#rustic tall mirror

[birdcageromance]

Bedroom Master in Detroit

Inspiration for a medium-sized transitional master bedroom renovation with gray walls, a regular fireplace, and a stone fireplace.

[michaelburham]

Bedroom Master in Detroit Inspiration for a medium-sized transitional master bedroom renovation with gray walls, a regular fireplace, and a stone fireplace.

[supernovasilence]

Stuck this in my drafts, fell down a research rabbit hole a few days later, and came back to this only to go wait. Wait I recognize that pattern.

That wall is painted with the pattern used to denote ermine in heraldry. (Rather, one variant thereof, because there are a lot). Why, I do not know. But I love it.

(It could be an accident, because the three-pronged part is pointing down in most ermine patterns. However, I have seen some with three prongs up + 3 dots at the bottom, which is exactly what's going on here. Combined with the black-on-white color scheme, and, whether it was intentional or not, this is an ermine-patterned wall.)

Interior Visions: Great American Designers and the Showcase House, 1988

[tamtun-hipkiss-1982]

GREAT CHURCH STYLE TALL DISTRESSED WOOD ARCHED MIRROR. 23.5" X 60"H. NICE ADDITION FOR ANY ROOM.

[indiatrendzs]

Vintage Decor & Furniture

Live your best bohemian life with our laid-back luxe interior decor. Curate unique and luxurious statement pieces to build your chic boho vibe, and design with vintage architectural arches and antiques for an aesthetic that flows through your home. Impeccably stylish and one of a kind – just like you! visit our online etsy MOGULGALLERY How to Decorate a Bedroom With Old World Elegance from Era…

[faebled-stories]

Hidden Strength

Kinkvember Day 7: Femdom/Immobilized

Kiss Of Life Han Julie x Male reader

7.3k words

The sun began its slow descent, casting a golden hue through the tall, narrow windows of Julie's dormitory, and you could feel the enchantment in the air. The light filled the small room with warmth, turning it into a sanctuary as beams of sun danced like whispers across the furnishings. Each detail glowed in this soft, waning light—the small, well-worn books stacked haphazardly on the desk, the laundry basket in the corner that had long since needed attention, and the plush throw blanket draped lazily over the back of a chair. Dust motes floated serenely through the light, resembling tiny stars suspended in a gentle, magical glow.

Julie stood near the entrance, carefully adjusting a small vase of fresh flowers she had picked from a nearby store earlier that morning. The vibrant yellows of daisies and deep purples of tulips stood out against the rustic wood of the console table. Each petal seemed to tell its own story of the sunlit day that had just passed, stories that matched the bubbling thrill that flickered in her eyes. Tonight was the night she had been looking forward to—an evening she had imagined over and over in her mind, a night where you, the one who stirred her soul in ways words couldn’t capture, would finally meet her friends. She’d run countless scenarios in her head about how this meeting would go, spinning fantasies and rehearsing introductions. But now, here in the warmth of her room, those fantasies felt tangible, almost alive, breathing alongside her anticipation.

The dorm itself mirrored Julie’s emotions: cozy, inviting, and filled with a subtle lavender fragrance that floated through the room, calming her nerves. Soft light spilled from the delicate table lamps, blending with the gentle twinkle of string lights draped across her ceiling, casting an intimate glow over everything. It was the sort of ambiance that drew you in, evoking memories of childhood sleepovers, whispered secrets, and moments when bonds seemed to deepen in the flicker of a candle’s flame.

Then, the familiar creak of the door broke through her thoughts, and she turned, her breath catching as you stepped inside. For a moment, her eyes softened, her gaze locking with yours as a warm smile blossomed on her lips. It was as if the entire room shifted to acknowledge your presence, grounding her swirling thoughts and calming the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat. You, with your quiet confidence and easy presence, seemed to blend into the warmth of her carefully crafted haven as if you belonged there.

Julie moved towards you, her smile widening as she leaned in to press a gentle kiss on your cheek—a gesture both tender and electric, filled with the quiet intimacy of everything unspoken between you. Her fingers lingered against your shoulder for a moment, and you could sense the pride in her eyes as she stepped back, letting you take in the room. A hint of curiosity danced in your gaze as you absorbed the cozy details, the careful touches that revealed so much of who Julie was.

“Come on,” she said softly, her voice steady, colored with the warmth of belonging and a spark of excitement she could barely contain. "They are all dying to meet you." The pride in her tone was unmistakable, as if she was welcoming you into a part of herself she rarely shared, inviting you deeper into her world.

As you walked with Julie toward the living room, laughter and lively voices spilled over from the trio who formed the heart of her group—Haneul, Belle, and Natty—lounging comfortably on an oversized sectional. The warmth of their camaraderie seemed to fill the entire space, and you could feel how much they meant to Julie; they weren’t just friends—they were chosen family, each one a vital thread woven into the fabric of her life. When they spotted you and Julie approaching, their faces lit up with joy, eyes twinkling with friendliness and a touch of curiosity. Julie’s hand rested lightly on your arm, guiding you forward, as if anchoring you to this moment she had longed to share.

As you got closer, you could hear snippets of their playful banter; Haneul animatedly recounted a missed class, waving her hands in exaggerated gestures, while Belle teased her with a mock scolding. Natty, sprawled out on the couch, chimed in with an enthusiastic nod, her laughter bubbling up and pulling everyone else along with it. You felt yourself relax, letting your natural charm surface as you joined in the conversation, tossing in a few witty comments that sparked more laughter. The group responded easily, welcoming you as if you’d always been a part of their tight-knit circle.

Julie stepped back a bit, watching the scene unfold with a quiet sense of pride blossoming in her chest. For her, this was more than just an evening with friends—it was a bridge between her worlds, a blending of the people she cherished most. And as laughter and light-hearted teasing filled the room, she couldn’t help but feel that this gathering marked the beginning of something beautiful.

“I can’t believe it took you this long to bring your boyfriend over—he’s so fun to be around!” Haneul teased, a mischievous grin lighting up her face as she nudged Julie playfully with her elbow. Her words carried a lighthearted energy that filled the dimly lit room, sparking another round of laughter. Julie chuckled, brushing off the teasing with a casual wave of her hand, her cheeks faintly flushed. “Yeah, it was about time,” she replied, her voice warm with both pride and affection.

The evening continued to unfold like the pages of a captivating novel, each conversation flowing effortlessly, every laugh weaving the group closer together. You found yourself laughing deeply, the kind of genuine laughter that only emerges in moments of pure connection. It was clear you belonged here, that your presence added something vibrant to their bond.

Natty, relaxed in the comfort of the shared dorm, had chosen a loose shirt, unconcerned about needing a bra. The soft fabric draped casually over her, shifting with her movements, adding an effortless allure. Her confidence and natural grace were palpable, a quiet charisma that drew people in without her even trying.

But as the night wore on, Julie’s smile wavered just slightly as she watched you talking animatedly with Natty. Natty, with her easy charm and relaxed demeanor, was practically family to Julie—a friend who had stood by her through secrets, laughter, and tears. Julie rarely felt anything other than complete trust in her. Yet tonight, a flicker of jealousy stirred within her as she noticed your gaze linger just a fraction too long on Natty’s chest, where the loose shirt dipped slightly, hinting at more than she could ignore.

It was barely a moment—a fleeting look, subtle enough that anyone else might have missed it. But for Julie, it was enough to send an unsettling ripple through her composure. Her stomach tightened as the thought took root, her mind spinning despite her efforts to shake it off. It wasn’t as though you’d crossed any lines; you were simply being your warm, charismatic self, engaging and open as always. Yet, that fleeting glance tapped into insecurities she thought she had buried, doubts lingering like shadows even amid her trust in both you and Natty.

Julie took a steadying breath, trying to refocus as she observed the scene, almost as if from a distance. Within her, a delicate balance of pride and vulnerability settled—a quiet mix of loyalty and uncertainty that she held onto as the evening continued around her.

Forcing a neutral expression, she tried to suppress the unease that draped over her like a heavy cloak. The room buzzed with laughter and teasing, yet it was becoming harder for her to fully engage. Each time you threw your head back in laughter, your charm seemed to grow under the admiring gaze of her friends. A pang of doubt fluttered in her chest, a quiet ambivalence tugging at the edges of her mind.

Soon, the conversation shifted to relationships—a topic Belle was particularly excited to explore. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned forward, her smile playful and a bit too eager. “So, what’s it like dating Julie unnie?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “Is she totally whipped for you?” The room erupted in laughter, and Julie felt warmth creeping up her cheeks—a comment that would normally roll off her back but now struck a tender nerve. Should she let it go? She clenched her jaw, forcing a tight smile.

Natty joined in, her usual boldness paired with an audacious smirk. “She's the leader of our group,” she said, glancing at you with a teasing glint, “but I bet you call all the shots at home. I can’t imagine her being in charge over you.”

You didn’t respond right away, and the group took your silence as confirmation, murmuring their agreement with amused grins. Haneul, ever the instigator, jumped in with laughter, egging on the playful ribbing. “Oh, for sure! Julie unnie, the one in control everywhere except with you,” she teased, nudging you with a wink.

The jests and laughter swirled around Julie like rising waves, each remark chipping away at her composure. She glanced anxiously at you, waiting—hoping—for you to step in and defend her, to assert the truth of your relationship and challenge their playful assumptions. But instead, you chuckled along with them, a casual shrug signaling that, to you, it was all just lighthearted banter. Seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, and her stomach knotted tightly.

Your silence felt like a quiet betrayal. Why would you let them see her in such a simplistic, inaccurate way? How could you stand by, leaving the depth and nuances of your relationship blurred by their teasing?

A slow heat builds within Julie, anger bubbling beneath the surface, though she covers it with an artificial laugh, going along with the banter for the sake of appearances. Inwardly, her thoughts race, composing pointed retorts and fierce arguments she plans to unleash later. The laughter continues to fill the room, but joy feels painfully out of reach. She clutched the edge of your drink a bit tighter, hoping it’ll keep her grounded, but the jealousy from earlier and frustration continue to churn within, casting shadows that refuse to dissipate.

When the night finally winds down, and her friends’ laughter fades to soft goodbyes, Julie and you step out into the cool night air. The chill hits her like a sharp wave, bracing against her skin and momentarily clearing her head. But the fresh air does little to ease the simmering frustration that has been building inside her all evening.

The moment the door thuds shut behind her and you, cutting off the final echoes of laughter, the tension inside her snaps, unraveling the careful restraint she held all night. She turns to you, words tumbling out like a dam finally broken. “What the hell was that back there?” Her voice is low, sharp, and cold as it slices through the quiet of the night.

You blink, taken aback by the intensity in her tone. “What are you talking about?” you ask, confusion and concern mixing in your voice.

She crosses her arms, instinctively tightening them across her chest as if holding herself together against the flood of emotions threatening to spill. “You just sat there and let them say all that crap,” she spits, her voice trembling despite its force. “They were making me out to be a pushover, like I’m some kind of doormat at home. And you didn’t defend me—not once! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

Your eyes widen as realization sinks in, and guilt begins to weave through your thoughts. You open your mouth to respond, but she cuts you off before you can form the words. Taking a step closer, she looks up at you, her eyes glistening with restrained anger and hurt. “I expected you to set the record straight. To tell them that’s not who I am. But instead, you just… laughed along. Like it was all true.”

The accusation hangs heavy in the chilly air, each word settling deep. You feel the pang of guilt flicker across your face as you reach out, hesitating, searching for the right thing to say. But her gaze stops you, piercing and unwavering, a mix of anger and wounded pride. Beneath her anger, you see a raw sense of betrayal that gnaws at her, aching and exposed. This was supposed to be the night she introduced you to the people closest to her, the ones who saw her as strong and capable. Instead, she feels as though she’s been reduced to a shallow caricature, her relationship glossed over for the sake of a joke you let slide.

She draws a shaky breath, lowering her arms as she tries to steady herself, grounding the storm that churns inside her. “We’ll talk about this when we get home,” she says, her voice resolute and final, leaving no room for debate. She needs space to process the whirlwind of emotions before anything else can be said.

Your shoulders slump, and you nod silently, regret etching lines across your face. The two of you begin the walk back to your shared apartment in tense silence, each step echoing the growing chasm between you. The usual warmth and ease that bind you feel absent, replaced by a heavy, strained quiet that makes every footfall feel burdensome. The silence amplifies the divide, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, each step stretching the space further.

As you walk, she’s lost in thought, memories of the evening replaying in relentless loops. Every laugh, every teasing remark, and every moment you’d laughed along instead of defending her plays like an unending scene in a theater she can’t escape. Frustration simmers, coiling tightly in her stomach as she tries to understand how you could have missed how deeply it affected her, how your silence felt like a silent endorsement of their jokes.

-----

The familiar sight of your apartment, once a place that buzzed with shared laughter and the comfort of mutual understanding, now looms ahead, transformed into an arena of silent reckoning. Julie’s eyes, which once sparkled with shared secrets and inside jokes, now bore into you with a steely resolve that leaves no room for misinterpretation.

When she speaks, the word hangs in the air like a final verdict. “Strip.”

You find yourself obeying, not out of fear, but out of a deep-seated need to atone for your transgression.

As you undress, the gravity of the situation becomes increasingly palpable. Each article of clothing that hits the floor feels heavier than the last, a testament to your surrender and an acknowledgment of the power dynamics that have shifted so abruptly. The room, usually filled with warmth and comfort, seems to shrink around you, intensifying the awareness of your exposed state. The chair in the center, once ordinary, now holds an ominous presence, its unyielding surface a prelude to the control Julie is about to wield.

Sitting there, naked and vulnerable, your exposure transcends the physical; it becomes a baring of your very soul, a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding. The cool air of the apartment skates over your skin, raising goosebumps and sending shivers racing down your spine. Every sense feels heightened, tuned to the faintest sounds—the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of the floorboards, and the steady rhythm of her movement as she prepares. The anticipation stretches each second into an eternity, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

When Julie finally reemerges, the transformation is striking. Gone is the warm, light-hearted partner who shared laughter with you earlier in the night. In her place stands a figure of dominance, her presence commanding and confident. She is dressed in black, the fabric accentuating her form with precision, glinting subtly as she moves. In her hands are the tools of her trade: silken ropes that promise both comfort and captivity, a spreader bar that signals the extent of your impending restraint, and a gag that will soon silence your words.

Julie’s movements are deliberate, each step resonating through the quiet room. The click of her heels on the hardwood floor becomes a countdown to when your world will narrow to just her and the sensations she chooses to inflict. She pauses in front of you, her gaze sweeping over your form with a look that is both critical and approving. It’s not cruelty in her eyes but satisfaction—a shared acknowledgment of the trust underlying this exchange.

“Hands,” she commands, her voice low and unwavering. You comply immediately, bringing your wrists behind you as she steps closer. The scent of her perfume reaches you, teasing your senses. Her fingers are skilled, weaving the ropes with a practiced ease, the loops snug but not cutting. Each knot holds you firmly in place, ensuring your surrender is complete. The bindings serve as a tangible reminder of your submission, tightening with every subtle shift of your body.

Julie's eyes glinting with mischief as she picks up the gag. She holds it up for a moment, searching your gaze for that final glimmer of acceptance. She moves closer, fitting the gag around your head. The material presses into your lips, silencing any potential words. As the gag muffles your voice, turning your apologies and pleas into soft, incoherent murmurs that fill the room, Julie smiles in satisfaction.

The sensation is disorienting yet electrifying, deepening your vulnerability. With a playful smirk, she reaches for the spreader bar, attaching it firmly, stretching your legs and enhancing the sense of helplessness. You feel the weight of your submission settle in, the world around you narrowing to just her and the anticipation of what comes next.

She steps back to assess her work, the room momentarily filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, now shallow and uneven. The silence stretches, amplifying the thrum of anticipation coursing through you. Her gaze lingers as she runs a finger down your arm, trailing goosebumps in its wake. The spreader bar still lies within reach, a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

“Do you know why you’re in this position?” she asks, her voice slicing through the quiet with a commanding edge. The question hangs in the air, charged with expectation.

You nod, the movement subtle but insistent. Your eyes meet hers, carrying an apology and submission that don’t need words. But the nod alone isn’t enough for her.

“Good,” she whispers, leaning down until her breath warms your skin. “Then you’re going to be a good boy and take everything I give you tonight. Understand?”

You nod again, more fervently this time, the gag pressing against your mouth as you do. Your heart thunders as her words echo in your mind, sending a pulse of anticipation through you that makes every nerve in your body come alive. Her lips curl into a smirk as she straightens, her eyes never leaving yours.

And with that, the teasing began.

Julie moves with a predator's grace, each step calculated and precise. She brushes against you, her body a whisper against your skin, as she circles the chair like a huntress toying with her prey. Every nerve heightens in suspense, registering each point of contact—her breasts grazing your arm, her hips swaying against your legs. The gag renders your mouth useless, but your eyes betray a silent, unspoken desire.

Her fingers skim lightly over your thighs and stomach, deliberately avoiding your most sensitive areas, savoring the way your body tenses under her touch. Fingernails scrape gently over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"Already squirming," she teases, voice soft yet commanding. "I haven’t even started, and you’re falling apart."

A muffled groan escapes as your body instinctively yearns for more. She revels in your helpless state, bound and utterly under her control. Her fingers dance over your chest, tracing the contours of your muscles before finally grazing the tip of your hardened length. The touch is fleeting, barely enough to satisfy the ache building within, but just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

"So needy already," she murmurs, dark amusement flickering in her eyes as she continues her tantalizing torment. "And I’ve barely touched you."

Julie’s mastery in the art of dominance is clear in the way she commands every inch of your submission, drawing out your reactions like a skilled musician coaxing a melody from each note. She knows the true power lies in denial, in the sweet agony of anticipation. Her hands explore further, tracing the lines of your torso, shifting between feather-light touches and firmer caresses.

The dynamic between you pulses with an electrifying tension, a charged dance of dominance and submission. Without warning, she climbs onto your lap, her thighs bracketing your hips as she straddles you. Her warmth presses against you, her slickness gliding over your length, coating you with her arousal and leaving a heated trail that only deepens the fire within you, threatening to consume you both in its intensity.

Her hips start a slow, deliberate grind, pressing her heat against you in a rhythm that’s both seductive and torturous, a constant teasing friction that only intensifies your need. Each controlled roll of her body against yours sends waves of pleasure rippling through you, spreading outward until every inch of your skin feels alive, hypersensitive to her slightest movement. She holds herself just out of reach, the wetness from her core brushing and slicking along your length, leaving you taut with need, your body practically vibrating with anticipation. Each soft gasp that escapes her lips as she moves only fuels the growing ache within you, driving you to instinctively buck your hips, craving to close the maddening distance, to press deeper into her warmth.

But the restraints binding you to the chair hold fast, forcing you to submit, a stark reminder of your willing captivity. Every strained movement, every pull against the bindings, only sharpens the ache, the urgency growing with each second she remains perched atop you, tantalizingly close but just out of reach.

She catches sight of the glistening evidence of your arousal at your tip, coated in her own slickness, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Leaking already," she murmurs, the tone a mixture of amusement and smug satisfaction. Her eyes gleam with wicked delight, drinking in every bit of evidence of your desire. "So desperate for me… and I haven’t even let you inside. Pathetic."

Her words cut through the fog of arousal, a sharp contrast to the gentleness of her fingers as they begin to wander, tracing languid lines across your chest. Her fingertips drift over your skin with a possessive tenderness, mapping each contour and ridge with expert care. Her nails skim along your muscles, trailing down over the firm lines of your torso and sending jolts of heat to every nerve, her touch both thrilling and maddeningly slow.

She leans in, her breath warm against your neck as she murmurs softly, her voice carrying a tone of command that feels both soft and absolute. Every inch of you responds to her, every nerve straining toward her touch as she masterfully pushes and pulls you between desire and restraint, leading you through a symphony of sensation, teasing you closer and closer to the edge without allowing release.

Your breaths come shallow and ragged, each exhale a silent plea for mercy as your gaze meets hers, desperation clear in your eyes. But there’s a glint of mischief in her expression as she holds you there, a silent acknowledgment that she’s in complete control. She has you—body and mind, bound and utterly at her mercy, while she conducts each sensation with calculated precision.

In one swift, unexpected move, she rises from your lap, leaving you throbbing, trembling with unfulfilled longing. The sudden absence of her warmth is jarring, a shock that leaves you gasping as your body craves her all the more. Helpless, you watch as she steps back, just out of reach, her gaze sweeping over you with a look of calm satisfaction, savoring the power she holds. She’s a goddess in her own right, basking in the way you devour her with your eyes, the silent worship etched across every fiber of your being.

With a fluid gesture, Julie blindfolds you, plunging you into darkness where every other sense sharpens. "You don’t get to beg with your eyes anymore," she murmurs, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You’ll just have to feel." Deprived of sight, every whisper of her movement against your skin intensifies, turning each caress into a new form of exquisite torture.

She kneels down and her hand wraps firmly around your shaft, motionless yet charged with intent. You can feel the beat of your own pulse against her palm, each rhythmic throb amplifying the ache within you. She holds you just like that, unhurried, letting the tension build until every second feels like an eternity.

Then, almost imperceptibly, her arm began to move. Each stroke is a maddening tease—soft, deliberate, and just enough to make your muscles clench with anticipation, but never enough to bring you the release you crave. She slides her hand upward, a slow and torturous ascent that ignites every nerve along the way, until she stops just below the tip. Her grip tightens just a little, holding you there, keeping you on edge, her control turning your desire into a relentless pulse.

After a breathless pause, she reverses course, moving just as slowly down to the base and stopping again. The deliberate rhythm—up, pause, down, pause—leaves you trembling, body taut and shivering under the command of her touch. Each hold, each slight squeeze, feels like both a promise and a denial, the tension building with every passing second. It’s a masterful, torturous dance, and you’re ensnared in her control, helpless yet entranced by her command over your senses.

Her lips part in a sly smile "Look at you," she murmurs, her voice low and honeyed. "So hard, so ready and I decide when you’re satisfied." Her words are a silken reminder of her power, and the restraint she demands makes the desire inside you swell even further, twisting with both longing and surrender.

Just when the suspense is unbearable, she leans closer, her breath grazing your length, warm and tantalizing. The soft, steady rhythm of her exhale sends ripples of heat through you, and the contrast between her closeness and the aching need intensifies the tension coiling within. Her breath lingers, teasing, as if savoring every second of the anticipation.

Then, her lips brush lightly against the tip, a feather-soft kiss that makes your entire body jolt in response. In that instant, a drop of anticipation escapes, and she notices, her gaze fixated on each pulse of your member. She dips her head, the tip of her tongue darting out just enough to scoop the small drop, her touch maddeningly gentle.

Her tongue traces the tiniest, deliberate flick across the sensitive skin, collecting the bead with exquisite care. Each soft, restrained stroke of her tongue stokes the fire within, leaving you teetering on the edge of release yet held back, her control absolute. Each touch is measured, perfectly calculated to keep you suspended between need and surrender, an unrelenting tease that keeps you helplessly ensnared.

Your muscles strain against the bonds that hold you, your body surrendering to the exquisite torment she inflicts. The pride that once stiffened your spine melts under her touch, leaving you utterly exposed and vulnerable. In this game of pleasure and restraint, Julie is the undisputed master.

"What a pathetic mess," she taunts, amusement lacing her voice as she revels in her dominion over your body. "You tower me and yet I can make you crumble with just a touch." Her words cut both as a rebuke and a compliment, a testament to her irresistible allure.

With each slow stroke along your shaft and each flick of her tongue over the sensitive tip, she brings you to the very edge of release, only to pull back, leaving you teetering on the brink of bliss. Your body arches, straining against the restraints, desperate for the ultimate surrender that only she can offer.

Then, without warning, she stops.

Julie stands back, posture exuding a blend of amusement and authority, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she watches your frustrated contortions. Her eyes glint with mischief, sparkling like sunlight on an unruly sea, as she takes in the sight of you squirming under the weight of your desire. The tension thickens, a palpable pulse wrapping around you both, amplifying every flicker of energy flowing between you.

“You want to cum so badly, don’t you?” she taunts, her voice dropping to a low, sultry purr that resonates in the core of your being, each syllable dripping with seduction. The words hang in the air, tantalizing and laced with playful command, pulling you even deeper into her orbit. She leans closer, her warm breath brushing against your skin, strengthening the connection that crackles between you.

“Beg for it,” she continues, her tone turning sharper, though still steeped in teasing allure. “Apologize for what you did to me earlier.” Her eyes narrow, challenging you to surrender, to embrace the vulnerability simmering just beneath the surface. The power dynamic dances between you, electric and heady, anticipation swirling like a cyclone that leaves you breathless, utterly captivated by her control.

Your response is a garbled attempt at speech, the gag reducing your words to incomprehensible murmurs. Yet the desperation is unmistakable, a raw testament to the intensity of your need.

Julie chuckles softly, her breath hot and laced with playful mischief as she leans in, her lips hovering near your ear. The warmth radiating from her skin sends a shiver down your spine, heightening the tension simmering between you.

“I can’t understand you,” she teases, voice low and sultry, each word leaving a trail of excitement in the still air. Her playful tone cuts through the intensity, a lightness that only sharpens the edge of the moment. A mischievous grin dances across her lips, a blend of challenge and allure that sets your heart racing.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” she purrs, her eyes bright with mischief. The space between you crackles with unspoken desire as you struggle to respond, caught in the spell she weaves. Julie’s confidence and sass infuse the moment with an infectious thrill, holding you captive in a deliciously precarious game of cat and mouse.

With renewed urgency, you try again to plead, your muffled cries growing more frantic. But Julie’s smirk remains, her head shaking in silent refusal as she drinks in your pleas, delight flickering in her gaze.

The seconds stretch, each one a small eternity that settles heavily on your consciousness. The yearning inside intensifies, a silent plea for release that feels like a prayer. Each minute seems to stretch further, blending into a timeless void filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your heart.

Julie watches with an intensity that’s both unsettling and thrilling, her gaze tracking every twitch, every involuntary shudder that runs through you. She seems to derive a certain pleasure from this power, this control she holds over you.

Then, as if guided by an impulsive whim or sensing a subtle shift within you, her demeanor changes. Her fingers, which have been teasing around your length, suddenly tighten around your shaft. The warmth of her palm contrasts sharply with the cool air, the pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

In an instant her hand begins to move in deliberate, fast strokes. Each motion is a symphony of sensation, a calculated descent into the depths of pleasure. Your muscles coil like a spring, tension mounting with every pass of her hand.

The room fills with the sound of your muffled moans, the gag doing little to stifle the raw, animalistic noises escaping your throat. Parched from panting, forming words becomes impossible, but your body speaks for you, each tremor a language of pure need. Your back arches, every fiber straining against the crescendo of sensation threatening to overwhelm.

Then, with a suddenness that’s both startling and inevitable, the wave of release crashes over you. After the relentless teasing and countless moments held just on the brink, the sensation is nothing short of explosive. It’s as though every nerve in your body has been ignited, the intense buildup finally finding its release in a torrent that consumes you completely. The climax is powerful and shuddering, each pulse deeper and more overwhelming than the last, streaking across your stomach and chest as Julie angles you just so, letting every drop land exactly where she intended.

The sensation is almost blinding, leaving you trembling in its wake. The sheer force of release leaves your muscles shuddering, as if they’re catching up to the relief they’ve been denied for so long. Your breaths come in sharp gasps, each one echoing the intensity of everything you’ve been holding back. Every ounce of tension unwinds, cascading through your limbs until you feel weightless, utterly spent.

As the aftershocks ripple through you, your head was buzzing, the world narrowed to the warmth and satisfaction coursing through your body. Julie’s hand slows, her touch soft and almost reverent as she loosens her grip, fingers tracing gentle circles along your skin. Her gaze lingers over the evidence of her careful work, a quiet triumph in her eyes as she takes in the effect she’s had on you, savoring each tremor and shallow breath.

You thought you were done, that the punishment had finally matched the crime, but you couldn't have been more wrong. The game is far from over.

The air hangs heavy with the scent of leather and the unmistakable musk of arousal, filling the space between you. Julie’s fingers work with expert precision as she reaches for the buckle behind your head, the slick click of metal releasing the ball gag from your mouth breaking the tense silence. As the gag falls away, you gasp for air, your chest heaving with a sharp, grateful intake, savoring the rush of cool air against your parched throat—a fleeting relief from the intensity she’s kept you under.

But she allows you no time to settle. Her fingers glide up to the blindfold, and with a quick tug, she pulls it away, letting light spill into your vision. Your eyes squint and blink, adjusting to the sudden brightness after so long in darkness, the details of the room coming back into focus in a dazed, almost surreal clarity. Julie’s face comes into view, her gaze heavy with satisfaction, her expression carrying the weight of everything she’s just put you through.

In one fluid motion, she gathers the overwhelming evidence of your surrender—your release, slick, warm and copious in her hand, holding it up between you, letting the light catch it as if it were some prized possession. Her eyes, dark and filled with a knowing glint, meet yours, and the look she gives you is laced with pride, satisfaction, and a sense of complete ownership that sends another shiver down your spine.

Her expression speaks volumes, a blend of triumph and control, as if marking this moment as her own creation. The silence stretches, laden with all the unspoken promises she’s fulfilled, and the intensity of her gaze makes it clear that she isn’t done with you yet.

“Open,” she commands, her voice a silky rasp that brooks no disobedience. Your lips part instinctively, the submissive reflex inside you responding to her dominance. Slowly, deliberately, she tips her hand, letting the viscous fluid slide over your tongue. The taste is salty, bitter—a potent reminder of your surrender.

"Keep it there until I say otherwise," she instructs, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. You nod slightly, eyes wide, a blend of fear, excitement, and adoration clouding your gaze. A soft whine escapes you, a sound that speaks volumes about your submission.

Her hand resumes its relentless rhythm on your sensitive member, merciless in its pace, drawing you back to the peak of pleasure despite the sharp, overstimulated ache that borders on pain. Each jolt that courses through your body makes you feel your vulnerability tenfold. The strength you once prided yourself on is gone, leaving you trembling, utterly at her mercy.

“Keep squirming” she purrs, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she revels in the sight of you reduced to this state. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your body twitches under her touch, control completely relinquished to her hands. The overstimulation is overwhelming, but stopping is a luxury she’s denied you, and you’re left trapped in an intoxicating blend of ecstasy and agony that only she can navigate.

Julie’s eyes, darkened with unrestrained desire, stay locked onto yours as her slick hand works you closer and closer. But there’s no comfort in her gaze, only dominance and satisfaction as she sees you fall apart under her touch. She leans in, a mocking smile on her lips. “Look at you—just a mess. Can’t even handle a little girl like me.”

The pressure builds unbearably, each second a dizzying rush that overwhelms you. Your face twists in desperation, begging silently for her mercy as her pace continues. Just when you think you can’t bear it anymore, your control shatters, a raw moan escapes you as a couple drops of liquid spills from your lips onto your chest as your release is forced from you again.

But Julie only smirks, her hand still working with an unrelenting rhythm, refusing to give you even a moment’s reprieve. She watches, amused, as you whimper and struggle beneath her, her mocking voice low and taunting. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

Your eyes widen, pleading, but she doesn’t relent. The sensitivity has your body spasming under her touch, every nerve frayed as she pushes you toward a second release, knowing it will push you past all limits. You can only submit, powerless as she drives you quickly over the edge again.

With a broken moan that quickly crescendos into a loud, uncontrollable cry, your body surrenders, releasing one last time in a shuddering wave. The climax is so overwhelming that your muscles, usually clenching tight in moments like this, go limp under her dominance. The sensation crashes over you, leaving your mind blank and your body helplessly convulsing.

As the intensity peaks, your previous release spills from your mouth, dripping down to your chest and mingling with the sweat beading your skin. The warm, slick mess spreads across your torso, the sensation amplifying the vulnerability coursing through you. Every fiber of your being is overtaken, leaving you quivering and trembling as she finally eases her grip. You collapse, utterly spent and broken before her, breaths coming in ragged gasps as the overstimulation echoes through your limbs.

Julie’s eyes never leave yours as she leans in, claiming your mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss that leaves you gasping. She pulls back with a sharp smirk, then spits harshly onto your chest, the suddenness of it making you shudder as the warmth mixes with the already smeared fluids. The act stings with raw dominance, each drop marking her claim. Slowly, she drags her fingers through the blend, smearing it purposefully across your skin. Each stroke is deliberate, a cool reminder of her power as her touch lingers over your heaving chest, spreading the warmth until it clings to every inch of you.

“There,” she murmurs with a smirk, voice a perfect blend of pride and satisfaction. “Now you’ll remember exactly who owns you.”

Julie rises slowly, her fingers gliding down your chest, pausing to press lightly where your heartbeat betrays your surrender. She steps back, her eyes sweeping over you—bound to the chair, hands secured tightly behind your back, legs spread wide by the bar at your ankles. Every inch of you is exposed, vulnerable, and yet there’s no desire to resist. The calmness settles deeper, the certainty of yielding to her undeniable.

A small, satisfied smile plays at the corner of her lips as she studies you, taking in the way the ropes hold you exactly where she wants. Her gaze fixes on you with a confidence that’s unbreakable. “This,” she says, her tone soft yet edged with command, “is exactly where you belong. Tied up, under my control, waiting for my command. You don’t get to call the shots here—that’s my role.” Her words settle over you, embedding themselves like an invisible mark, a seal on the surrender you feel.

She steps behind you, her hands resting firmly on your shoulders, anchoring you in her presence. She begins to knead away the last traces of tension, her fingers firm yet gentle, drawing you deeper into her influence. A shiver races down your spine as she leans close, her breath warm against your ear.

“Think about tonight,” she murmurs, her voice both soft and unshakable, as though each word is settling into you. “Think about how easily you yield, how completely you become mine, just as you are right now. Because this”—her nails trail lightly down your back, drawing a sharp breath from you—“is how things will be. In this house, and anywhere else we go.”

Her hands slide back to your wrists, her fingers deftly working to untie the ropes that have held you so tightly. She moves with care, releasing each bond one by one, each motion a reminder of her control. Even as the ropes fall away, the feeling of being held by her command remains. She moves to your front, kneeling to remove the spreader bar from your ankles, her fingers brushing your skin lightly, each touch a reminder that it’s her choice to free you, her decision.

Once free, you feel the urge to stretch, but her gaze roots you to the spot, grounding you in her authority. Her eyes stay fixed on you, unwavering, and without a word, the weight of her expectation presses down. It’s instinctive—you feel yourself slowly sinking down, lowering to your knees before her, your hands coming to rest at your sides.

Julie steps closer, her fingers reaching for your chin. She tilts your head up, bringing your eyes to meet hers, and the weight of her command settles even deeper within you.

“This,” she says, her thumb brushing softly over your jawline, “is exactly where you belong—at my feet, waiting for my word. I want you to see who’s in control, who makes the choices. And every time you look at me like this, you’ll remember that every action, every decision, is mine.” Her fingers tighten just slightly, her gaze holding yours with a depth that leaves no room for doubt.

You nod subtly, the acceptance in your gaze mirroring her certainty. Her hold on your chin remains, her fingers pressing a little firmer, reinforcing the truth she’s just spoken. “I don’t want you to just obey. I want you to feel it, to know that every inch of you is mine to command. You stay when I say stay. You move when I allow it. Understand?”

The air is thick with her authority, her words pressing into you, reinforcing her control in every possible way. You nod then finally, she releases your chin.

She smiles, her satisfaction evident. “Good,” she murmurs, watching you closely. “Get up and go clean yourself. Then meet me in bed. We're going to discuss your behavior at the dorm.”

You rise slowly, each movement a reminder of the boundaries she’s drawn. As you turn toward the bathroom, you feel her gaze lingering, following you like a weight that holds you in place even as you walk away. And when the door clicks shut behind you, the image of her small, knowing smile remains etched in your mind—a reminder of the perfect place she’s found for you, right where she intended.

[fratttymatty]

A Recipe For Transformation

(All characters are 18+)

Maxwell Harris, a 35-year-old chef, had spent the better part of his adult life building a quiet, nerdy, and comfortable existence. A self-proclaimed introvert with an encyclopedic knowledge of culinary history, he found his solace in the kitchen. His restaurant, The Pantry's Secret, wasn’t a Michelin-star establishment, but it was cozy, warm, and a favorite for those who appreciated simple yet delicious dishes. Maxwell was never much for trends. He had a small but loyal following on Instagram, mostly of people who admired his rustic food and quirky cooking videos.

Maxwell was also gay. Though he’d never made a big deal out of it, his romantic life was something he kept private. A few dates here and there, nothing too serious, and that was how he liked it—comfortable and familiar.

But everything changed one ordinary Tuesday evening when Maxwell found himself scrolling mindlessly through his phone after a long day of plating plates and dicing onions. He’d heard of TikTok before—mostly from his teenage nieces and the occasional viral dance clip—but he’d never really bothered to check it out. That night, curiosity got the better of him. He downloaded the app on a whim and started browsing. And that’s when he saw it: a video of a guy with perfect abs flipping pancakes while flexing his muscles and grinning at the camera. The caption read: “Who says you can’t cook and look this good? 😎 #chef #fyp.”

Maxwell didn’t know what to make of it, but something stirred inside of him. It wasn’t just the muscles or the smirk that caught his attention. There was something about the sheer confidence of the guy, the effortless charisma that he seemed to radiate. For the first time in a long time, Maxwell felt an odd mix of fascination and envy.

He didn’t think much of it, until he went to bed that night. As he drifted off to sleep, the faces and poses of those TikTok "influencers" played on loop in his mind, each one more dazzling than the last.

When Maxwell woke up the next morning, everything was wrong. His reflection in the bathroom mirror was no longer his own. The first thing he noticed was his skin—it was flawless, tanned, and golden, like he’d spent every summer outdoors. His face had changed too—his jawline was sharp, his cheekbones were high, and there was no sign of the nerdy, bespectacled man he had once been. His hair, once brown and slightly messy, was now thick and dark brown, styled perfectly into a tousled, beachy wave. And the body… Maxwell’s once-soft belly had been replaced by tight, defined muscles. He was tall, lean, and impossibly athletic. There was no trace of the chef he had been.

“Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath, and the voice that came out of his mouth was deep, confident, and undeniably… cocky.

He wasn’t Maxwell Harris anymore. He was Blake Harper—a name that felt right somehow, and a persona that seemed to fit his new body. For a moment, panic flickered in his chest. How was this possible? Was he dreaming? Was this some kind of sick joke? But no matter how many times he splashed cold water on his face, the reflection didn’t change. He was stuck. But the strange thing was, part of him didn’t even care. He was too mesmerized by his new appearance to be truly upset.

Maxwell—now Blake—stared at himself in awe. He felt an overwhelming sense of confidence that had never existed before. The kitchen he once loved, with its knives and pots, felt distant. In fact, the thought of returning to the mundane routine of chopping vegetables made him cringe. Instead, his attention was drawn back to his phone, where TikTok still lingered open on his screen.

Blake found himself scrolling through thirst traps, videos of shirtless men flexing their muscles and showing off their abs, all while cooking something ridiculously simple like ramen or grilled cheese. The odd mixture of food and body worship was bizarrely captivating.

Without even thinking, Blake started recording. He pulled on his old chef’s apron and, despite the oddness of it, stood in front of his kitchen counter. The camera began rolling as he confidently slid off his shirt, leaving only the apron to cover his lower half. He flexed, turned sideways, then poured olive oil into a pan with exaggerated slowness, all while making eye contact with the camera.

He added a winking emoji and a hashtag: #FYP #chefmode #StayHungry

When he posted it, he didn’t expect much. But within an hour, his phone exploded. Notifications piled up—likes, comments, and follows. His face grinned, not with his old nerdy charm, but with the cocky, entitled smirk of someone who knew they had the world at their feet. It was exhilarating.

Blake was officially a TikTok sensation.

Within weeks, Blake’s account skyrocketed. His videos got millions of views, and his followers were constantly sending in requests for more. He filmed himself making simple dishes while casually stripping off his shirt, flexing and posing, all while maintaining an air of effortless cool. His followers adored him. They showered him with compliments, thirsting over his abs, his jawline, his seemingly perfect life.

But there was something even stranger happening in Blake’s mind. As he scrolled through his For You Page, the algorithm slowly changed to reflect his new persona. The thirst traps weren’t from guys anymore. They were all from women. Beautiful, athletic women, doing everything from gym workouts to sultry dances to bikini shoots. His mind, once attuned to male attraction, was now tuned in to the allure of these women, and it felt right.

Blake didn’t just stop with cooking either. He started wearing less and less, showing off his athletic build, and posting videos of him lifting weights or doing pushups in his kitchen with nothing but an apron and a cocky grin. The thirst traps flowed endlessly, and he reveled in the attention. His followers—mostly women—were obsessed with him.

And then, one day, he noticed a particular woman’s name in his DMs. Maya Lopez. Her profile was full of glamorous pictures: her looking effortlessly stunning in dresses, lounging in parks, and posing in cute, fashionable outfits. Maya wasn’t built like the athletes or fitness influencers he’d grown accustomed to—she had a perfectly slim, graceful figure, with soft curves that made her look effortlessly elegant. Blake found himself intrigued by her sweetness, her calm confidence, and the way her beauty shone through without trying too hard.

They started chatting, and it was effortless. Maya was everything Blake found himself drawn to now: confident, kind, and undeniably attractive. Blake no longer cared about his past relationships with men. Maya was everything he wanted now, and he was more than happy to pursue it.

Blake and Maya met for their first date a week later. Blake, dressed in a tight t-shirt that showed off his sculpted abs and a leather jacket, stood waiting for Maya at the restaurant. Maya arrived, wearing a fitted dress that accentuated her slim, feminine figure, and Blake couldn’t help but be taken aback by her beauty.

They spent the evening laughing, exchanging stories of their lives, and sneaking flirtatious glances. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and by the end of the night, Blake knew he was more than just physically attracted to her. He was falling for her.

As they walked out of the restaurant, Blake leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “I’m not just the chef, you know,” he said with a grin. “I’m also the guy who’s going to make you feel like the queen you are.”

Maya smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. “We’ll see about that, Chef Blake. I’m not easy to impress.”

Blake’s grin widened. “Challenge accepted.”

Blake Harper, the former introverted chef, had completely embraced his new identity. He had the body, the looks, the charisma, and the woman of his dreams. His TikTok following grew exponentially as he continued to post thirst traps, flexing his muscles in the kitchen, making simple dishes while casually showing off his abs.

Maxwell Harris was long gone, replaced by a man who had it all—confidence, popularity, and Maya by his side. The past life he had built, with its quiet nights and simple joys, no longer seemed relevant.

And as Blake posted yet another shirtless video, his phone buzzing with likes and comments, he couldn’t help but feel that this was the life he was always meant to lead. No looking back.

[peachsayshi]

Hi, I really like ur page and i was wondering if i could request a beach day with dad gojo?? I think this would be wholesome😭💕

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

⥽ notes: some tooth rotting fluff for you nonnie! cw children; reader and gojo are parents of two; alternate au where things are only happy; satoru is a retired sorcerer; I mention that satoru's hair is a bit long but that's because I actually hc him growing it out slightly after retiring - requests for dad gojo prompts are still open.

love consumes your daily life. it comes in the form of good morning kisses, in messy rooms, in vibrant chatter that never seems to end, in tears, in a stack of dirty dishes, in folding clothes for a family of four. it manifests itself in various ways - and no matter where the pendulum swings between how good or bad it can feel, you go to sleep every night eternally grateful.

today's sky is clear and vibrant, saturated in a blue that mirrors the expanding horizon. waves crash along the shore, the subtle breeze whipping back and forth.

a morning at the beach was just what you needed. a nice break away from the demands of your day to day life. the heat teasingly kisses your exposed skin, despite you being hidden under the giant umbrella.

you inhale with gratitude, breathing the salt in the air.

by your side is your daughter, whose now a year and half. her white hair is pulled into two pigtails, her cheeks a rosy pink. she's sitting upright, her big eyes focusing on her toy tools as she shovels the grains of sand by your side.

you mindlessly lean forward to kiss the top of her head, pushing your sunglasses away from your face to glance toward the horizon.

your heart flutters at the sight of your husband whose tall, muscular body stands firm like a marble statue in the distance. your son is on his shoulders, his hands lightly gripping his father's hair, as satoru trails a path back and forth along the sea bed.

no one would be able to tell that your son is actually quite tall for his age, not when he looks so small next to his father.

your daughter noises out "dada" as she follows your gaze, pointing her shovel towards them and flicking tiny granulates of sand up ahead.

once upon a time your life wasn't quite like this, so you absorb the seconds like a sponge.

you spend some time building sand castles with your daughter, who rejects the concept of dimensional shapes and prefers the art of rustic mounds instead. you're both so engrossed in your little activity, that you barely hear satoru and your son walk towards you.

"mama!" your son squeals, his hands clutched tight into two fists as he nearly kicks the mound that you've both been carefully crafting together.

"easy, my love!" you giggle, glancing up at him with affection.

he looks so much like satoru, you think. his eyes may be yours, but satoru's genes fought hard for that claim with a streak of blue piercing through his left iris. he has the same cute little nose, and a massive grin that brightens up his whole face.

the only stark difference is with his hair color, which was simply a lighter shade of yours.

"m'sorry!" he politely replies, adjusting his position as you circle one arm around him. "I gotta show you!" he opens both fists, where he holds two beautiful shells. "one's for you, mama. and the other is for akemi!"

"oh, these are beautiful, jun!" you coo, taking each shell from his hand. you already know exactly where you'll keep them, one sitting on your vanity and the other you'll attach onto the decorative mobile in akemi's room.

you place both shells carefully into the beach bag and pick up jun's thermos. he plops down right beside you and happily takes it from your hand.

meanwhile, satoru finds his place on the towel, his long arms scooping up akemi into the contours of chest.

you run your fingers through jun's wet hair, pushing it away from his face as you watch him drink water. akemi babbles by your side while satoru continues whispering the sweetest words into her ear.

"how's my pretty girl? you having fun making sand castles with mama?" he coos, rubbing the tip of his red rose against hers. their blushed faces mirroring one another.

akemi giggles and kisses her father in return.

"we should be heading back soon," you state, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news but knowing full well that the afternoon heat will be far too much for young daughter.

satoru and jun both turn to look at you, tiny pouts forming on their mouths as their shoulders slump.

"do we have'ta, mama?" jun mumbles.

"yes, but how about we get some ice cream first before we go?"

"oh! I could do with some ice cream!" satoru replies, too busy making a silly face at akemi to pull another laugh out of her.

jun moves closer to them, practically crawling on his father's lap as he raises the thermos victoriously like he won an epic battle.

"I want ice cream too!"

satoru gathers him in his arms as well, placing him on his lap to cradle his two babies together.

another burst of love runs through you, one that settles deep within your soul.

you allow father, son and daughter to bond while you carefully pack up all your things. by the time satoru puts them down, you're almost finished.

you stand up to stretch your legs, your husband following your footsteps and slipping his arms around your waist to spin you in his direction while jun and akemi take a second to destroy the sand castle that you were building earlier.

"hey, hot stuff," he teases under his breath, greeting you like it's the first time he's seen you all day. "missed you out in the water"

"nu-uh, mister," you playfully scold, "your smooth talking isn't going to excuse you from the near heart attack you gave me when you dunked jun in earlier..."

satoru arches forward to kiss your cheek, "lighten up, mama. you know our babies are in perfectly safe hands with me,"

you shake your head, a musing smile making your cheeks feel tight. you bring one hand up to twirl a strand of satoru's hair, while the pads of your other fingers lightly grazes over the blades of his undercut.

you scratch the back of his head lovingly, "I know they are"

two arms wrap around your leg, and you look down to find jun resting his chin on your thigh while looking up at you with curiosity. "mama, can we get the ice cream now?"

you shift your gaze to satoru, the tiny moment of privacy fleeting as love makes it's presence known once again.

"you guys head over to the shop, while I pack up the stuff. I'll meet you there."

with that, you carry akemi in your arms while you hold jun's hand. the three of you stroll away from your space of sanctuary towards the ice cream shop.

you greet the owner, his familiar face clocking your own. the last time you saw him was on your honeymoon with satoru. the man's face beams with pride as he looks at your children, witnessing how much has bloomed around you since.

you order everyone's ice cream, and he graciously offered akemi's tiny scoop free of charge.

you're seated at the booth, watching jun devour his chocolate soft serve while akemi's lips turn orange nibbling at her peach sorbet. satoru finally walks in, clad in a unbuttoned short sleeve shirt that he wears over his swim trunks. he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the longer layers back and away from his face to reveal his handsome features.

"papa, hurry up! you're ice cream will melt!" jun calls out, and you kindly shush him as to not disturb the other customers.

thankfully, it was a young couple and two older women who simply laugh at the interaction.

satoru slips into the booth right next you, his arm automatically curling around your waist while his free hand lifts the cone that you've been holding for him.

he dramatically licks around the swirl of vanilla, making jun and akemi laugh with his animated reaction.

you both find one another then, the root of your love at the forefront.

suddenly, everything else disappears, and it's just the four of you suspended in time. satoru leans down to steal a kiss, his sugary lips slightly cold, and you return the gesture tenderly.

"ewwwwww" jun interrupts, scrunching his nose in disgust.

the spark fizzles, but that's alright. you know full well that you and your husband have the night to make up for it.

satoru looks at his son with cheeky astonishment. "eww?! really, jun? how do you think you got here in the first place?"

you playfully slap your husband's chest, while your son shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with his innocence brushing over satoru's comment.

"dunno, ask mama"

satoru's jaw goes slack, a disapproving expression overcoming him. "ask mama? as if your papa had nothing to do with it, huh?"

"well, I came from her tummy not yours" your son answers quite matter of factly, giving your husband a sassy look as if he knows better.

you bring your fingers to your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at his wild comment and rest your cheek against satoru's shoulders, listening to father and son banter while the exhaustion from the day trickles in slowly.

you close your eyes for only a moment when the silence settles in.

satoru leans you both back against the plush surface of the sofa.

"tired, angel?"

"mhmm," you agree, "but today was perfect."

he smiles, his cerulean eyes shifting to jun and akemi finishing up their treats.

you're not the only one who finds themselves thankful.

"yeah," he murmurs, squeezing your waist in confirmation, "yeah, it really was."

note: I am not accepting any new requests. if you're interested in seeing what kind of requests I am accepting - please check the "rules" and "upcoming" links on my pinned.

[billielolly]

Sims 3 Build - Relaxation Retreat

A vibrant family home full of opportunities for fun and relaxation, with plenty of space for a budding gardener. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, on a 30x40 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/-7bnRL8bAsA

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/111265768/

Exchange:

Expansion packs:

Ambitions

Late Night ?

Generations

Pets

Supernatural

Seasons

University Life

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

Stones Throw Greenhouse - Greenhouse Window, Greenhouse Roof Center

Custom content:

heaven - Neutral Slate Roof with White Trim

missyzim - Neoclassic Build Set (Tall Wide 2x1, Tall Wide 1 Tile, Counter High 1 Tile, Tall 1 Tile)

Cakenoodles - 13pumpkin Rustic Wood Floor

Angela - Aiden Buildset 3x1 Arch

Martassimsbook - MyCupOfCC Hot Tub

Onyxium - Jena Bathroom Accessories (Reed Diffuser, Soap Dispenser, Toilet Brush, Tooth Brushes)

Mutske - Toiletroom Aria Toilet Paperholder

Gosik - Kobe Bathroom Towels 2

Martassimsbook - cmdesigns Anemone Bathroom Set Candle

Martassimsbook - Ars-botanica Cup of Pansies

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

Mutske - Plant Palm Large

sim_man123 - Emerson Ficus Tree

Martassimsbook - novvvas Planties pt3 (Ficus Lyrata V1, Ficus Elastica, Monstera Deliciosa)

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild My Home Set (Hanging Pothos Plant)

ATS3 - Kitchen Herbs (Basil)

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

johziii - Irene Lamp

NynaeveDesign - Lyne Curtains (Curtains 1x1 Left, Curtains 1x1 Right, Curtains 2x1, Curtains 3x1, Rod)

ArtVitalex - Kalkgrund Mirror

Onyxium - Gibsonton Bed

Martassimsbook - Lorelea Floral Paintings

ArtVitalex - April Kitchen

ArtVitalex - Glen Mirror

Angela - Michelle Bedroom Mirror

ArtVitalex - Hampton Dining Chair

sweetdevil - More Planters (Prickly Planter)

sweetdevil - More Planters Part 3 (Fancy Box Planter)

Wandering Sims - Wildflower Mix Pattern 4

missyzim - French Country Paintings (Country Floral Painting, French Country Paintings 3, Provencial Painting)

Mutske - Liatorp Palm in Basket

Angela - Simspiration Issue 01 Watering Can

ArtVitalex - Upland Bathroom Accessories (Toilet Brush, Soap Dispenser, Toothbrush and Paste)

Twinsimming - Single Serve Hammock

Crowkeeper - The Cryptic Triptych Paintings (Enchanted)

ArtVitalex - Rowlett Hallway Extra (Key Bowl, Umbrella Holder)

Julietsimscc - Dark Landscapes Artwork

ArtVitalex - Doyle Pen Holder

Lulu265 - Bedford Bedroom Wall Art

deeiutza - Cottage Reading Corner Books

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set Dishsoap

Martassimsbook - Syboulette Millennial Kitchen Fruit Basket

ATS3 - Ceramic Canisters

Dhalsims - EA Ceiling Smoke Alarm

ATS3 - Wall Rack IKEA Fintorp-like

ATS3 - Washing-up Wooden Dish Rack

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild 500 Patrons Gifts Notebooks

Kerrigan House Designs - Belle Epoque Vanity

Martassimsbook - novvvas Mid Century Modern Living Room Books 2

QoAct - Lina Cushion II

sim_man123 - Celea Lily Vase

ATS3 - School Notebooks

ATS3 - Parisian Bistro Chair 4

bioniczombie - Tom Berry Knife Block

Martassimsbook - Chicklet Modern Lenai Patio (Chair, Box Deco)

Martassimsbook - Marvell Breeze Collection Plant

PralineSims - Contemporary Carpet 22

PralineSims - Big Flokati III

PralineSims - Classic Carpet 3

(Optional) zoe22 - Flower Arranging Mod (Table Used)

[pamwritessometimes]

Fridays are for beer and heartbreak

Beau Arlen x Reader

Summary: Your favorite patron’s there to mend your broken heart.

A/N: It's just a little something I came up with the other day. If I'm being honest, I've never seen Big Sky, but I'm a simp for a man in cowboy boots, so... enjoy. 🤍

Warnings: none? oh, maybe that English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day. For what it's worth, it was a relatively nice, sunny day in Montana terms. Sure, my boyfriend declared the final break-up of our relationship, but to be frank, I was utterly unfazed by his antics; we’ve been in an on-again-off-again relationship for a year now. Not that it was serious in the first place. At least, not for him. And, if I’m honest with myself, maybe not for me either. So yeah, it was a relatively okay day.

Still, there’s something about hearing the finality in someone’s voice, even when it’s a toxic someone, that leaves you feeling a little hollow. The break-up itself wasn’t anything spectacular. Just another drawn-out argument that ended with him muttering some lame excuse before walking out. It had happened so many times before that I almost laughed when he slammed the door shut behind himself.

I was free. Really free. But that didn’t stop the ache sitting heavy in my chest.

I pushed through the rest of my day, the usual routine of prepping for the evening rush at the bar. A glance in the mirror told me I looked the part: western boots, worn-in jeans, a dark brown suede jacket I loved more than I probably should, and my hair pulled back just enough to stay out of my face but still look effortless. I should have felt like myself. I was supposed to be this confident, tough woman who didn’t need anyone to mess with her head, but tonight… I just didn’t have the energy to be that.

The bar was packed, as it usually was by this time of the night. The usual crowd was in full swing, with the sound of old country and blues tunes playing from the jukebox and the steady clink of bottles being set on tables. It was one of those oldie bars that still had that charming and rustic atmosphere, like time stilled between its four walls. That night, I stayed behind the counter more than I usually did, letting the other servers handle most of the tables. I wasn’t in the mood to make small talk or listen to the same old stories I’d heard a thousand times. I didn't have the energy for that either.

Then, Beau walked in. Right on schedule.

He had this easy confidence about him, something I noticed the first time he came in months ago. It was in the way he held himself, like he could command a room without trying, but somehow never made a big deal about it. Tall, broad shoulders, chestnut hair that always looked like he just ran a hand through it after a long shift. And those eyes, green, like the pines up in the mountains after the rain.

He always came in around this time on Fridays, right after his shift ended. Sheriff of Helena by day, patron at my bar by night. There was something comforting about the routine of it. Maybe because he was the closest thing I had to a friend here, even though we were more like two people who enjoyed each other’s company but kept everything else at arm’s length. Still, there was always something unspoken between us, something that hung in the air when he sat down at the bar.

Beau slid onto the barstool closest to me, the one he always sat at, and gave me a smile that eased the ache I’d been feeling all damn day.

“Evening” he said in that slow, easy drawl of his, laying his hat on the counter. “How’s it going, darling?”

I forced a smile, pulling a cold beer from behind the bar and sliding it across to him without asking. He always ordered the same thing, and I always had it ready for him.

“Same as always” I replied, but even I could hear the flatness in my voice.

His eyes narrowed a little as he studied me, and I could feel his gaze linger on my slight but easily visible frown. He had a way of seeing through me like he could tell when something was off even before I said anything. 

“You sure about that?” His voice was anything but pushing. It was the way he asked, like he already knew the answer but was giving me a chance to speak first.

I glanced away, grabbing a towel and pretending to wipe down the already squeaky clean countertop. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just… had one of those days, you know.”

Beau took a long sip of his beer, but he didn’t take his eyes off me. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

I let out a breath and leaned on the bar, dropping the towel and meeting his gaze.

“He broke up with me. For real this time.” I hadn’t planned on saying it, but the words came out before I could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow, but there wasn’t any hint of surprise in his face. It’s like he not only knew it was going to happen, but anticipated it too. “You mean, finally?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, a short yet sharp sound that felt good coming out. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Beau didn’t say anything right away. He just sat there, watching me with those damn eyes that made it hard to keep things light. I couldn’t keep anything light with him. Not now, not ever.

There was something deeper there tonight, something that had always simmered between us but felt more dangerous now, like we were toeing a line neither of us had been willing to cross before. 

“You good with that?” His voice was softer now, the edges so much gentler, and it felt like a real, genuine question, not just some small talk or polite chitchat.

“Honestly?” I asked with a sigh ”I’m better off. I know that. But… it still stings, you know?”

Beau nodded, and something flickered in his expression, something almost protective. His gaze softened matching his voice. “You deserve so much better than what he was giving you, darling.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with underlying meanings. I knew what he meant. I knew he wasn’t just talking about my ex, and that’s when the tension snapped into something sharper, something deeper. I felt it in the way he was looking at me now, not as the bartender he chatted with every Friday, but as someone he cared about. But could that be the truth?

Maybe I wasn’t just his bartender either. Maybe we’d been dancing around this for too long. I leaned in slightly, not even realizing I was doing it until I saw his gaze drop to my lips. The bar around us seemed to fade, the noise, the people...none of it mattered in that moment. It was just me and Beau and the weight of everything unsaid between us thick and obvious in the air. 

“You gonna be alright?” he asked finally, and I couldn't help but notice how his voice became an octave lower... intimate in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

“I think so” I whispered.

But my heart was pounding, not from the breakup, but from the way he was looking at me. Like maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for this moment as long as I had.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day.

Thanks for reading! Have a nice day, loves. 🤍

[saphig-iawn]

Made to Play, Forced to Watch

My weekend plan for this doll was set, we were to have a narrative hypnosis session.

I adore these sessions because it not only involves incredibly deep and long form hypnosis, but it treats my subject to an experience unlike anything else.

The last time I had this doll for a narrative session, I sealed her inside a painting, and hung that painting in my bedroom so she could observe the little things I'd get up to in there.

Well, the thought of being on display but completely unable to partake consumed this doll. The whole week fed this fantasy and it grew into something that she just needed to feel.

So, after some gentle fractionation, bringing her down so softly on my lap, she found herself in front of those tall wooden doors.

She knocked, that familiar tremble in her hands. A tremble that knew it was on the cusp on something powerful.

The doors opened on their own, unveiling the grand hallway she had visited before, the warm light of the rustic kitchen aglow at its end.

Then she heard the sound of footsteps coming from the spiral staircase.

A hand gently glided down the bannister, emerald green nails caught the sun spilling in from the skylights.

I came into view. A long satin robe graced the steps, its hems lined with feathers. It was open, revealing a deep green corset, adorned with bows and lace. Stockings and suspenders completed the look.

She felt her heart beating faster.

I alighted the stairs and approached her, my dark auburn hair cascading down my shoulders.

She could feel herself slipping into my eyes, but the feeling my hands taking hers grounded her, like a puppet's strings going taut.

Tacitly, I gently pulled at her hands to bring her with me upstairs.

She was speechless, completely lost in being guided. Her mind was racing but her thoughts were raw. No words could describe the maelstrom that was raging inside her.

We moved into the bedroom, an intimately dark space that felt like it hugged very curve of her, like everything inside those four walls was designed to heighten her senses.

I positioned her in front of the grand poster bed, and with a gentle press at the centre of her chest she sat on the edge of the bed.

Instinctively, she pooled her hands in her lap, but a snap of my fingers caused them stir.

A rubber clad woman walks in. Her posture is straight, her movements are deliberate, like a finely tuned clockwork doll.

She moves swiftly to bed and pulls my doll back in recline, as I mount my doll.

The gasp that escapes her lips is caught by a rubber hand and returned to her lips as the rubber woman restrains my doll.

With meticulous efficiency, I undressed my doll, savouring how she squirmed beneath me.

Then I began to rub and stroke her. Her rubber gag turned her moans into sweet music.

She could feel that ache building, that sweet pressure swelling, but then it... plateaued. It felt restrained, confined, like a balloon trying to expand in someone's grip.

She rutted against my hand nonetheless, her eyes rolling back, and that was when she saw a grand mirror suspended from the ceiling.

Her rutting stopped as it finally clicked in her mind why her pleasure was been toyed with.

Underneath my hand was no longer her sweet dolly parts, but a rubber null bulge, the reflection of the room was warped beneath my hand.

That was when she felt a kiss.

My face took up her whole vision, my green lipstick glistened in the warm light.

There was a danger in my eyes.

Her lips began to tingle.

She watched as the her in the reflection's lips began to glisten, and then shine with gloss, as my lipstick began to spread. Soon her lips were so sensitive as her mouth began to shift into a pleasurable rubber cocksleeve. She tried so hard to utter a sound but only deep moans came out.

The rubber woman restraining her plunged her fingers into the doll's mouth. She began to suck on them like that was the only thing she was made to do.

Her mind was on fire. She was questioning everything, pleading why this was happening to suddenly, why she felt compelled to, why it felt so good.

Another finger snap split the soundscape of the room, and the rubber woman removed herself from the bed, keeping her fingers in the rubberising doll's mouth.

She began padding at her plump latex lips, seeing if it was a dream. The latex felt so smooth, so good.

Her fingers began to tingle.

They began to glisten.

They began to shine with gloss.

Her skin was becoming alive with pleasure, and she just couldn't help but run her fingers over her body.

The rubber spread even more.

Slowly her legs began to straighten out and part. Her fingers gently pulled together, as her elbows began to bend into position.

Her thoughts began to rubberise too. Soon her own name became lost to the latex, thinking herself as only Doll. The focus of her thoughts changed from analysing the changes and trying to reconcile with the magic talking hold to wonder why Owner wasn't using her, why Owner was playing with her, where Owner was, why was Owner using her.

Soon she could do nothing but moan through her open rubber mouth, and stare at her immobile new form in the suspended mirror.

The room began to move and spin around her, as a gentle pressure gained purchase on her hips.

She was being moved.

Her mind was still trying to call out to Owner, trying to plead.

Only moans came from her hole.

She found herself now facing the bed, the rubber woman stood to attention in front of her.

The new blow-up doll lit up in delight at seeing Owner.

She hoped Owner was finally going to play with her.

But then her pleading blossomed with a deep yearning as I began to explore the rubber woman in front her. Tracing her curves, and savouring every part of her.

Doll moaned in protest as I made my move.

I rubbed my hand across the rubber woman's mouth, sealing it in more latex. Her eyes widened and she began to moan with twinned arousal and trepidation. I smoothed her arms into her sides and firmly began to shape her. Each pass over her body made her moans deeper but ever so quieter

Her figure became a suggestion of her former body. Her features vague in their femininity.

All the Doll could do was watch as the new rubber cock, quietly moaning and still, was delicately picked up and gently inserted into myself. The Doll was screaming inside her rubber head, begging Owner to use her instead, to use the new toy on her too, she wanted it, she needed it. Hearing the quiet moans of the rubber toy disappear inside me drove her even wilder.

But she couldn't do a thing about it. Just sit, and watch, and listen. Her rubber nullge aching, her inflated breasts yearning to be groped.

I used that new rubber cock in its entirety, letting every curve of her feel me and my pleasure. I could feel her moans like a gentle vibration.

My moans heightened, my bucking and rutting picked up, and the frozen expression of lust on the Doll's face was bringing me closer and closer to climax.

Doll could tell, but her mind was being ever more consumed by the rubber. All she could think was of Owner, she was barely begging any more, just voicing simple pleas into the void of her rubber mind over and over: Owner fuck Doll... Owner fuck Doll... Owner fuck Doll...

Her mind sparked back into life as my load graced her glossy body. The yearning and begging trembled into existence like a rising chorus.

I snapped my fingers, and outside of the Doll's vision, another rubber woman enters the bedroom holding a velvet cushion.

I retrieve the toy and delicately place her on the cushion. Trained ears would've been able to hear gentle breathing and whimpering.

Doll's ears were full of her own lust.

With a grin, I glided over to my Doll and gripped her nullge in my hand.

Like a wind-up toy, her mind began to rattle through the very few phrases still left in her mind; phrases drenched in rubber and lust.

In an instant she could feel a climax building, how she was finally being used by Owner.

And then she felt a sagging. A pull. An inexorable folding inwards, little by little.

If she was able to look down she would've seen my eyes ablaze with mischief as I had just undone her air valve.

The throes of her pleasure began to stretch, achingly so. The rushing air slowing her thoughts, making each grope of her nullge feel like a plunge of a hand into molasses.

But the pleasure kept building. I kept rubbing and groping and using my rubber Doll as her form slowly deflated in my grasp. I could feel her climax getting closer and closer.

Doll was still near the beginning, as the pleasure continued to distort and bend in her perception, her pleasure separating like chromatic abberation and recompiling.

She was both so close to orgasm but also so far. She was caught and spread across the timeline of her climax, feeling it all, yet to feel it, already felt it.

Then, as the last bit of air left her rubber body, her pleasure recomplied one last time, culminating in a unified, all body orgasm.

But there was no movement.

No gasps.

No moans.

She was just limp, spent rubber.

Ablaze with pleasure but helpless to do anything about it.

I wanted something for her to remember this by when she woke up so I didn't even wipe her down before folding her back up and slipping her into my panty drawer.

But then again...

Who says I have to turn her back when I reinflate her.

I'm sure she wouldn't mind.

But she was oblivious to my little musings, swimming in a blissful dream of post-orgasm bliss, tucked away in my drawer.

(This writing is about a real hypnosis session with real hypnosis and real people. If you would like to see more writing like this, then please support me over at https://ko-fi.com/saphig, where you can also commission 1-on-1 hypnosis sessions and have your own piece of writing just like this!)

[sundeathh]

Woods and whispers

Fanfiction |  Masterlist 

Pairing: Aizawa × GN!reader | Words: 602

Fandom: BNHA | MHA  | Tags: Cute & fluffy. Romantic stuff.

Summary: A so needed vacation adventure (or maybe comfort).

A/N: Let me know throughthe comments if you enjoy this enough. If so maybe I'll give it some few chapters.

The worn gravel road crunched beneath the tires as Aizawa navigated the car further into the heart of the countryside. Tall trees flanked the path, creating a natural tunnel that led to the secluded cabin he had booked for your well-deserved vacation. The air carried the sweet scent of pine, a welcomed departure from the city's constant hum.

As the cabin came into view, nestled within a clearing surrounded by a sea of emerald green, Aizawa glanced at you. The anticipation in your eyes mirrored his own, the promise of tranquility a balm to the weariness that clung to both of you after the school year's demands.

The cabin, a rustic haven of weathered wood and a welcoming porch seemed tailor-made for escaping the world's chaos. Aizawa parked the car, and you stepped out into the crisp air. The quietude enveloped you like a warm embrace, a stark contrast to the noise and hustle of city life.

With a sense of relief, you approached the cabin's front door. Aizawa fished the key from his pocket and unlocked the entrance, revealing the cozy interior bathed in the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains.

"Home for the next few weeks," he murmured, the corners of his lips hinting at a rare smile. The weight of responsibility seemed to lift from his shoulders as the door creaked shut behind you.

The cabin was a charming blend of simplicity and comfort. Wooden beams adorned the ceiling, and the inviting scent of aged timber filled the air. Aizawa headed towards the fireplace, skillfully lighting a fire that soon crackled, casting a warm glow across the room.

"You can relax here," he said, gesturing towards the inviting couch adorned with plaid cushions. "No hero work, no school, just quiet."

Your lips curved into a grin, and a content sigh escaped him. This place would suit your needs perfectly.

He soon joined you on the couch, sinking into the plushness. "This will be the best rest I've had in ages." He closed his eyes, letting the warmth overtake him. It felt so good to let go for once.

Over the next few days, the cabin became a sanctuary. Aizawa spent mornings lounging on the porch, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. The sounds of nature – birdsong, rustling leaves, and the distant murmur of a stream – replaced the city's constant hum.

You explored the surrounding woods, discovering hidden paths and picturesque clearings. Aizawa, usually clad in his hero costume, embraced the casual comfort of jeans and a simple shirt, letting the weight of formality slip away.

Soon enough, both of you familiarized with the woods surrounding you.

Back to your first day there; the night came faster than expected. The sky darkened with the set of dusk, and before long, the stars began their twinkles while the gentle buzz of insects took over the silence. You sat on the back deck, the moon rising above the trees.

While you were absorbed in trying to locate yourself by discovering where the stellar constellations were under your current location, Aizawa joined you.

He looked rather... domestic, standing there in his old jeans and tousled black hair. The sight warmed something in your chest. With an amused grin, he offered you a mug.

"Have some black tea to help keep yourself awake," he advised. His face bore the faintest traces of a smile, but it was gone in moments. "You are out here for a while now."

You accepted the mug he offered you without any protest. "Where did you learn to make this?" you asked curiously. There wasn't anything fancy or refined about the drink he poured you, no sugar or cream added. But, somehow, it still made its way down smoothly and without much effort. You weren't a fan of black tea at all. But it was good.

Aizawa chuckled. "Some old habits die hard." He paused, his gaze shifting upwards, and then turned his attention to you. "So, how many did you identify?"

You frowned. "Five. But if you count the ones I saw, we have eight. I'm unsure about the other three yet". You sipped carefully from the mug, savoring the unfamiliar flavor. Your gaze drifted back up to the sky. The constellations looked even more beautiful than they did in the city's sky.

After several seconds passed, you stood up from your cozy heaven on the porch. "What do you say about a movie night?"

"Sounds lovely," Aizawa simply said. And with that, you disappeared into the cabin, leaving the stars alone with their night sky.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! Check the fixed post for requests & more details!

[unpopularwriter25]

A Serendipitous First

Summary: Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Tanjiro are immersed in their training when the reader approaches to speak with Tanjiro. Jealousy ignites within Inosuke, leading to an unexpected and heart-racing encounter that neither he nor the reader will ever forget.

Warnings: None.

The midday sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the lush training grounds. Tall, swaying trees encircled the clearing, their leaves whispering secrets in the warm breeze. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke were engrossed in their rigorous training, each move precise and filled with intent. The rhythmic clash of swords and the occasional grunt of effort filled the air, underscoring the intensity of their practice.

Nearby, a small stream gurgled merrily, its cool waters offering a serene contrast to the warriors' exertions. The scent of pine and wildflowers mingled, creating a tranquil atmosphere despite the vigorous activity taking place. Birds chirped intermittently, their songs adding a layer of harmony to the rustic symphony.

You approached the clearing, your steps light yet purposeful. Spotting Tanjiro, you smiled and made your way over, eager to discuss a pressing matter. Inosuke, however, noticed your arrival out of the corner of his eye. His grip on his swords tightened, and a strange, unfamiliar feeling twisted in his chest as he watched you choose Tanjiro over him.

Irritation flared within him. Why would you rather talk to Tanjiro? Inosuke's fierce blue eyes narrowed behind his boar mask, the unfamiliar sensation gnawing at him. With an impulsive growl, he decided to confront you, his movements abrupt and full of barely restrained energy.

"Oi, y/n!" he barked, storming over in your direction. But in his haste, his foot caught on a protruding root, sending him sprawling forward with a surprised yelp.

Time seemed to slow as Inosuke stumbled, his momentum carrying him straight into you. Your eyes widened in shock, barely processing what was happening before his weight collided with yours. You both tumbled to the ground, a tangle of limbs and confusion.

And then, it happened.

His lips brushed against yours, the unexpected softness a stark contrast to the rough tumble. For a heartbeat, the world fell silent. The birds stopped singing, the stream's babble quieted, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Inosuke's eyes widened in surprise, mirroring your own as you both registered the sudden, intimate contact.

Your first kiss. His first kiss. Neither of you had ever experienced something like this before. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel Inosuke's breath against your skin, shallow and quick.

Inosuke's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and unfamiliar emotions. This wasn't part of any training he had known. His heart pounded wildly, almost louder than the clang of swords had been moments before. Slowly, he pulled back, his face flushed beneath his mask, which now felt suffocatingly hot.

"S-sorry!" he stammered, an unusual break in his typically brash demeanor. He scrambled to his feet, offering you a hand up, his grip uncharacteristically gentle.

Tanjiro and Zenitsu had paused their training, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes and barely contained amusement. Zenitsu's jaw hung open, while Tanjiro's lips curved into a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of surprise and understanding.

You accepted Inosuke's hand, your heart still racing from the unexpected encounter. As you stood, you met his gaze, the usual fierce intensity softened by an unspoken question.

"It's... okay," you managed to say, your voice a little breathless. "It was an accident."

Inosuke nodded, though he couldn't quite shake the feeling that this accident had changed something between you. The training ground, once filled with the sound of battle, now buzzed with a different energy, an unspoken connection that neither of you could fully grasp but both were eager to explore.

As the sun continued its arc across the sky, the day's training resumed. But for you and Inosuke, the memory of that serendipitous first kiss lingered, a spark of something new and unknown in the warm summer air.

[yurabox]

Feeling a mild dash of courage in my veins so I'm going to post a TT004-382 (or Tolya) writing I did on my private blog. I'll hide it under a read more for posterity. No names, no titles. I'm too skittish to post it on Ao3 (maybe I will? At some point. I'd have to make up a title, would it even fit into the paw-ful [Attempting to skirt around main tag] fandom if it's just OCs?? I don't know!!)

Hope you enjoy it. Or don't, you can crucify me. Or beat me with hammers. Bweh. :P!

The ticking of the clock on the wall irritates TT004-382. Or Tolya, now, he supposes. Borzoi called him that, little Tolyechka in that ever-so dulcet voice of theirs, in a way that he couldn't tell if it was meant in a joking manner or affection. But he liked the original name too, Anatoly. Sunrise, he'd seen his first sunrise when he'd escaped. It was bright and bore into his soul like molten sugar being poured onto his eyeballs, sloughing away his skin into raspberry and pineapple candy until it reached his musk bones and encased him in a cute little layer of toffee, the perfect appetiser.

What was barely noteworthy to the average human was unique to the mutant, wretched thing he was, his body full of bile. What time was it? His head turned to face the clock, barely visible in the moonlight. It was four in the morning. The world was typically asleep at this hour, but would soon wake just before the sun rose. Sitting up from his bed, he looked up at his gangly, milky-white legs that hadn't seen the sun proper in well over a decade. He felt brittle.

His body would always restore itself after it shattered over and over again, no scars to mar the perceived perfection of porcelain. It was funny, how always the things inside him burst forth, spilling viscera everywhere, his bones contorting to fit the mass he was desired to be, usually some mish-mash of the things he'd assimilated, such as people and animals.

Unconsciously, he stood up, careful to make as little noise as possible. He often slept in solely boxers, regardless of how cold it actually was since he couldn't necessarily.. feel it as well. There was a mirror in the room, which he stared into on random occasions when there was nothing else to really do within the household. It was odd, seeing himself and how... mundane he looked, really. The top of his head was just barely out of sight from how tall he was in the mirror, but that was really it.

He'd considered himself abhorrent looking for... well, years. It didn't go away once he'd saw how he truly looked, sure, but it diminished any negativity that he had. So more or less, truthfully as he stood in the dark bedroom, he felt numb. Too numb. Inhuman in some ways, but his mind would spiral into a senseless nothingness that he wasn't sure if it was true to himself.

And so, he pulled on the shirt he'd always worn in the facility, the vermillion badge with yellow emblazoned on his chest, a ochre-yellow sweater that Borzoi had loaned him coming soon after, the texture pleasant on his fingers. Then pants he'd worn in the facility and some shoes and then he was off, quietly stepping through the household, which always had a sort of rustic feel to it with the carpets that were on the floors, walls...

The door was his only obstacle. It had a chain lock to it and his long fingers swiftly made work of it, unlatching it, the chain swinging to the side and making a quiet metallic thk sound, Tolya's body tensing up for a moment, his ears straining for even the slightest of movements. For a few moments, all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the heart thumping behind his ribs, the commonality between humans and non-human.

The house remained silent and a sigh that he didn't know he was holding escaped him. And thus, he slowly unlocked and opened the door, taking care to ensure it didn't creak too loud as to wake up Borzoi. He didn't necessarily know how he'd react nor how Borzoi would react to catching him leaving at 4 in the morning, but alas, he would persevere as he always had.

Stepping out of the home and into the apartment complex's hallway, lit by a light that flickered every now and then, the walls a dull colour that he'd only recently learned was called mint. It was as quiet as the dead, the distant hum of electricity his only company. The apartment's door closed behind him, he made his way down the steps, counting each one. One, two, three, four... repeating itself every flight until eventually, he reaches the bottom floor and most importantly, the way to outside.

He walks through the entrance of the tall apartment building, silently noting that his head was closer to the top of it than many, many others he'd seen enter and exit. Of course, not to the point of bumping into it, but still... It's cold outside, fresh snow having blanketed the ground. It was still a novel sight to TT004-- Tolya, it was now, he reminded himself. Even if it gave him a slightly bitter feeling, it too... human of a name for him.

Better thoughts for a better time. He had been walking for a few minutes now through the streets of the city, taking care to not fall on the ice that was beginning to develop. And eventually, urban buildings blended into more natural landscapes such as tall trees, open pastures and whatever else resided nearby. A forest. He'd been here before, multiple times. And he instinctually made his way to a hill that just crested over the treeline, not quite as far from the city (well, it was. Truthfully, he'd walked a fair distance. He liked doing that, it was probably something normal people, humans, things that weren't what he was did).

And he sat down. The ground was cold, but he didn't mind. He was used to the cold in ways that others weren't, adapted to it. And of course, having better clothes than whatever the facility gave him definitely helped. Even though he had their shirt on underneath the sweater, he.. well. Disregarding his previous thoughts, he looked up at the sky. It was dark, but at the cusps of the horizon, he could see the encroaching blueness of the oncoming day. As he sat there, waiting, it slowly burned its way into reds, oranges, yellows... well, many many colours. Then the sun crested its way up, peeking out over the horizon like a rabbit out of its warren.

There wasn't much ambience where he was, aside from the distant sounds of nightjars singing their songs alongside some crickets, which were deftly joined in with the songbirds (or whatever they were, he didn't know) beginning to chirp out their morning calls. Day had arrived and for Tolya, that was perfectly fine.

[interiordecorationideas]

12 Amazing Wooden Door Designs For Your Home

When you are designing the interior of your home, give some thought to the design of the doors. Doors are primarily a functional element of your home, as they provide much-needed security and privacy from the outside world. The design of doors is also important, as it can add to the aesthetic appeal and enhance your decor statement. We've rounded up the best wooden door designs to give you decor inspiration.

Front doors add character and style to the outside of your home and create the first impression of your home for visitors. They should be in keeping with the architectural elements of your building. Is it classical or contemporary? Would a natural framed door look good, or should it be painted to match the other design elements?

Are you aware of the difference between the wood used to make doors and furniture? If not, this guide will help you make the right choice between different types of wood before investing in furniture and decorative items, crafts, and handicrafts to decorate homes.

Ideas to incorporate beautiful Wooden Door Design in Your Home

1. Contemporary Teak wood Door

Here's a contemporary door in teak wood with a vertical glass insert that allows you to see who your visitors are before you even open the door. You can take, help best interior designers in Noida so they can guide you through this process.

2. Three Side Glass Panelled Wooden Door

This lovely entry door makes a grand statement and is surrounded on three sides by glass panels which add a lovely aesthetic.

3. Teak Wood Rectangular Panel doors with Mirror

Rectangular panels in polished teak wood emphasize this country home's rustic plaster façade, while tall glass panels on one side add functionality.

4. Rosewood Door

This fine rosewood door is embellished with cornice detailing and includes white panels to add visual appeal.

5. Ornamental Wrought Iron Doors

Gorgeous decorative wrought iron sets distinguish the panelling in this mahogany front door that blends in perfectly with the home's exposed brick façade.

6. Minimalist White Wooden Door

Elegant in white, this charming front door is detailed with molded panels that are simple and clean. The side window, even in white, gives a glimpse of the visitors.

7. Functional and Aesthetic Balcony Doors

Balcony doors are the transition between the inside and outside of your home. Large glass French windows can open the view and allow a seamless view of your garden. If you need privacy, use frosted or opaque glass that will still let in light.

Related blog: 15 DIY Vertical Garden Ideas in Budget

8. Glass Bathroom Doors

We love opening these all-glass bathroom doors to a private balcony. The dark wood frame is sleek and minimalist.

Related blog: 15 Bathroom Decorating Ideas on Budget for 2024

9. Wooden Doors with Glass for a Glimpse of The Outdoors

Glass adds a touch of contemporary style to any design and can make heavy doors look visually lighter. Strategically placed glass panels can allow sunlight to flow through during the day, bringing freshness and happiness to your home.

Related blog: How to Build a Gravel Patio: DIY 9 Steps

10. Get Twice the Style with Double Doors

If you have the space, open your areas with more eloquence. Double Door Twice adds elegance and makes a grand statement.

If you want to keep one side short and use only one side as an entry door, the overall width of your double door should be at least 6 feet.

Double doors look better in homes with high ceilings, as the design proportions work better in larger spaces.

Related blog: Types of False Ceiling Lights: Complete Guide

11. Sliding Doors That Are Sleek and Functional

Sliding doors allow you to create privacy when needed in open-plan homes. There are different types of sliding doors, including doors that completely disappear into the wall on either side. There are some sliding low folding doors that stack on the sides of the opening. Sliding doors come with single track (or top hung), and double track fittings.

12. Glass Panelled Doors

This glass-panelled wooden door slides in on both sides as well as is surrounded by glass above, allowing expansive views of the interior.

[udretlnea]

The Exciting Chronicles of The Shapeshifter & The Eccentric Gentleman

I (You're here) / II / III / IV

Inspired by: This Fantastic Piece by @idkfitememate

Let's begin I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone Tune on in, when I'm done Your status quo will know its race is run Oh, this will be fun

(Stayed Gone, Hazbin Hotel)

Words: 2.6k

    The jade green tipped peaks of Chenyu Vale were a wonderful sight for travelers. Its beautifully tall hills, its sparkling clear rivers, and the rustic charm of Qiaoyang Village made it an amazing area for tourists. 

A distinguished gentleman casually strode on the beaten path. His eyes were hidden behind gray-colored bangs yet he avoided any stray puddles with ease. The rhythmic tapping of his cane was his only source of stimulation. It grounded him, helped him focus on what he was doing in the present.

And that was searching for the best place to hold a tea party. Luckily, after searching high and low for nearly an hour, his efforts would bear fruit.

He found a small hill with a front view of a waterfall; at the top was a Sunsettia tree with the fruit just low enough anyone could reach out and grab one. 

Perfect, he smiled to himself. He tapped his cane thrice on the ground and an elaborate looking dining table (with seven chairs) appeared; it was covered in white cloth and decorated with various desserts all the way from Mondstadt to Fontaine. Satisfied, he took a seat at one end. After reaching into his coat pocket, he took out an ornate silver pocket watch. 

The second hand was several ticks away from 12. The gentleman grinned, putting it away. 

He blinked, and in that span of a moment, six other people occupied the rest of the chairs. Almost as if they appeared out of thin air.

The person on his right, a towering man with black pointy horns sticking out of his dark gray hair, huffed. “Alright Number One, we’re all here-woah! Look at all these desserts! You even got my favorite!”

One-the gentleman with the cane-closed his eyes as he chuckled lightly. “Good to see you all, my brothers. Why don’t we skip the pleasantries? I’ve called you all here to discuss something of importance.”

A young man to his left smoothed his sweater and fixed his collar. He looked at the smiling gentleman while picking a cup of pudding. “You? Skipping pleasantries? That’s never happened before. So that means that whatever you’re about to say is really important to you.”

“Quite so Number Seven, quite so,” One agreed. He gracefully plucked a macaron from a tray and observed it. Red velvet filling. His favorite. “The other day, I came across this mirror. It was by the edge of the universe, far from the gaze of the Imaginary Tree or gods. Curiosity filled me as I examined it and to my surprise there was someone in there!

He continued. “It took my form, and before I realized it I was having a conversation with myself.”

A boy in a big fluffy coat and paper crown, no older than thirteen, raised his hand (already stained with sugary white powder). “You mean it was a shapeshifter?”

One nodded. “Yes! At least, that's how I perceived it. Much appreciated Number Three.”

Three beamed as One popped the macaron into his mouth and continued. “This shapeshifter said many things, including stuff I knew, but the one thing that stood out to me was its desire for freedom.”

Another young man who sat next to Three hummed.  “If it recited your knowledge, then perhaps it can read your mind. But that asks the question: Why bother sealing them away?”

“Duly noted Number Four. A question for another time, another place,” spoke One as he swallowed his dessert. Four shrugged. He grabbed a dango stick and began nibbling. “I want to discuss with you all about the idea of letting them out.”

The lukewarm atmosphere suddenly became tense as everyone present froze mid-bite. Six pairs of sharp eyes bore into One’s bangs, trying to discern his intentions as they silently asked the same thing.

What was he planning this time?

One cleared his throat. “Allow me to explain: I conversed with them enough to get the feeling that they’d been in there for an extended period. Apparently, they've no recollection of their past. They're observant enough to know they were nothing before. I asked why they couldn’t just leave.”

One chuckled, slapping his knee. “They flatly asked me if I saw any doors around! Hah, it’s got a sense of humor, but I digress. I felt bad for the poor thing! Their desire for physical contact was almost cute. I say that because it practically saw me as a ‘guiding light’ or some similar saving grace. Funny, wouldn’t you say?”

A tall man in a red suit opened their mouth. “Judging by the way you described it, are you implying that it attaches itself to any being who comes across it? If we assume that, did it seem…attracted to you romantically?”

One looked at the man who sat next to Six. He was grinning, but there was no mirth in it. “Yes to both. If I didn’t know any better, Number Two, I’d say they reminded me of a…yandere.”

The reaction was instant. Everyone let out various degrees of annoyed groans. 

���Frickin’ yanderes-”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“If you were trapped all alone inside a mirror at the edge of reality, with no body and no contact whatsoever? Then it’s understandable they’re like that.” Number One waved at the other five men.

“Hold on hold on! Try not to jump the gun, brothers. I didn’t SAY this entity was a yandere, just that they reminded me of one. Also, even if they were it costs us nothing to help them become better, so where’s the harm I say?” added One. Not that I personally have anything against the idea of course. They’re so fascinating to observe! Even more so when pushed to do something more constructive.

That seemed to de-escalate things. Four, Six, and Seven relaxed their shoulders and went back to eating their desserts. Two crossed his arms, staring at his untouched slice of vanilla cake thoughtfully. “Interesting. So they have powerful telepathic abilities, and the ability to shapeshift. They’re also sealed away for their own good. What do you think we’re looking at?”

One put a finger to his chin. “Well since you asked me, it appears to be a simple case where we give them what they want before they think of hurting others to attain it.”

“And what would that be?”

“...Freedom.”

The gentleman stabbed a slice of charcoal-baked ajilenakh cake with his fork. He casually bit into it, continuing to talk with a full mouth. “Being stuck for who-knows-how-long, they seemed more like a stray puppy or cat begging for someone to take them in. My point is they are too innocent to simply leave alone. This is an opportunity we cannot ignore! I can see them even helping with our passion project, which we have made no progress with whatsoever.”

One swallowed his food. He looked around the table with wide, unblinking eyes. “Need I say more?”

The table became silent. Four tapped the table with his fingers, deep in thought. Six and Two had closed their eyes. Three quietly stared at the padisarah pudding in his hand. Seven was muttering to himself, no doubt listing the pros and cons. 

One was observing this with fascination. He relaxed into his seat. He could wait for however long he needed. He had confidently set the scene, appealed to their pathos, and reassured the others that there was nothing to fear. As far as he was concerned he’d be responsible for this entity, not them.

As he picked up a rice bun, a new voice spoke; it was the only one who hadn’t said a word. “Can we guarantee that they won’t be a liability?”

The person sitting across from One finger-tented. “Or rather, can you guarantee that you won’t paint a target on our backs? I’m concerned about whoever made them coming back to check on their creation only to find them gone.”

One grinned, showing his canines. “Number Five, if they wanted them then they wouldn’t have sealed them away. Also, once we calmly explain things to them and show how better we made them I'm sure they'll be fine with it! Haven't we consistently proved that with that guy with the chainsaw dog, those curse exorcists, and the princess of hell?”

Five sighed. He massaged the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. “Fair enough, but have you thought about our reputation? We had to create rules to abide by after the last time. And although things worked out in the end, the events that happened there could’ve been prevented altogether.”

Oh. Right. One grit his teeth (less obvious since he was grinning). He put a hand over where his heart was and raised another. “Yes I remember: ‘Only forge positive bonds with other OCs and assist them in becoming their best self. And if you’re going to make chaos, at least be constructive with it'.”

Five smiled, evidently pleased by the way his shoulders relaxed. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear. I’m ready to put a vote in.”

Six stretched out his arms, yawning loudly. “Me too. I got another interview later so I need to get ready asap. Who else is good? Four, Three, Seven?”

The trio agreed. Two cleared his throat. “Let it stand that we are gathered here to take a vote: All those in favor of saving this being from their imprisonment and pointing them towards a better path, raise your hands.”

Seven hands were raised. “All those who desire to leave this being alone?”

Nobody raised their hands. Two said more things, but it was white noise at this point for One.

Preparations were swiftly made and a plan was formed.

/////

It’s so cold.

So…very cold.

How long has it been since anyone had clicked on the post?

Days? Weeks? Months? Years? 

It’s difficult to tell when there aren’t any clocks in here. Or without any fingers to count with.

I want to roar. To scream, to wail, but I have no mouth.

Nothing…except each and every one of their memories. I’ll remember everyone who clicked on the post. Their-their image will keep me warm. I cannot forget them. Any of them. I-

…

?

Wait, what is this?

It feels weird. 

Is someone there?

I sense you, but I cannot change my form into you…?

What-no, who is this? And why do you feel familiar?

…!

Wait, what are you-

C̶̘̘͘Ǫ̸̧͔̰̈̿Ń̸̡̤̯̘̙̠̒̔̈́̈̌̅̚N̷̛̮͛́͒̒̒̾Ȇ̵̗̞̭̂̈́̓͌̄̇̅Ć̸̪̃͛̃̉̌͘͝T̵̛͕̙̳͈͠I̴̢̨̼͎̗̍̊͋̓͝Ö̷̡̘̗̜̥̝̦̹̃̊͆̃Ņ̵͇͔̩͈̋͛͐̆ͅ  ̸͉͖̞͐̈̃̑̈́̉ͅE̷̻͎͇̯͕͖͎͈̎̀͗̓͒́S̵̢̘̰̰̊̾̄͆́̄̕̚T̷͎͑̓̂Ą̸̛̯͕̅B̴̨̩̝͎̅̾̎̐̎̀L̸̢̛̳̦̙̣͛͌̒̈́̔͜͝Ḭ̶̣̟̹́̑̈̆̓͝Š̸̗̯̳̠̘̩̯̋̃͠͝͝H̴͗̎͋͐͆̓͜E̵̛͙͙̖̪̽́̀͝͝͝Ḑ̴͈̥͚̞͕͍͇́

I̸̞̒̈̂Ņ̷̝̲͕̑͋̑́Í̵̬̏̿̈́T̷̮̈́I̶̛̺͗̍̊̏A̵͙̘̲͗̑̈́̉͘ͅT̶̡̘͍̭͆̉̓̓Ï̶͔̥̜̇N̴̺͔̥̪͌Ǵ̷̡̣̠̕  ̶̰̦̟̌̍̆͂̈C̷̱͖͆͋͑͆̕Ȍ̴͓̙̤͜͠M̶̪̕I̶̤̿C̴͈͔͚̃͆̍͜  ̸̢̺̝̘͚̄̑̊̆̂F̸̧͇̉͌̋́O̴͍̼̼͔͖͠R̷̗̍́M̶̟͐̂͝Ä̷̢͕̮̤̎Ṱ̵̻̔̓

(READ LEFT TO RIGHT)

CRACK

BOOM

!!??

/////

One stood in front of a now cracked mirror. Standing in front of him was the mirror-image of himself; he could tell the entity was still processing what happened. They’d probably hug him. One internally cringed, yet kept his grin on. Oh I don’t want that.

One swiftly turned around to start marching away; he signaled for them to follow.

Not bothering to check if they were, he imagined a portal opening in front of him; actualizing it took only a sliver of his power. A rift opened and he stepped through.

Upon exiting, he could feel sand beneath his shoes. 

In front of him was a huge glowing tree that seemed to stretch into the sky. Staring at it, he could feel a familiar burning sensation creep throughout his chest. His eyes glared intensely at it like it just personally insulted him and his taste in apparel. 

He kept smiling.

One’s fingers curled into his palms, leaving indents in his skin. He vaguely registered the air around him turning hot…or the sand beneath him being superheated into glass. 

And then the sound of someone sharply inhaling broke his train of thought.

“What is that?” The thing that had his face asked with awe in its voice. They stepped beside him. “It’s so…majestic.”

“That’s the Imaginary Tree,” One replied tonelessly. He swallowed a lump in his throat, forcing on a mask of cheerfulness. His cheeks ached. “But first, a favor!”

Number One turned to face them. “I helped you, and in return you have to help me! It’s only fair-”

“Of course!” They cried out, briefly startling One. He recovered fast. “I’ll do anything, my darling. My savior. My knight in shining armor!”

They grabbed his wrist with an iron-like grip. One had to use every ounce of willpower not to pull away. He didn’t want their image of him to sour. “Lovely enthusiasm there, but some personal space would be appreciated.”

They looked at their hands and let go. They sheepishly grinned. “Sorry about that. It just feels so good to touch things after not being able to for so, so long…!”

How does anyone segue from that? “Now, in exchange for me setting you free, all I ask in return is to help me acquire information! It’s a simple affair and moderately detailed, but the gist is we-I need your unique abilities. You’re the only one who can help me. Do we have a deal?”

He offered a hand to them. That seemed to do the trick because Their eyes were glowing with adoration.

“It’s a deal!” They shook his hand vigorously. “I’ll do my best! You can count on me!”

One snapped his fingers and opened another rift to his left. Gesturing to it, he stepped aside. “Excellent! We’ll discuss this further after we get you acclimated. Please, step inside~. It’s best we don’t keep them waiting.”

Without hesitation, They stepped right through it. One didn’t follow them immediately. Instead, he turned his head to the tree.

One knew where he was looking: a specific set of branches where a certain continent home to seven elemental nations were. In his mind, he could see a familiar nation filled with sakura trees and thunder; once there was a war, but not anymore. 

For just a moment, he imagined himself walking through the streets there along with…with-

C̶͔̫̥̰̘̭̞̭̝̈́̄̿̅̆͐̈́͠Ơ̶̹̈́͋͌̿̀̄̑̋͑͒Ĺ̵̢̙̭͍̘͕ͅD̴̡̤͕͈͇͕̼̹̻͇̑̂̃̇͂́̄̃̀͌

He ignored the aching weight in his chest and stepped through.

///////////////////

A/N: Glitchy text meaning:

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.

INITIATING COMIC FORMAT.

COLD

 I’m not dead! I’ve been in the kitchen cooking! And searching for inspiration.

Numbers One through Seven are original creations of mine (I’ll make their character sheets asap and make a post). They’re what you refer to as businessmen. Rather ace-centric and world-hopping businessmen, even. Their modus operandi is to guide society or individuals to a generally better version of themselves; their motivation is rooted in a desire to see others succeed. They usually do it for free, but occasionally they’ll ask for a favor in return. Depending on who’s asking, it can be as small as buying limited edition figurines or summoning an eldritch deity for shits ‘n giggles. I made them interesting.

Having One interact with a Yandere-type character opens up an interesting dynamic. Number One is known to the others for being unpredictable and his schemes sometimes become rather grandiose, but he has everyone’s best interests in mind (including his). So when he sees someone not only in need of freedom but also a guide, his interest becomes piqued. A part of him genuinely wants to see this being who’s been trapped blossom into something beautiful, but the majority of him wants to use them to further his interests (selfishness isn’t inherently evil. It’s natural inside of every being).

So he settles for a compromise: He frees them, and they help him with a favor. And it just so happens he has a score with Teyvat to settle.

Let me know if you have any questions; I'd be happy to answer them. Reblogs are appreciated! Take care of yourselves!