselves, still having their shadowy energy, but cut and attached again to their own helmets (kind of like Ciaran from DS1 decorated her helmet with her own braid!)

Another case of hair not being actual hair but part of the mask; the way hair is placed, it'd had to grow from like, eyebrows level and face itself or something fdhfdsdfh Maybe this style with braids and grey hair was intended to refer at Godfrey's? Alternatively, what IF their faces are actually furry/animalistic despite otherwise human build, so the hair doubles as fur? We don't see them behind the mask, after all? A food for a thought lol

^ More of 100% 'mask' types of these

The water dancer in blue gave the sword to Malenia's teacher, the blind guy that once sealed the God of Rot himself, and these warriors in blue appear to be following the same philosophy of "ever running water preventing stagnation, so, rot itself" as him! Although this head piece imitates just a follower and not the man himself (as far as we are aware....), perhaps the sentiment is strong enough to give us the hairdo too x) Again, funny enough, it seems to resemble the Lady of the Lake fairy herself!

I suspected the case of 'sharing hair' with Cleanrot Knights too, but upon closer look I can tell it is supposed to be some fabric/rags, rather than hair or hairlike accessory! Probably more efficient to imitate the look with rags rather than something hairlike tbh, considering the lenght of the thing! So I think the design is more meant to represent Malenia's own unhappy fate, with short tuft being the "hair" and the longer tails being the "wings" :

_______________

In conclusion, it is kind of easy to deduce which hair become our actual hair for the time being because of golden grace 'reshaping' us and which hair is just decor! But it is really interesting stuff to think about all the way!

[thedinosapien]

Theory: Brooklynn talked to N5 before leaving

The finale leaves many things implied or even confusing – in a way that makes it seem like something happened, especially between the scenes where Ben warns Brooklynn about the Bumpy's egg in the suitcase and the scene where B leaves. I invite you to rewatch the final scene, so it will be easier to understand what I say:

It is implied that Brooklynn had a conversation with the Nublar 5 off-screen, hidden from the viewer. The implications of the scene:

Ben is the one who talks about Bumpy's egg, so he obviously put himself in front of his friends. In the next scene, we see the position of each of the boys and girls: in front, Ben (who talked about the egg in the case), behind him, Darius and lastly, Kenji, then we have Sammy in ahead of Yasmina. Keep Brooklynn's reaction finding out about the egg in mind, I'll talk about it later.

Although Ben asks for the egg, the one who has it in his hands in the last scenes is Kenji. It's not Ben, who loves Bumpy more than anyone, or Darius, who is Brooklynn's best friend. She decided to give the egg to Kenji, proving that:

A. Maybe she trusts him more than Ben or Darius (understandable, since Pincus didn't do what she asked and D left her with the Allo, but it would be a bit strange for the scene, don't you agree? After all, Ben is Bumpy's dad);

B. There was more to the scene than what is revealed to the viewer. A conversation, probably.

The only one Brooklynn hadn't seen before in the season was Kenji, so she didn't know about the affection he has for the baby in the shell, that is, she had no reason to choose him, again indicating that there was an exchange of words between the characters.

There is two hypothesis about what must happened:

• Before giving the egg to Ben, he (Kenji) interrupted and demanded to receive it in Ben's place. It would be strange, since one way or another they would already have the egg in hands – in very safe hands –, changing only the fact that it would be with Ben Pincus;

• Or better, Brooklynn took advantage of the great opportunity she had to give essential explanations for the third season: Santos would kill them if she noticed any sign of betrayal on B's part, but with only one egg missing and the promise that none of her "ex-friends" would get in the way of the plan, everything would be safer for Santos. B just had to take advantage of the small gap to tell her friends WHAT she was doing, WHERE she was going and WHY she was going there – remember, the others don't know anything about Sayona's plans. Those informations will be essential for the characters!

It makes sense, doesn't it? After all, part of the arc of Kenji's relationship with the others is that "nobody tells me anything". Having him as the center of the scene, being, somehow, the priority of information, implies a development in his arc and a future advancement in the others' as well.

Note, in the beginning, Kon was the last, but in the end he is the one who is the most ahead of his friends. There really was something.

Now, the final detail that is totally related to Brooklynn's reaction to the egg: Throughout the season she never knew that Bumpy would have a baby. Her reaction reveals that she realized she lost a lot. It's exactly what Earnest said: "You're nothing special [...]. You're never happy with the good thing you've got, right in front of you." This reinforces that Brooklynn's story is about enjoying the things she already has, what she loses with her obsession and what she also has to gain from it. She needs to balance a lot of things in order to finally understand, by herself, what the truly wants and needs.

——————

A stupid theory I posted on reddit and thought it would be nice to post here. Tumblr must be more active, so activity ≃ interaction + addiction/correction for the theory.

I should stop thinking too much abt this show

If it turn out to be totally wrong, I hope you guys don't remember my post lol

[prying-pandora666]

On Ace Attorney and Gay Lawyers

If you know anything at all about Ace Attorney, even only through meme osmosis, then you probably know it’s about two gay lawyers. One blue and one red.

Except it’s not really about that, is it?

Let me preface this with saying that I enjoy WrightWorth as much as the next person and this is in no way against the ship or its fans. Rather, this is more about a wider problem in fandoms when it comes to headcanoning and championing characters as gay when they canonically aren’t, while ignoring actually gay/lesbian/bi/ace characters.

I’ve been frustrated for a while regarding how the most basic and plausibly deniable “queer coding” or “hinting” is taken as highly praised representation for a while. Not only because it teaches entertainment companies that they don’t actually have to give us real representation to make us happy, therefore sticking us with nothing but questionable subtext that can be easily cut out for international releases, but also because it also robs credit from the brave creatives who actually fight for real representation and sometimes pay the price for doing so.

Maybe the “saddled with unnecessary feelings” line from Edgeworth was enough in 2008. After all, gay acceptance still had a long way to go and coding a character was often the best you could get. Both in Japan and the USA.

But it’s well into the 2020s and we have had several Ace Attorney games and spin offs since. So where are all the gay attorneys?

I’m happy to report that we actually did get one!

And then sad to report that he was immediately abandoned and the fandom let it happen with nary a whimper.

It frustrates and depressed me that for a series known for having “gay lawyers”, we only actually got ONE attorney that even approaches actually canonically being same sex attracted and he got practically written away.

It’s Klavier.

For all of the implications and suspiciously-worded subtext with Phoenix and Miles, Phoenix only ever shows interest in women and Miles never shows interest in anyone.

Klavier is the only attorney on either side of the aisle to show canonical queer inclinations (hitting on both Apollo and Ema).

There’s something really disheartening to me about fandom obsessing so hard over two characters who are not canonically gay or in a relationship (not to say there’s anything wrong with shipping them! Just in context with this next part), only to not respond when we finally get a queer prosecutor.

I wish the fandom had reacted more to Klavier being de-emphasized. He really deserved to be fleshed out and explored as much as Miles.

It’s especially upsetting after DD made it clear that Capcom has no intention of ever canonizing WrightWorth out of questionable subtext that’s up to interpretation. For however much we love Miles as gay, Capcom doesn’t see it that way. And the character Capcom was willing to take that risk with, got shoved aside after his first game and promptly forgotten.

(Unrelated, but you know how Miles in DD said he plans to never marry, and Maya in SOJ showed zero romantic interest in Phoenix once reconnecting with him? And yet Miles still showed up for that wedding and Maya tried so hard to catch the bouquet. Inadvertently it almost seemed like they’re hooking up behind Phoenix’ back and they’re both trying to let Phoenix down gently. 😂 At least that’s what my friend who had never played the original trilogy thought was being implied! Cracked me up!)

[honeyedmiller]

Love Me Tender | Joel Miller

pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

warnings: mentions of anxiety and anxiety attacks, depression, dbf!Joel, love and tender care, tooth-rotting fluff, age gap (Joel is in his 40’s, reader is in their mid 20’s), no outbreak!Joel, Joel helps reader take a bath, implied sexual relations but no smut or anything is mentioned in detail at all, mentions of lack of eating / eating food, no use of y/n. some of the descriptions of depression and anxiety in here may be triggering, so please either proceed w/ caution or ignore this one shot entirely. I love u all so much!

word count: 2.3k

synopsis: after a terrible mental week, joel checks in on you and makes sure you’re taken care of.

based on an anon request.

-

Your dad had been on a work trip all week, leaving you to fend for yourself while you were home alone. Not that you couldn’t particularly do that; you were in your twenties after all.

It’s times like this that you wish he didn’t leave, though. Your mental health had taken a plummet. It started with an anxiety attack that came upon you because you were sure no one was going to hire you, a fresh college graduate, and you’d be a burden to your father for living at home this long.

Your dad was a loving man and never gave any implication that you living back at home would be any problem whatsoever. Your mind was just on constant overdrive and one thing led to another, digging yourself further into a black hole of your overwhelming emotions.

When you usually get into funks like this, you tend to take a walk during the day to let the sun dose you of natural serotonin, but you couldn’t even get yourself to get out of bed lately. You couldn’t shower, couldn’t really eat, and the anxiety attacks were constant. Your mind just kept telling you you’re not good enough, you never will be. Your thoughts snowballed and spiraled from there.

And so, you laid in bed curled into a fetal position as tears streamed down your face. You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer your phone that had been ringing on your bedside table, so you simply just ignored it. You’d check in with your dad every day to let him know you were okay, but today, you just forgot.

You heard the front door of your house open, and your fight or flight should’ve been kicking in, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Darlin’? It’s me, Joel.” You heard a voice call, and you relaxed just a little knowing it was just him. You didn’t answer him, but heard his heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs anyway.

You heard a soft knock on your bedroom door, and your muffled sobs are what made Joel come in. His heart shattered at the sight before him. He’s never seen you in such a state, and in this moment, wanted to do anything to help you.

“Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You felt the bed dip on the unoccupied side as Joel sat on it, reaching out to touch your arm gently.

You were so choked up that you couldn’t swallow your own sobs, and you shook your head as you tried to control your breathing.

“Talk to me, honey. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” His voice is gentle as his body maneuvers itself behind you. He’s laying down now and he wraps an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Mental health is shit.” You mumble, trying to calm yourself down. Joel’s touch alone seemed to relax you just a little, so maybe it was a good thing that he was there to check on you. Then you remembered how you haven’t showered for the past four days and how disarrayed your hair must’ve looked, and the bags under your eyes due to lack of sleep. Joel’s only ever seen you dolled up, or with minimal natural makeup on at the least.

You didn’t even want to begin what he thought of you now. He probably wouldn’t even want to touch you after this.

You shake the nasty thought away, finally letting your eyes meet his as he slightly hovers over you. His eyes are full of worry and sadness, because he’s truly never seen you with this pained look in your eyes.

“Why are you here, Joel?” You croak, sniffling abruptly.

“Your dad called me and said you hadn’t been answering your phone and asked me to check in on you. I also wanted to check in personally because you haven’t texted me all week, darlin’. I look forward to your sweet messages.” Joel coos, bringing his hand up to swipe his thumb across your tear-stained cheek.

“Oh.”

“Baby, c’mon. Sit up,” Joel helps you sit up, and you softly whine as you did so. Your head was throbbing from all of the crying you were doing. “Tell me what’s wrong, angel. Why’s it been bad?”

“‘M not good enough.” You managed to hiccup, burying your face in the sleeves of the oversized hoodie you wore.

Joel didn’t say anything at the moment, just let you ride out the waves of your emotions as he held you gently in his arms. After about ten minutes, you moved your sleeves away from your face and looked at him again. Joel tilted your chin up gently, smiling softly at you. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a second.

“You will always be good enough, darlin’.” He knows that his words may have not been super reassuring at the time, but you were grateful that he was trying.

“I’ve just been so stressed lately. Feels like I can’t do anything right in life right now. I’m a mess.” You mumble sadly, looking down at your knotted hands.

“Hey now, don’t say that. You’re doing amazing especially given the cards that you’ve been dealt. This is just a bump in the road, not a dead end.” Joel’s words warmed your heart a little, and you cracked the faintest smile.

“There’s that pretty smile I see wantin’ to shine through. C’mon baby. I know you don’t accept help from anyone and want to do everything on your own, but this doesn’t have to be one of those things. Please let me help you.”

You’d been so adamant about being independent and figuring everything out for yourself, but god, look where your stubbornness got you.

You nod your head slowly, and Joel helps you out of bed. He walks you to your bathroom and draws a warm bath. He helps you take off your sweater and your underwear, guiding you into the tub slowly. You hiss at your sore, achy body as you make contact with the nice warm water. You close your eyes for a second to relish in the feeling of warm comfort.

When you open your eyes again, Joel’s looking at you with concern. Not the usual lust-painted look he has when he sees you naked like this. This time, it was worry, heartbreak, maybe even love.

He tears his eyes away from your face before reaching for your shampoo bottle. He wets your hair then gently massages the shampoo into your scalp, and you close your eyes in a moment of pure bliss. You move your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs.

You suddenly felt super vulnerable in front of Joel as your hazy, clouded mind of emotions started to slowly clear up.

Joel didn’t say anything if he noticed that you were beginning to close yourself off again. He just finished rinsing and washing your hair in silence. He then began to wash your body, gently dragging the sudsy washcloth over your skin. You shuddered at his touch. It was nice to feel it in a way that had no sexual intent.

Once he was done washing your body, he rinsed you off and helped you out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around your body and wrung out your hair. He got the brush from your bathroom counter and brushed your hair out for you, leaving a gentle kiss at the crown of your head when he was done.

He ushered you slowly out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom. Your eyes met his through the full body mirror you had, and he gave you a soft smile. He went through your dresser drawers to pull out a clean outfit for you, which was a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. He gently grabbed the hem of the towel and looked down at you, silently asking for permission. You nodded slowly and he unwrapped the towel from your body.

Your eyes met his through your mirror once more, and he sighed. “You’re so beautiful, angel. I really hope you know that.” He kissed your bare shoulder. His words were sincere, and the look in his eyes told you that he really meant it. He helped you into your sweats and t-shirt, then brought you back to your bed.

“You need sleep, sweetheart. C’mon. I’ll be right here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Joel lays down with you, brushing his fingers through your damp hair.

Your eyes were heavy as you rested your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you to sleep.

When you woke up, you noticed the sun had gone down. Joel was still underneath you, but his steady breathing assured you he fell asleep himself. It was nice to wake up in his arms, to be comforted like this by a man who was as tough and brooding as Joel.

He had a soft spot for you, and it genuinely warmed your heart.

You shifted your tired eyes to look up at him. He looked so peaceful sleeping; like he didn’t have a problem in the world and the usual furrow in his brow had completely dissipated. He looked younger this way. More carefree.

He must’ve sensed a shift in movement, because his eyes fluttered open and he looked down at you.

“Hey, sweetheart. How do you feel?” He asks, bringing a hand to cup your jaw gently. You give him a soft smile, bringing your own hand up to caress the stubble on his chin. He watched you carefully, wondering what was going through your mind.

“‘M okay. Just got a headache is all.” You said.

“You need to eat, darlin’.”

You nodded in knowing, but the thought of eating seemed so exhausting. You just wanted to sleep. But, you know Joel would put up a fight and make you eat something, even if it was small.

“I know.”

“I can fix something up for you, or we can order your favorite takeout.” He offers, gently bringing his lips to your forehead once more. You’d never felt so much tenderness and care from the man, so the fact that he was being as gentle as he was almost astonished you. You knew he was capable of doing so, but the only person he ever showed this side to was Sarah.

“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is fine.” You reason, hoping he’ll agree. It might’ve not been much, but at least it’s something, right?

“Okay sweetheart. Let me make that for you and I’ll be right back, alright?”

You nod and shift your body so he can maneuver himself from under you to go downstairs and fix you up the sandwich. You laid back on your bed, feeling slightly better. Joel really didn’t need to do all of this for you, yet here he was… taking care of you. The thought nearly made you cry again, but you swallowed the lump in your throat.

You fished your phone off of your nightstand to see three missed calls and five texts from your dad. You sighed and texted him back, letting him know that you were okay and everything was fine. Your dad knew about your battle with anxiety and depression and how it could be sometimes, so as any dad would, he worried.

You’d always reassure him everything was fine, but deep down he knew it wasn’t all fine. He knew there was stuff you didn’t want to talk about, and thankfully, he didn’t push.

Your phone shortly buzzing brought you from your thoughts, with a text from your dad that simply said ‘love you, kiddo’ with a red heart emoji. You hearted the message before locking your phone and setting it on your nightstand once again.

Joel came into your room seconds after with a paper plate that contained a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off and some pretzels on the side in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.

He hands you the plate as you sit up, and you quietly thank him. You ate slowly, and Joel watched you. You look up at him as you take a bite from your sandwich, and he clears his throat.

“You know, darlin’,” Joel toyed with his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, trying to gather his thoughts. “I may not know what you’re going through at the moment, but I can promise you I’ll always be there for you whenever you need me. Just say the word and I’m there.” Joel reassures, sitting on your bed once more.

“Thank you, Joel. I’m sorry you had to, uh, find me like this and… bathe me.” You look down at your plate, slowly swallowing the bite you were chewing.

“Don’t ever apologize, sweetheart. You needed to be taken care of. There’s nothing wrong with that. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with letting someone do so for you, okay?”

You find yourself leaning forward, touching your forehead with Joel’s. Your noses brush together for a second before he reaches up to cup your cheek and pull away from you. He’d love to kiss you, but he didn’t know if doing so in such a vulnerable time for you was really appropriate.

You felt his hesitancy, so you put your hand on the back of his neck to coax him closer to you, and your lips met his soft ones. It was a short and sweet kiss, something to say thank you a million times over. You weren’t very good with your words or sharing your emotions, so naturally, this was your way of doing so.

He smiled against your lips and kept you there for a second, just holding you and relishing in the sweet, loving, tender moment between you both.

And for that and the man that he is, you’ll be forever grateful for Joel.

tag list: @cool-iguana ily