#shadow dumpling

[dekusleftsock]

Sonic Wachowski the polish man you are…

[mercy-love-joy]

THE BURNS MELTED INTO GOLD REFERENCES

GODS FORGIVE MEEEEE

When I got my new phone, all of my old artwork didn't transfer over so unless I had it downloaded- I didn't have my old artwork. LUCKILY, the refs I'm posting are from the The Burns Melted Into Gold speedpaint so all is well.

Now. To the references and lore!!!

Blueberry Milk Cookie (formerly known as Shadow Milk Cookie)

After reforming, Blueberry Milk took back his title as the Fount of Knowledge and learned how to better his time and mental health. He's learned many more things and with a new era coming about, he must record and document the new era.

Other fun facts: he's learned how to "reanimate" life although it requires lots of mechanical work.

He's often found working either in his spire or rebuilding the Blueberry Yogurt Academy.

Wheat Grain Cookie (formerly known as Mystic Flour Cookie)

She discovered that despite the hopelessness of life, there is still time to make it worth it. She has learned to better herself in making life worth living and she helps those who wish to live life to the fullest. She still cares for the Ivory Temple although she mostly leaves the car of the temple to Cloud Haetae Cookie (who has become the new Master of the temple) and the Dumpling Kings to care for the temple.

Fun facts: the disk behind is made of wood and meant to represent the new sun of a new day. Symbolizing the new hope that filled her dough.

Sea Halite Cookie (formerly known as Silent Salt Cookie)

A knight that long she's his armor and embraced the life of a cottage, he is mostly at peace with the forest and doesn't bother to interact with a lot of people. He's calm and tends to work on small items like basket weaving.

Fun fact: he likes to sit in the ocean for hours (that's because he is a sea cookie)

Sugar Cane Cookie (formerly known as Eternal Sugar Cookie)

Ah, the momma bird who single-handedly took on a child to become her son and somehow started the new era of peace with that same child. She is extremely motherly and tends to hover over younger cookies who don't seem to have any parents around them.

Fun facts: she plays her harp for children at orphanages, she loves to teach cookies about avians, and she's learned how to spread happiness while also indulging on her own.

Paprika Cookie (formerly known as Burning Spice Cookie)

A warrior who now takes on the life of a father and grandfather. He is often found sleeping in his temple or sunbathing in the hot sands of the Spice tribes. He doesn't do much unless his siblings get up and drag him around. He doesn't incline himself to violence and prefers to try and talk things out before fighting.

Fun facts: he is so hot that if any avians or birds say on him, they would warm up like a heater. He is used like a personal heater when the siblings are cold and want to have a family pile. He likes to star gaze with his son

Pharaoh Cookie of the Soft Ray Sun Kingdom (also known as GingerBrave)

Now free from Golden-Lacquered Cookie's reign of horror, he has grown to live life to the fullest and help the world heal after the tragedy that the Golden Goddess brought to the world.

Fun facts: he no longer has organs so he has a device called an "Arcdet" which acts as the heart and lungs of the body. Slotted in his chest, it is fueled by magic fire and his Soul Jam.

His is the Welder to the Virtue of Hope, with the counterparts being Bravery and Cravenness.

Golden-Lacquered Cookie (formerly known as Golden Cheese Cookie)

A queen who wanted more power, overcame the pure definition of greed and went for it. She is the reason for the deaths of the other Ancient Heroes and why GingerBrave had to be the sole hero to end her life. Just to begin an era of peace

Fun facts: she dies and learns from her mistakes which allows her to reincarnate. Her reincarnation has no knowledge of her past life and it's better that way.

And finally! The Princess of the Soft Ray Sun Kingdom- Shrimp Har Gow Dumpling Haetae Cookie!

A cookie-taur who takes after her adopted father (Pharaoh Cookie)- she desires the best for all cookies and cakes! She believes that everyone deserves to have a chance to live the life they want to! And based on her determination and "greed", she is a key ingredient to wielding her own Virtue on day.

Fun facts: the sprite was a commission from my friend @the-wereraven and I can't thank him enough for helping me make a design for the gal. And each Jade bracelet/anklet on Shrimp was given to her by her grandparents- the reformed beasts.

[book2disney]

[bookworm-returning]

When Barceló returned wearing a feline smile, two hours had passed. To me they had seemed like two minutes. The bookseller handed me the book and winked.

“Have a good look at it, little dumpling. I don't want you coming back to me saying I've switched it, eh?”

“I trust you” I said.

“Stuff and nonsense. The last man who said that to me (a tourist who was convinced that Hemingway had invented the fabada stew during the San Fermin bull run) bought a copy of Hamlet signed by Shakespeare in ballpoint, imagine that. So keep your eyes peeled. In the book business you can't even trust the index.”

The shadow of the wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafón

[largemandrill]

The typical way I beat Radahn (consort edition) is to be as annoying as possible, mainly because he hasn’t earned my respect as a boss (he likely never will). I don’t even mean that in a gamer way either, his moveset isn’t something I’m too fond of, and it just isn’t my preferred type of boss. Similar reason I dislike Godfrey’s and Metyr’s fights; I don’t like slow bosses that are also fast.

Anyway, today I was fighting him for the 4th time (like 4th character, I’ve beaten him 3* times before) with my usual hefty rot pot set-up. I don’t use them but they’re available for mimic to throw as much as it wants. Before, mimic would throw maybe 3-4 per attempt. Today, I saw that little idiot throwing 9 fucking rot pots, which let me win within 15 minutes of attempts.

There is no lesson, except maybe to give your mimic shit via the quickbar lol

*The third time was with a mage and I was getting so mad that I did the mimic veil glitch just so I could be done with it

[mich-vanadis]

Scissor Seven modern AU but the Shadow Assassins are celebrities and Seven is a masked celebrity because he wants to live a normal fucking life that's not connected to his celebrity life

The Shadow Assassins also care about eachother because fuck canon I'll devour it with FLUFF

[reviving-nikola]

indeed

[coolasakuhncumber]

Just a summer case of I love Canby

[brittle-doughie]

Can you elaborate on these beast marks if you haven’t already? This is the first time I’ve heard of them

Beast Marks and You

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After each encounter with the Beast Cookies, they’ll leave a mark on or in your body. This will allow them to stay connected to you long after you’ve escaped them. This means being able to invade your dreams or even appear as hallucinations and voices in your head. The marks appear on different forms for each Beast.

An eye on your forehead from Shadow Milk Cookie.

Flour dust on your wrists from Mystic Flpur Cookie.

Slash marks on your body from Burning Spice Cookie.

A pair of closed angel wings that cover your heart from Eternal Sugar Cookie.

They’ll take these opportunities to wear you down until eventually, one of them will break you and surrender you to the Beasts to keep forever.

During the Flower City side-story, I’ve shown that being too far from Crispia weakened the Beasts’ hold on you as well as the effects of Golden Osmanthus Cookie’s incense being able to weaken them as well. This did not go unnoticed by the Beasts, who will try to do what they can to prolong your use of the incense.

It’s not a one way street, however. Having the marks also meant that you hold some power of the Beasts themselves. All you had to do was to allow the Beast to ingrain themselves into you for a moment. The only indicator of control is when your eyecings flash a Beast’s color for a second.

A shield of flour from Mystic Flour Cookie that guarded against attacks.

A boost in strength from Burning Spice Cookie.

Increased deception and persuasion from Shadow Milk Cookie.

Temporary flight with sugar wings from Eternal Sugar Cookie.

These might sound beneficial to you, but it comes at the cost of allowing the Beast Cookie to hold a greater control over your head. Only use these capabilities when you absolutely had to and sever their control as soon as you’re done, do not let them control you for any longer than you need them to.

The Grand Cookie Games trio (Choco Drizzle, Pudding A La Mode, and Green Tea Mousse) unfortunately experienced firsthand what happens when you allow Burning Spice Cookie to have you. What should’ve been just a way to get the upper hand turned into a one sided fight that ended with the three utterly defeated. Do not let it happen again.

There is currently no way to remove the marks and they’re invisible to all but you. Your entourage of Dumpling, Salsa, and Crowned Cupcake are currently working in place to figure out a way to remove the Beasts’ hold on you. Until then, you’re forced to run the gauntlet of facing odd against the Beasts as they take every part of you.

It may seem cruel, to take control of a Cookie and torment them. However, understand that this comes from a place of interest, even love, from the Beasts. You’re the only Cookie they’ve done this to, you’re special to them. They can only hope that you’ll come to understand in the end. Whether it be now or when you’re dragged into the Silver Tree with them…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[jenosbliss]

💔⌇ nct dream! and the reasons for your breakup

pairing. gn!reader x nctdream | genre. angst | wc. 3.3k | warnings. just the reader breaking up with dreamies | ml. dream 127 wayv | navi.

a/n. each member's part is around 450-500 words. you might find similar themes in some members' parts and it's because i didn't want to add themes like infidelity or anger... i didn't want to portray them bad.

MARK. Loving Mark felt like chasing stardust — beautiful, electric, and impossible to hold. He lit up rooms, stages, your heart. His energy was magnetic, his passion inspiring, and every word he said made you feel like you were the only person in the universe who mattered. But the problem was… the universe kept pulling him away.

He didn’t do it on purpose. You knew that. His intentions were golden. Every spare second he had, he gave to you — voice notes from hotel balconies, tired “I miss you” texts sent at 3 a.m. after rehearsals. Sometimes you’d wake up to a photo of the sunrise from wherever he was, captioned, “Wish you were here.”

But wishes don’t keep you warm. Wishes don’t show up to dinner. Wishes don’t hold your hand when you need someone to say, “I’m here, and I’m staying.”

You were always understanding. Always patient. You cheered for him when he debuted. You held back tears when he said, “I’ll only be gone a week,” and then another tour got scheduled. Another interview. Another album. And every time, you smiled and said, “It’s okay,” even though it wasn’t. Not really.

You missed the version of love that existed in presence — not just in promises. You missed seeing his shoes by the door. Hearing his laugh echo down the hallway. The way he used to fall asleep mid-conversation, your head on his chest.

One afternoon, you both found a pocket of time. A sliver of stillness between his chaos and your quiet. He sat beside you on a park bench, fingers barely brushing yours. The sun filtered through the trees, casting golden shadows, and for a moment, it felt like you were in a memory.

“I think about you all the time,” he said, turning toward you. His voice cracked like he knew it wasn’t enough. “But you’re never with me, Mark,” you whispered. You weren’t angry. Just tired. “You give me pieces of yourself when you can, and I’m grateful. But I need someone who can give me time. Not just thoughts.”

He looked at you with glassy eyes, his lips parting like he wanted to say something — maybe everything. But nothing came. Just silence. Just the weight of a boy who had too much to carry and didn’t know how to make space for more.

“I wanted to give you everything,” he said at last. “All I ever wanted was you.” And that’s when it broke. The understanding. The sacrifice. The waiting. You realized you were loving someone who was constantly in motion, and you were standing still.

You leaned in, kissed his cheek softly, and let your hand slide from his. He didn’t stop you.

Sometimes love isn’t about what you feel. It’s about what you have time to show.

RENJUN. You never doubted Renjun cared. He showed it in subtle ways — the extra dumpling saved for you, the playlist he made but never told you was inspired by your favorite books, the way he knew your coffee order down to the number of ice cubes. But affection isn't the same as vulnerability. Love, without expression, without depth, starts to feel hollow. And with Renjun, it always felt like there was a door locked behind his eyes, and no matter how close you got, he never let you all the way in.

You’d talk about your day, your dreams, your fears — and he’d listen. He was always a good listener. But when you asked, “And what about you?” he’d deflect. A shrug. A small laugh. “I’m fine,” he’d say, every time. And at first, you believed him. Until “fine” became a wall. Until the silence between his words began to echo louder than anything he said.

You wanted to understand him. God, you tried. You stayed up late on the nights he seemed withdrawn, gently nudging, asking if he was okay. He’d nod. You’d wait. But he never said more. You began to feel like you were in a one-sided conversation, always reaching, always giving, and never quite receiving.

He wasn’t cruel. That’s what made it so confusing. He wasn’t mean, wasn’t distant in the traditional sense. He held your hand in public. He remembered the small things. He kissed your forehead like it meant something. But you couldn’t help but feel… alone, even when he was right next to you.

One night, you sat together in the living room. He had returned from a recording session. You watched him from the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, unsure how to say what was building in your chest.

“I feel like I don’t really know you,” you said quietly. He froze for a second — not in anger, not in defense. Just… sadness. He sat beside you, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t know how to let people in,” he admitted, eyes cast downward. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It just feels… hard. Like if I open up too much, everything will fall apart.” You reached out, brushing your fingers over his knuckles. “I’ve never asked you to be perfect. I just wanted you to be real with me.”

He sighed, the sound filled with years of carefully buried emotion. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I think,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out, “you already have.” He didn’t argue. He didn’t cry. He just nodded, slow and tired, as if he’d known this was coming all along. You stood, heart breaking and strangely relieved, and left the room without looking back.

Sometimes the deepest wounds come not from cruelty, but from absence — from what’s never said, never shared, never allowed to bloom.

JENO. With Jeno, love felt calm — steady, secure, like resting your head on his shoulder after a long day and knowing he’d sit with you in silence until the world slowed down. He made you feel safe, not with words, but with the way he walked on the traffic side of the road or remembered to bring you water when you stayed up too late. He was gentle, dependable — the kind of person you could build a life with.

At least, that’s what you thought.

But every time the conversation shifted to “us,” something shifted in him. You weren’t asking for grand declarations or rings. Just plans. Vacations you might take. A future apartment. The kind of small promises that turn into a shared life. But every time you said “someday,” he pulled back. A subtle change — the way he looked away, or cracked a joke, or said “Let’s not think too far ahead.”

And maybe at first, you brushed it off. Everyone moves at their own pace, right? But it kept happening. Every question about “later” was answered with “I don’t know.” Every time you hinted at moving forward, you felt like you were tugging at someone whose feet were firmly planted in the now.

One night, you were lying in bed beside him. The room was dark except for the soft glow of his phone charging on the nightstand. You were both staring at the ceiling, and something in the quiet made your heart ache.

“Do you ever think about what this could look like in a year?” you asked. He was quiet for too long. “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep,” he said finally.

You turned your head. “I’m not asking for a proposal. I’m asking if you even see a future with me.” He sighed. “I just… don’t want to feel trapped.”

That word — trapped — hit like a slap. “I’m not a cage, Jeno.”

“I know,” he whispered quickly. “It’s not you. It’s just… me. I get scared thinking too far ahead. I don’t want to hurt you by saying something now and not being able to follow through.”

You sat up, the weight in your chest too heavy to lie under. “I’m not asking you to figure it all out tonight. But I can’t be the only one imagining what comes next.”

He reached for your hand — careful, gentle, like he didn’t want to break anything. “I’m trying.” You looked at his fingers wrapped around yours. So much affection. So little intention.

“I know you are,” you said softly. “But I need more than trying. I need someone who chooses to grow with me.”

And in that moment, you realized he wasn’t that person. Not now. Maybe not ever.

HAECHAN. With Haechan, everything felt alive. He was laughter in the dead of night, spontaneity in the middle of a crowded street, the kind of person who could find magic in the most ordinary things. Being with him meant constant adventure — midnight drives with no destination, dancing in empty parking lots, plans made on a whim because “why not?”

And you loved that about him. At first.

But as the months slipped by, you found yourself aching for something steadier. Not just the fireworks — but the slow burn after. You wanted lazy Sunday mornings, not just adrenaline-fueled Saturdays. You wanted a home, not just another place to crash after the next big thrill.

He lived moment to moment. You were trying to build a future. You tried to tell yourself you could meet in the middle — that eventually, the chaos would slow, and you could build something real together. But Haechan was the storm and the sunshine, never meant to be tethered.

One night, walking downtown, the city buzzing around you, you tried to bring it up — the idea of later. Maybe an apartment together. Maybe just a vacation planned more than a week in advance. Anything.

“I don’t want to slow down,” he said, spinning in the streetlights, his arms wide, a boy made of dreams and light. “And I don’t want to chase someone who won’t stay,” you said, the words catching in your throat.

He stopped spinning, looking at you like you had just drawn a line between you he hadn’t seen before. There was a sadness in his eyes — deep, almost childlike. “I’m scared if I stop moving, I’ll lose everything that makes me who I am.”

You reached for his hand. “You don’t have to stop being you. I’m just asking if you ever see yourself… staying. Building something. With me.” He squeezed your fingers, so tightly it almost hurt. “I wish I could be the person you need.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I love you anyway.” And that was the truth. You loved every wild, unpredictable piece of him. But love, you realized, isn’t always enough when your dreams are running in opposite directions.

When you let go of his hand, he didn’t pull you back. You kissed him — one last time, one last burst of color in a life that had been painted too brightly to last — and walked away under the city lights that had once felt like your stars.

Haechan watched you go, arms limp at his sides, the boy who couldn’t stand still finally realizing that sometimes, the most important thing isn’t moving forward.

It’s staying. But by then, it was too late.

JAEMIN. At first, Jaemin felt like a dream. He was soft-spoken, thoughtful, always one step ahead — anticipating your needs before you voiced them. He made you laugh, picked up on your moods like second nature, and supported every decision you made without hesitation. He was your biggest fan. But eventually, that unshakable support began to feel… empty.

“Where do you want to eat?” you asked one night, scrolling through menus. “Wherever you like,” he smiled. You paused. “No, really. What are you craving?” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ll eat whatever you choose.”

It was the same with everything. Movies. Vacations. Even serious conversations. He agreed with you so easily, so readily, it stopped feeling like agreement and started feeling like absence. You started to wonder: Did he have opinions? Desires? Boundaries? Or was he just reflecting yours back to you like a mirror?

The worst part was knowing his intentions were pure. He wasn’t hiding anything malicious. He simply wanted to keep the peace, to keep you. But relationships aren’t built on harmony alone. They need friction — honesty — depth. And Jaemin, for all his warmth, had become someone you couldn’t fully see.

One evening, you sat together on your tiny balcony, wrapped in shared silence and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. He handed you a mug of tea — chamomile, your favorite — and smiled, as always.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, breaking the quiet. “Do you ever say no to me?” His smile faltered. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But I want you to be happy too. And I don’t know what that looks like when you’re always saying yes to everything I say.”

He looked down at his mug, the steam curling around his face like a shield. “I guess… I’m scared. That if I disagree, if I show too much of myself, you won’t like it. You’ll leave.”

You reached for his hand, squeezed it softly. “But if I never get to see the real you… aren’t I already with someone who’s not fully there?”

That’s when it hit — the truth neither of you wanted to say out loud. You loved each other, yes. But love without authenticity is like a house with no foundation. Eventually, it crumbles.

You kissed his cheek, and it lingered — a quiet thank you, a final kindness. “Be yourself for someone. Even if it’s not me.” And he nodded, not protesting, not fighting. Just letting go.

Because maybe saying “yes” too often had cost him the one person he wanted to stay.

CHENLE. It didn’t happen all at once. That was the hardest part to explain. There was no fight, no betrayal, no moment where you looked at Chenle and thought, This is it. It was a slow drift — so slow, in fact, that for a while, you didn’t even notice it was happening.

You used to talk for hours. About music, about dreams, about what you’d do if the world ended tomorrow. You shared inside jokes and playlists, late-night snack runs and stupid dancing in your pajamas. With him, everything used to feel light — like life had more color.

But lately, it had dulled.

He still smiled at you the same way. Still kissed your forehead when you passed by him in the hallway. But your conversations had started to shrink. Texts became replies, not initiations. Your laughter no longer echoed the same way.

One evening, sitting across from him in the café you both used to love, you realized you were halfway through your drink and neither of you had said anything for five full minutes.

You looked up. “Do you feel it too?” He met your gaze — not startled, just… sad. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I don’t know when it started.”

“I think it started when we stopped learning about each other,” he said. “We just… settled into a routine.”

You nodded. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Maybe that’s what made it worse. Because if one of you had done something wrong, there’d be someone to blame. But there wasn’t. Just two people who used to orbit the same sun, and now found themselves spinning in opposite directions.

“I still care about you,” he added. “So much.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And I care about you.” He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. It didn’t feel passionate, or electrifying, or painful. It felt like goodbye.

“I’ll always root for you,” he said. “Whatever you do, wherever you go.” You smiled, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Same for you.”

There was love in this moment — undeniable, quiet, enduring. But love isn’t always enough to hold people together. Not when growth pulls them apart.

When you left the café, you didn’t cry. Not right away. Instead, you walked slowly through the city, replaying every beautiful moment you’d ever had with him. You let yourself feel it all — the beginnings, the magic, and now, the end.

Some relationships don’t end with a bang or a wound. Some end with a whisper, a sigh, a knowing. You’d been growing. So had he. Just… not in the same direction.

JISUNG. With Jisung, love felt young — tender and careful, like a secret the world hadn’t fully discovered yet. There was innocence in the way he looked at you, like you were a marvel he wasn’t quite sure he deserved. He admired you, adored you. You saw it in the way he reached for your hand in crowded places or quietly tucked a note into your bag just because he thought you needed a smile. You cherished that sweetness.

But over time, sweetness gave way to suspicion.

It started subtly. The slight pause before he asked, “Who were you texting?” The quick scroll through your social media likes. The way he’d grow quiet after you mentioned hanging out with an old friend — especially if it was a guy. You brushed it off, at first. Everyone gets insecure sometimes, right?

But it kept growing. He started clinging tighter after you posted pictures without him. His compliments became layered with questions. “You look amazing in that outfit… Did anyone say something to you today?” You could feel the trust cracking beneath the surface of every word.

“I trust you,” he told you one night, arms wrapped around you under the covers. “But you don’t trust anyone around me,” you said softly, staring up at the ceiling. He stayed silent.

You turned toward him. “I can’t keep explaining that you’re the only one I want.” His eyes shimmered with that familiar vulnerability. “I’m scared. What if you wake up one day and realize you want someone better, smarter, more… confident?”

You took his hand in yours. “I’ve never asked you to be perfect, Jisung. Just secure enough in what we have. I can’t keep proving I love you. That’s not what love is.”

He blinked, and for a moment, you thought he might fight for this. That he’d finally trust what was between you. But all he said was, “I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m going to lose you.”

And maybe he already had.

The next time it happened — the jealousy, the tight-lipped silence, the tension that filled the room after a harmless mention of someone else — you felt something inside you shift. You weren’t angry. You were just tired. Tired of defending something that should’ve stood strong on its own.

It was raining when you finally said the words. You stood in his doorway, his hoodie pulled over your head, the sleeves still a little too long. “I love you,” you said. “But this isn’t love anymore. It’s fear. And I can’t build a future with fear.”

His eyes widened, lips parting as if to stop you — but he didn’t. He stood frozen, raindrops framing your silhouette like a memory that would haunt him later.

You stepped forward, wrapped your arms around him, and held him close. He trembled in your embrace. And then you let go.

Some heartbreaks aren’t loud. They’re soft. Fragile. A whispered surrender.

a/n. reblogs, comments and asks are appreciated! please tell me your opinions on this one.

[1sab4lla]

weird ; a. donaldson

you and art had fallen into a rhythm—uncomplicated, familiar, and maybe just a little sacred. he'd play his tennis matches, inevitably win, then he'd pick you up from your trademarked spot on the bleachers.

and without fail, you’d be perched in your usual spot, second row from the back on the left side of the bleachers—the one with the creaky board and the view slightly obscured by a light post.

you said it gave you “visual drama.” he didn’t question it.

after came the ritual debrief, always over food. takeout, obviously—tonight was thai, your pick. from there, the two of you would retreat to his dorm, settle onto his laughably narrow twin bed, and you’d put on a film you were sure he hadn't seen. today was no different.

the screen flickered blue and gold in the dim room, casting odd shadows on the popcorn ceiling. you were cross-legged, still in your moth-bitten cardigan that smelled faintly of lavender, scooping pad see ew into your mouth.

art, meanwhile, had only half-heartedly eaten a few dumplings, eyes darting to you more than the screen. you were locked on the screen. he was locked on you.

he stared at you for a moment, still half-reclined, leaning against the wall. a few minutes pass in relative silence, the only sound coming from the tv (or his obnoxious chewing).

a few quiet minutes passed—the only sounds the tv's muted dialogue and his obnoxiously loud chewing. then he shifted, turning toward you fully, tucking his legs beneath him.

“hey,” he said softly.

you didn’t look away from the screen. you made a soft sound—half hum, half sigh—that could have meant yes, not now, or i'm busy. but that was just how you were. always a little impossible to read, like one of your films, or the strange poetry you left folded in your coat pockets.

he looks at you once more, eyes flickering as he searches for something in your face. then he takes another deep breath, and the next thing he says comes out all in a rush — like he's afraid he might change his mind if he doesn't spit it out fast.

"i need to tell you something. something i've been hiding for awhile now, and i've been trying to keep it down, but—"

now that catches your attention. your gaze meets his, and he quiets down, jaw tight. he looks away from you, one hand running through his hair.

when he looked back at you, his eyes were different. there was something raw in them—something uncertain and painfully open.

“okay,” he said, almost hoarse. “okay, i’m just gonna say it. i don’t want to waste any more time.”

another breath. a longer silence.

for a moment, the only sound is the low beat of the movie and the faint crackle of his lamp. then art takes another deep breath. "i'm in love with you," he breathes, the words so soft you almost don't hear them at first.

you blinked. for a second, you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. but he didn’t look away. didn’t laugh. he just stared at you, his eyes wide and unblinking, waiting for something—confirmation, rejection, anything.

“i—what?” you said. “me?”

it had to be a joke. some weird, surreal prank. because you were you, and he was art. he was golden, effortless. you were the opposite of effortless.

a flash of something sad passed across his face—he recognized that look in your eyes. he’d seen it before, the disbelief, the deep-rooted doubt.

“yeah,” he said, voice gentler now. “you.”

you shook your head a little. “why? i’m too weird.”

his features softened, and something in him seemed to settle. he knew where this was going. he’d been watching that seed of insecurity grow in you. he could name every reason you were about to list—too awkward, too different, too much. you’d given them all to him before, like a warning label.

he sat up straighter, shifting on the mattress so that his knee bumped gently against yours.

“too weird?” he echoed. “says who?”

you hesitated.

“everyone.”

a beat. he looked at you, really looked at you—at the way your fingers had started to pick at your chipped yellow nail polish, at the way you always folded in on yourself when you were unsure.

“not me,” he said finally. “not once.”

you didn’t say anything. but you knew, deep down. this was art. the boy you'd liked since he gifted you a pack of colored pens because he knew you liked that specific brand. who walked you home regardless of the weather because he wanted you to be safe. who didn’t mind your mindless rambles, or spouts of information only you would have.

he continued, quiet and careful, as if he was trying not to spook you.

“you think being different makes you unlovable. but it’s the opposite. you see the world sideways, and you make me see it that way, too. you’re weird, yeah. but it’s the best kind. the kind that makes everything a little more interesting. the kind i’ve been drawn to since the day i met you.”

you stared down at your lap, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly. “i just… i needed you to know. even if it ruins everything.”

another silence. longer this time. then you looked up.

"i don’t think it ruins anything,” you said quietly.

he looks you in your eyes, his gaze flickering just slightly as something flickers through his expression. affection, affection, affection. for you. for you, and all of your little flaws that you hate so much.

the silence between you wasn’t heavy now. it was warm, full. you could feel it buzzing just under your skin, a soft kind of tension that didn’t need to be named.

he reached for your hand, tentative at first. but when you didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, his fingers laced gently through yours. his touch was steady, grounding. like something long overdue.

you met his eyes again, and for the first time, you let yourself really look—at the boy who knew your favorite films and never laughed at your poetry, who kept showing up, game after game, smile after smile. at the boy who saw you, truly.

“i think,” you said slowly, “some part of me’s been waiting to hear you say that.”

his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “then i'm sorry it took me so long.”

you shook your head, a soft laugh slipping out. “it didn’t. i think it came exactly when it was supposed to.”

he leaned in, the space between you folding in on itself. his forehead rested gently against yours, and you closed your eyes. for a moment, there was nothing else—no tv, no flickering lights, no creaky bleacher seats. just the quiet breath between you and the feeling of being chosen.

and then, slowly, like a thought turning into a feeling, he kissed you.

it wasn’t rushed, or cinematic, like the black-and-white kisses you loved so much in your old french films. it was softer than that. quieter. his lips met yours like he’d been thinking about this for a long time—like the motion was already memorized.

you kissed him back without hesitation, something small and certain sparking in your chest. the kind of spark that felt like it had been smoldering there for years, just waiting for the right match.

when he pulled away, barely an inch, he didn’t move far. he stayed close, eyes still shut like he was trying to hold onto the moment. “that okay?” he murmured, voice low.

you nodded, your nose brushing his. “yeah,” you whispered. “that was… really okay.”

a smile broke across his face then—small, crooked, almost sheepish. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “good. because i’ve wanted to do that since you made me sit through Wings of Desire without subtitles.”

you laughed, eyes bright. “i told you it was better that way.”

“you’re still wrong about that,” he said, grinning. “but i’d sit through it a hundred more times if it meant getting to be here with you.”

you rolled your eyes, but your fingers squeezed his. “you’re sappy.”

“i’m yours,” he said, and he meant it.

[sharieb]

Can I request headcanons where Lads men accidentally overhear Non MC Reader telling MC that you do like him but it's definitely unrequited please? - 🌕 anon

Didn't Mean for You to Hear That

Setup:  After a casual hangout, out and about, you confide in MC privately; however, a certain someone overheard your conversation.

Pairing: LADs x Non-MC! reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

The hangout starts lively, ending with an impromptu street food crawl through the buzzing heart of the city.

Zayne tags along at first reluctantly, but you coax a few smiles from him between skewers of grilled dumplings and fried lotus.

As the others peel off, you and MC slip into a quiet promenade garden hidden behind a noodle stall.

You find a bench beside a koi pond. The lantern light makes the water ripple like stardust.

You exhale slowly. "Zayne’s incredible. But I know I’m not the one he turns to when he’s tired. I’m just someone he patches up and sends on their way."

MC frowns. "You think he lingers around everyone that long after stitching them up?"

You shrug. "He’s just kind. And I’m lucky to be part of his routine. That’s all."

Beyond a swath of night-blooming lilies, Zayne stands still, the shadows cloaking him. Routine?

He swallows hard. You think I bring coffee to everyone who comes in with a paper cut?

He grips the bench post. The urge to step out wars with his instinct to stay silent.

The next time you’re scheduled for a check-in, the appointment’s changed. Zayne greets you with your favourite coffee already in hand.

He meets your eyes. "I don’t keep you around because it’s convenient. I want you here."

During the examination, his touch is softer. His fingers linger just a second longer. He doesn’t ask why your pulse is fast.

After a tense supply run, the group winds up at a rooftop bar on the edge of N019, half-abandoned, still somehow fully powered, with static-ridden speakers and sputtering neon signs.

Sylus is the one who suggested the place. You think nothing of it, even as he looms near the edge, watching more than speaking.

You and MC eventually find yourselves pressed against the rusted railing, stargazing beyond the blinking skyline. You murmur, "I like him. Really like him. But let’s be real, guys like Sylus don’t destroy kingdoms for someone like me."

MC replies without missing a beat. "He lights fires just by breathing next to you."

You laugh. "That’s just who he is. Dangerous. Beautiful. Temporary."

By the stairwell, cloaked in shadow, Sylus stills. The word lands with venom. Temporary?

His jaw tightens. You think I wouldn’t tear the city down if you asked me to stay?

He says nothing. He walks away into the dark before his voice could betray him.

Days later, your inbox pings with an untraceable message.

It opens with static, then a haunting jazz loop. Then his voice:

"You’re not temporary. Don’t ever say that again."

After that, Sylus returns to acting the same, but never quite leaves the room you’re in. Never let you walk ahead alone.

The group got a rare aligned break to watch the planet rise from a sky-high station platform on Skyhaven.

Caleb brings cinnamon cocoa, wrapped pastries, and a blanket "for everyone" that he keeps folding just over your side.

After the others leave, you and MC linger on the transparent glass stairs overlooking the clouds.

You hug your knees and whisper, "You know… he was my high school crush... still kind of is. But now he’s a Colonel. I’m just a classmate from before."

MC side-eyes you. "He just sacrificed the last cookie to you like it was a noble death. That doesn’t feel casual."

You laugh weakly. "It’s nostalgia. He remembers the past, not... me now."

Caleb stands a level above, half-hidden near the lift. He doesn’t move. Still your crush? And you think I only see who you were?

His hands clench around the edge of the railing. Images flash: your hand wrapped around a toy plane, your voice calling his name, your eyes today, wiser, more tired, more beautiful.

That night, you find a model plane on your bed. Not new. One he saved. Painted again.

A tiny banner reads: "Some flights take longer to come back around. But I never stopped tracking yours."

The next morning, he waits at the mess hall like always. This time, the seat beside him is saved with a second thermos.

When you sit, he doesn’t bring it up.

But when you break your cookie and hand him half, he says, "Save me the wing, yeah? You always liked the middle."

Group hangout begins with indie bookstore hopping, laughter over mismatched recommendations, and ends at a quiet tea house with soft jazz and steamed windows.

The group splits off. You and MC take a detour through a neon-lit park on the way home, arms full of pastries and warm drinks.

Xavier claims he needs to catch the train before rush hour and ducks out early.

You and MC settle on a bench under a humming streetlamp. The hum feels like a secret keeper.

You sigh: "I like Xavier, but he doesn’t like me like that. He’s sweet, but I’m not the one he loses sleep over."

MC leans in, trying to read your expression. "He zones out whenever you talk. That has to count for something."

You smile weakly. "I think I make him comfortable, not... curious."

Behind you, half-concealed by a park pillar, Xavier stands frozen. You think I sleep easily because of you? I haven’t slept in weeks.

His breath hitches. So many nights he stayed up replaying your laugh, every shared glance. But he’d convinced himself you didn’t notice.

Later, he sends you a meme over text, with a comment that sounds light but holds tension beneath.

The next time you stop by the tea shop, the barista hands you your favourite order, already paid for. "By someone with blue eyes and a weirdly specific smile," the barista told you.

That night, Xavier watches your name flash on his screen and locks his phone before he can say too much.

The day winds down with the group meandering through an open-air mural alley by the shore, where art stalls display driftwood paintings and watercolor skies.

Rafayel is in his element, pointing out brushstrokes, teasing meanings behind abstract pieces, gifting you a souvenir sea-glass charm.

When the group splits to grab food, you and MC stay back near a quiet stone bench by the surf.

The ocean laps gently against the dock pylons below. You sigh, leaning forward.

"He’s so beautiful it hurts," you admit. 

"But he’d never see me that way. I’m not special."

MC laughs under her breath. "You’re literally the only person he painted in conversation tonight."

You shake your head. "That’s just Rafayel. Intense. Fleeting. He loves everything for a moment."

Around the corner, hidden near the faded staircase to the tide-walk, Rafayel leans against a mural with crossed arms. Fleeting?

The word slices deep.

He bites his tongue, staring out at the sea. You think I’m not serious about you? I memorised your laugh before I even knew your name.

That night, he doesn’t go home. He sketches by the sea, haunted by the truth you believe.

The next morning, a small framed canvas leans against your door. It’s the view you had from the bench, painted in aching detail.

Behind it, a card: "Some things don’t need to be said aloud. But I’ll still show you. – R."

When you see him again, he doesn’t bring it up. But he stands a little closer and asks questions with his eyes instead of words.

[mercy-love-joy]

Chapter Eleven of The Burns Melted Into Gold

It's hereeeeeeeeeee

It's hereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Come get your food!

Oh and here's the animatic!

(Pls watch after reading)

[flwrkid14]

imagine if Tim’s rogues/villains (lady shiva, cat woman, riddler, ra’s, etc) are the only ones who remember his birthday? Like they’d break into the bat cave or JL meeting to gift him smth or just to wish him happy birthday. That’d be sad and depressing but also funny and cute ig.

thank you so much for this ask, anon !! it’s the perfect mix of funny and quietly heartbreaking — which honestly just is the Tim Drake experience. like of course his villains would remember his birthday. of course Lady Shiva would casually drop into the Batcave with a perfectly wrapped gift while everyone else forgets. it’s tragic. it’s hilarious. it’s weirdly endearing. and now I can’t stop thinking about it T-T

Tim doesn’t expect anyone to remember.

And look, that’s not some martyr thing. He’s not fishing. He’s not being dramatic. It’s just—everyone’s busy. Bruce is halfway across the galaxy playing interstellar Batman. Dick’s working double shifts in Blüdhaven. Cass and Steph are off-grid. Damian is... somewhere. Probably stabbing something.

Alfred would’ve remembered, but he’s in Zurich for that symposium on bullet wound triage. Because of course he is.

So Tim spends most of his nineteenth birthday in the Batcave. Doing diagnostics. Refreshing surveillance logs. Eating cereal out of a coffee mug. Like it’s not the most depressing way to turn nineteen.

And then the lights go out.

Not all of them. Just the perimeter lights. A very specific, very deliberate power dip. Because that’s apparently how Lady Shiva says hello.

She doesn’t say happy birthday right away. She just stands there in the half-shadow, arms folded, watching him like she’s assessing if he’s taller or if she just forgot how short he used to be.

“I brought food,” she says finally, and tosses a brown paper bag onto the desk.

Inside: dumplings. From that place in Chinatown with the crab logo he used to sneak off to between patrols. It’s still hot.

She doesn’t stick around. Just says, “Don’t waste it,” and disappears back into the dark like a cryptid. No hug. No smile. Nothing soft.

There's nothing particularly nice about it.

Next is Riddler.

He sets off every alarm on his way down the cave's elevator, and Tim barely has time to disable the failsafes before Edward saunters in wearing a blazer that could double as a traffic hazard.

“I brought you a game,” he announces, like this is normal. Like they’ve done this before.

It’s a puzzle box—wooden, intricate, probably one-of-a-kind. No branding, just a spiraling Latin inscription and a note tucked beneath the lid: "You’re harder to stump at nineteen. I’m offended, but i'll keep working harder to outsmart you, watch out birdy boy."

It’s mocking. Theatrical. Annoyingly sincere in a way that almost makes Tim smile.

Tim mutters a thank-you he doesn’t quite mean, but also kind of does.

Catwoman shows up uninvited (of course). No alarm this time—just a tap on the Batmobile’s roof as she lounges against it like it’s her personal chaise lounge.

“Word on the rooftops was that it’s your big day,” she purrs. “I figured the Bats forgot.”

She tosses him a small, flat box wrapped in a ribbon he’s 90% sure is from one of Gotham’s high-end jewelry stores. Inside is a slim data drive.

“Encrypted files on the mayor’s shady offshore accounts,” she says, almost bored. “Happy birthday, bird boy.”

Then, a wink. And she’s gone, leaving a faint trace of perfume and the knowledge that she absolutely used Bruce’s garage code to get in.

And then.

Ra’s.

Because of course there’s a transmission from Ra’s al Ghul, as if today hadn’t been weird enough.

The Batcomputer beeps ominously and suddenly there he is, on every monitor, standing before some firepit like he’s about to start a Gregorian chant.

“Detective,” he begins, smooth and dramatic and so deeply irritating. “I find the anniversary of your birth… worthy of acknowledgement.”

There’s a pause. Like he’s searching for the words “happy birthday” and finding them both distasteful and beneath him.

“I have arranged for several of your enemies to experience... inconvenience today. A small gesture.”

Which is Ra’s-speak for “I kidnapped half the Gotham underworld so you could have a quiet evening.”

It’s dumb. And morbid. And weird. But he remembered. Which is more than anyone else did.

Midnight hits. The cave is dark again. Shiva’s bag is empty. The logic puzzle sits unsolved on the floor. Selina’s drive hums faintly where he’s left it connected to his laptop. The screens have long since gone cold, the remnants of Ra’s transmission fading.

No texts. No calls. No Bats.

Just a handful of villains with weird boundaries and the emotional range of a brick.

Somehow, it still means something.

Somehow, it’s not the worst birthday he’s ever had.

[thewritingrowlet]

The Renewed Slate, ft. Kep1er Chaehyun

tags: anal, rough sex

length: 7k+

author's note: it was quite difficult to get the ball rolling, but here it is.

-

The warm glow of the morning sun fills the bedroom, casting a shadow of the weird position you two are in. Chaehyun is leaning against your body while you’re against the headboard, an open diary still lying in her hands. You didn’t intend to fall asleep this way, but the night-long exploration of shared memories took its toll before you could settle in a proper sleeping position.

You take a deep breath as you collect yourself, your nostrils getting filled with her scent. A loud, unintentional yawn escapes your lips, and the sound makes Chaehyun stir awake. “Oh, sorry, love,” you say, your voice hoarse from the sleep. “Mm, it’s fine,” she mumbles, absentmindedly tracing odd lines on the diary’s cover. “Did you sleep well, by the way?” You chuckle a little, a genuine warmth rising within you. “I think I made the most of this position,” you quip.

Chaehyun turns her head, her gaze meeting yours over her shoulder. “Can we sleep in, love?” The thought of spending more time wrapped in her arms is indeed tempting, but your responsibilities at work demand your presence today. “You can, but I need to go to work,” you say, hoping she will understand. “Work, of course.” She sighs as a flicker of disappointment crosses her face, but she quickly masks it with a smile. “Well, I won’t hold you back too long, then.”

Chaehyun pulls you out of the bed despite wishing for you to stay at home with her. “I’ll steam some frozen dumplings for you,” she says. Usually, frozen food meant that you had no other option, but now that she’s returned, frozen food is actually good. Chaehyun has prepared a box full of plump, meaty dumplings to reheat when needed.

“Sounds great, baby,” you say, your hands taking their favorite spots on her waist, “perhaps the chef would like a kiss first?” She laughs, lightly hitting your chest as her cheeks turn a delicate pink. “Alright, fine—just one kiss, okay?” Chaehyun parts her lips slightly as she closes her eyes, bracing for intimate contact. She gasps quietly when your lips claim hers, losing herself in the gentle heat of the kiss. When the tangle finally breaks, she mutters a quiet thank you. “That’s perfect, love,” she looks up at you with a tender smile, “I’ll get going now.”

In the kitchen, Chaehyun hums to the melody of her own thoughts, moving around the space efficiently to prepare breakfast for you. “Coffee or tea?” she thinks, eyeing the two containers sitting on the shelf before her. Eventually, she reaches for the jar of chamomile tea, her nose picking up the blissful scent as soon as the lid is open. “Mm, yes, definitely tea.”

After arranging the plates and mugs, she takes a seat at the dining table, her eyes glued to the brown bedroom door. She can’t help but bite her lip when you emerge from the bedroom with only a towel around your waist, admiring your good physique as a familiar urge whirls within. As you step closer towards her, she quickly shifts her gaze towards the other direction, because even when you’re not aroused, the clear evidence of your masculinity can’t simply be hidden—if anything, it does not let itself be hidden.

“Y-your breakfast is ready, love,” she says, trying her hardest to not stare at your crotch. Pretending to have missed her mischievous gaze, you take a seat next to her, your knee brushing against hers. “Before I start eating and forget, I just want to say thank you,” you say. You reach to the side towards her hand, rubbing the back of it affectionately while looking into her eyes. “One of my biggest sins in our marriage is how little I appreciated your efforts, and I plan to make it right with you on this… renewed slate, I suppose.”

Chaehyun, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone, can only look back at you, her lips parting slightly in puzzlement. “Okay…?” She scratches her temple, unsure of what else to say. “You’re… welcome, I guess?” You nod slowly, satisfied by her response despite the underlying hesitation behind it. “Right, well, I’ll start eating now.”

She looks at you intently as you dig into the dumplings on your plate, enjoying the sight of you devouring them as if they were the best dumplings of all time. She leans forwards a little, drawn to the genuine excitement for the food that you’re exuding, her hand finding a spot on your bare thigh. “Are they that good?” Your free hand finds its way around her back, hugging her tenderly from the side. “Yes, my dear; they’re that good,” you say, making sure that she knows how appreciated her efforts are. “If it’s okay with you, baby, can you reheat some more, because I want to take some to work?” She nods vehemently, her heart swelling with affection because of your simple request. “Of course, love,” she replies, her tone high in excitement. “In fact, I’ll make more of them while you’re at work. That way, we will always have dumplings in stock.”

-

“We’re going out for lunch, director—want to come along?” Mr. Kim offers, not knowing that you’ve brought your wife’s delectable dumplings to work. “I’m fine, Mr. Kim,” you show him the pink food container that is uniquely yours, “my wife made these dumplings for me, so I’ll have them for lunch.” A smile plays on his lips, hiding his envy behind it. “Well, I hope you enjoy your lunch, sir.”

As you bite into the first one and cause an explosion of flavors in your mouth, your phone rings: it’s your beloved wife checking in on you. “Hi, hello,” you greet her with a full mouth, your voice barely intelligible because of it. “Hi there,” she replies, seemingly excited to catch you eating the food she’s made this morning. “Enjoying your lunch, baby?” You hum in response, unable to say words while you’re busy chewing. “Aw, that’s cute,” the satisfaction is evident in her voice, “well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Call me back after you’re done eating, okay?” You nod to yourself, taking a mental note to get back to her later, and the call ends soon after.

You sink into your chair as you savor the last remnants of this special, delightful lunch. “Oh, Kim Chaehyun…” Her name rings in your mind, secretly wishing you could just hug her tight right here, right now. “Wait, actually,” you’re reminded that she wanted you to call her back, “let’s call her now.”

It takes but a second for her to answer the call, greeting you with a high tone that is thick with excitement. “Hi, baby!” Her high spirits are always infectious, often leaving you with no choice but to feel the same. “Hi, love. Can I just say that I loved, loved, loved those dumplings?” A giggle is heard from the other side, a sign that she’s flattered by your appreciation. “You’re sweet, you know,” she says. “Also, I’ve made a dozen more—all for you, my love.” You swallow a gulp that is stuck in your throat, wishing you could have more now. “That’s wonderful, baby.”

“By the way,” Chaehyun changes the subject. “I’ve read our diaries again. Can we talk about it a bit?” Your eyebrows rise, intrigued by her request to talk about those records from the past. “Sure, what about them, baby?”

“Just how crazy were we when it came to sex?”

Your heart begins pounding in your chest, each beat bumping against your ribs. Thinking about those passionate—sometimes even wild—nights at work feel inappropriate, but you’re not dodging her question. Chaehyun might feel like you’re being dismissive about the past if you avoid answering her. Coming across as being disparaging about the only thing she can use to get a glimpse of her old self is definitely not among the things you want to do to her.

“We… we’ve always been crazy for each other,” you answer, stringing each word carefully. “We’ve done things that some might think are beyond the lines of normalcy.” Chaehyun falls silent, processing your answer as she presumably holds the sex diary in her hands. “Is that so?” she asks, her voice almost disappearing. “Yeah, I mean, these… entries do sound wild—not all of them, but almost.” You nod along, and you can only think about how you have managed to persuade her into committing these naughty, borderline verboten, acts with you time and time again.

“I feel like I owe you some apologies,” you say, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “But I always consented, right?” she asks. “Yes, you did,” you answer firmly, not leaving any room for doubt about your moral correctness, even if the sex was often anything but. “I’d like to talk when you get home tonight, if that’s okay,” she inquires, hoping that you’ll give her the time and space for a discussion. “I’ll do my best, love.”

“I’ll see you later then, daddy.”

Hearing that name always makes you hard. You know the underlying meaning it carries, and if the past is anything to go by, tonight will end with you and Chaehyun out of breath and energy.

“Don’t tempt me, please,” you warn her, your words not carrying threat. “Or what?” she taunts. “Will you bend me over the dining table and take my anus like in page 9?” You sigh deeply, gradually losing your grip on the reins of lust. “Kim Chaehyun, please don’t push me,” you warn her again, this time a bit more serious. “Yeah, okay—look, I’ll go now, okay? I love you.” With a click, the call ends, leaving you alone with your growing arousal. “Yeah, I love you too,” you say belatedly, not reaching her ear.

-

Chaehyun stretches around, only getting herself together now after falling asleep on the couch, the sex diary still cradled in her hands. She then checks the time: only around an hour to go before you step through the front door. “I should prepare dinner,” she thinks, fighting the urge to stay seated. Closing the diary and leaving it on the sofa, Chaehyun makes her way to the kitchen, ready to whip up a quick meal for dinner.

The sex diary is now replaced with the recipe book, and her choice lands on the beef teriyaki recipe. Her finger taps on the little sticky note that says, “No onion, please,” and she chuckles to herself. “Someone doesn’t like onion, huh?” After grabbing the necessary ingredients and organizing them on the counter, she begins cooking, her skills from the olden days resurfacing with every recipe she’s trying out.

The cooking has gone rather swiftly and smoothly, and she’s managed to finish it before you arrive. As soon as Chaehyun settles on the couch again, beeps are heard from the front door, a sign that someone is about to emerge from the other side. “Has to be him,” she thinks. She maintains a smile as she waits for the door to swing open, and her smile only widens when you step inside the house.

“Hi there,” she waves at you with a smile, her forehead shiny with sweat she’s gotten from cooking, “you arrive just in time; I just finished making dinner.” You place your backpack in its usual spot on the shelf by the door, a gesture of leaving work at the front door and not letting it cloud the tender domesticity in this house.

“Thank you for cooking, baby,” you say, peppering her face with kisses, thus getting a bit of her sweat on your lips. “Are we eating now, or?” You eye the closed diary on the couch, hoping that she’s willing to postpone the scheduled discussion until you have some food in your belly. “Yeah, let’s eat now while everything is hot like me.” Your eyes blink rapidly, caught off guard by her last few words. “Hot like me, hey?” you repeat, and you’re met with her cheeks that are turning light pink.

You let Chaehyun lead you towards the dining table, and when she’s close enough to it, you bend her over, her covered breasts pressed against the wooden surface. “Page 9,” you say. “If I remember correctly, I took you just like this in that entry.” Chaehyun laughs softly, the sound vibrating through you. “Are we jumping straight into the deep end?” she asks, feeling the surge of arousal in the air. Your peck that lands on her nape sends a shiver down her spine. “No, not yet,” you whisper. “We’ll have the time for that.”

With a hand on her shoulder, you help her get back up, silently making a promise to indulge in some heated sexual encounter for the sake of reminiscing. “Can you prepare the food, please? I’ll join you after this.” Chaehyun nods without saying anything, her heart still racing at the thought of getting taken roughly over the table as the diary portrays. “Great, I’ll be right back.”

Chaehyun swiftly arranges the table, moving with a purposeful rush as if trying to finish dinner as quickly as possible, and you come out of the bathroom just as she’s filling some mugs with water. She puts the glass jug on the table and looks at you with a small smile and pink cheeks. “Dinner is ready,” she gestures at the set table, the big bowl of beef teriyaki serving as a center piece.

Chaehyun can only look at you as you step towards her, and your towering presence causes her to swallow a gulp. “I-I said dinner is ready, m-my love,” she stammers, unsure of your intentions. “Oh, I heard you the first time, baby,” you whisper, your breath hot against her face. “It’s just that I crave for a bit of… appetizer.” Once again, she swallows the gulp that is stuck in her throat.

“What appetizer—mph!”

Before she can complete her sentence, your lips claim hers in a searing kiss, and in a moment of submission, she presses her curves against your firm torso, melting into the mind-consuming contact. Eventually, after having tasted enough of her lips, you slowly pull away.

“Oh my God, you…” she trails off, not bothering to finish her words.

While it’s true that she’s been back for a few months, this level of fiery passion still feels rather unfamiliar to her—she’s trying her best to get up to speed, nonetheless.

“I what, baby?” Chaehyun looks at you with a steady gaze, but her chest is anything but; her heart that is pounding within has her chest rising and falling in quick succession. “I… I can’t keep up with you,” she says in a tiny voice. You ask, “Too fast?” and she nods slowly in response. “I’m sorry, love—look, let’s have dinner first, and then we can think about how we want to continue.”

Usually, you sit across the table, but tonight, you opt to sit next to her, and your arm instinctively takes a spot on her lower back, showing possessiveness even when there’s no crowd. “Dinner,” she points at the dish on the table while looking at you, “c-can we start eating now?” You give her a peck on the temple, the more tender touch soothing her nerves. “Of course, baby. Actually, if you want to, I can give you some space to eat, and I’ll eat after you.” Chaehyun takes a few deep breaths, finishing the job of calming herself down, and shakes her head after. “No, that is against the point of me cooking for you,” she says, her resolve strengthening again.

As the two of you start eating, the initial tension begins to dissipate, and in its place blooms a sense of comfortable domestic intimacy. You savor each bite of the teriyaki, offering genuine praises for her cooking that are punctuated by soft smiles and touches. She reciprocates these praises with smiles of her own that are twice as sweet.

-

A new habit that the two of you have picked up is sharing dish washing duties; Chaehyun washes them, and you wipe them dry. Tonight is a bit different, though: you’re the one getting wet while Chaehyun stays dry.

“So, erm,” she attempts to start a conversation. “When can we talk about them?” You glance at her, pretending to not know what she’s getting at. “Talk about what, baby?” you ask. She sighs, her spirits slipping away at your less enthusiastic response. “Please, don’t do that to me; those diaries are the only things that can help me learn my past.”

Taken aback by the sudden change  in tone, you freeze momentarily, letting the water run into waste. “Can I not learn about my past? Do you not want me to?” Chaehyun presses further. Having regained composure, you quickly turn off the tap and dry your hands. “Baby, that’s not what I meant…” You cup her soft cheek, stroking it gently with your thumb. “You want to talk about the diaries, yeah? Let’s settle in bed and talk about them, then.” She nods, rubbing her cheek against your hand, as a small smile plays on her lips. “I’ll wait for you in the bedroom, then.”

When you enter the bedroom, Chaehyun is waiting for you, leaning against the headboard with some diaries on her lap. She extends a hand, inviting you to join her in the soft mattress, adding to the irresistible draw of the already alluring atmosphere of the dimly lit bedroom. When your hand touches hers, fingers tangling together, a bigger smile spreads across her face, her eyes filled with hopefulness and anticipation of taking a trip to the past.

You lean against the headboard beside her, pulling her closer to you as she picks up the first diary she wants to address. “I saw some more names,” she begins, her voice a bit hesitant, “and I want you to tell me who they are, okay?” You nod, preparing yourself to be as honest as needed, committing to not hiding anything from her. “Read the names, baby, and I’ll tell you.”

“Kim Jiyoon,” she starts.

“Your friend from college. Stole a potential boyfriend from you.”

Chaehyun sighs, not expecting things to take such a drastic turn so soon. “Off to a great start,” she says, sarcasm thick in her voice. “No further questions—let’s move on to another name,” you urge her, not wanting to let her slip into sourness.

Chaehyun flips the page and finds another name. “Next one: Choi Jiwon.”

“A former employee at our company. Quit to get married to a guy who also worked for us. As far as I know, they already have a child—a son, I think.”

Her expression softens at this better revelation, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “That’s cute,” she says, her finger tracing small circles over Jiwon’s name on the diary. “I assume one of them had to quit because of company policy?” You sigh at the cold reminder of losing such a valuable employee to an outdated rule. “We’ve changed the policy, though,” you say. “Such a rule still exists, but it’s less… constraining, I suppose.” She nods, seemingly in approval of the change. “That sounds good, love,” she adds.

“Anyway, next one: Kim Chaewon.”

Your smile disappears promptly at the mentioned name, one that you used to say with a lot of love and care; one that took so much to forget. “Kim Chaewon…” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper. “What about that person, hm?” she presses on. You sigh, silently wishing she hadn’t found this name. You’re still committed to telling the truth, though.

“Kim Chaewon wanted me to give her 50 grams of gold as a dower,” you say, plain and truthful. Chaehyun’s eyebrows rise as she turns in your arms, looking at you with curious eyes. “O…kay? And what did you give me?” she asks. “Well, 50 grams of gold,” you say again. She scratches her head, befuddled by the spin that the story is taking. “I don’t understand, honestly.”

“Look, baby,” you start over from the top. “Chaewon made it very clear that it was 50 grams of gold or no marriage, and I knew it wasn’t just her wish, but also her parents. Something about testing my resolve and commitment to the relationship with wealth.” Chaehyun nods slowly, gradually getting a grip on the story. “Okay, so?” she asks, curiosity getting the better of her. “So, I said no, because it felt like it was her price tag so I could take her hand in marriage, and I didn’t want any of that.”

You lean back against the headboard, your arm loosening its hold on Chaehyun. “It wasn’t easy,” you mutter, your mind going back to the day you severed your ties with Chaewon—what an eventful day that was. “I cared for Chaewon, but I wasn’t going to compromise my principles just so I could get married.” You pause, your gaze meeting Chaehyun’s, your hand reaching for hers. “But then I met you,” you whisper, “and all those pain and regret just melted away, and I was more than happy to give you 50 grams of gold, because you deserved every gram of it.”

Chaehyun’s fingers tighten around yours, an adoring smile spreading across her features. “I’m glad you found your way to me,” she says, her voice thick with affection. “So am I, baby,” you press a tender kiss to her knuckle, “I’m beyond grateful to have you by my side for all these years.”

The diary closes with a subtle thud as Chaehyun leans closer against your side. “Oh, are we done, baby?” you ask, secretly relieved that she’s closed the book. “With that one, yes, but we’ll look at the sex diary after this.” You chuckle, realizing that you’re not out of the woods just yet. “Okay, I’m game for whatever you want to do, baby.”

The first diary soon loses its place in Chaehyun’s hands to the sex diary, one that is filled with another type of history. The entries of this diary are shorter, more focused on the specific encounters of each entry, and the language is often raw and unpolished.

As she opens the cover, the room’s temperature seems to start rising at the expectation of reliving into the sensual entries of this particular diary. A blush creeps up to her cheeks at the sight of the first page: a depiction of being taken from behind while standing up in front of a mirror. “Oh my…” she mutters. “You know, I’ve read this page so many times, and I blushed every single time,” she adds. Naughty as you are, you nibble her exposed earlobe teasingly. “Did you perhaps get wet too, baby?” Chaehyun exhales deeply, trying her best in maintaining her resolve. “Y-yes, I did,” she admits.

Chaehyun gently pushes her elbow against you, signaling her need to have some space for herself. “T-there are some… positions that I want to talk about,” she says, the blush on her cheeks still not disappearing. “Sure, baby.”

Chaehyun flips the dairy to the twenty-sixth page, titled “The Butterfly.” The page has a little sticky note stuck on the edge, serving as a marker.

“This one,” she places a finger on the title, “this entry sounds very naughty, love.” You chuckle, your mind going back to the night you first did this position with Chaehyun. “Does it, baby? Well, what if I told you that you were the one who came up with the name?” She shakes her head, amused by the creativity of her past self. “Anyway, can you, like, show me how we’re supposed to do this?” she asks. “Oh, I can—please, stand up.”

You guide her to stand in front of the mirror, taking a position behind her yourself. “Here, baby,” you then guide her to wrap one arm around your neck, facing away from you. “A-are you going to lift me like the diary says?” You nod, a fond smile playing on your lips. “On three, baby—one, two, three.” You lift her into the air, supporting her with your hands that are planted on the insides of her thighs.

“Here we have it, baby. The Butterfly,” you say, meeting her gaze through the mirror. Her cheeks turn red hot as she scans the sight of the reflection, taking in every detail of it. “S-so, you just… take me from behind while I’m in the air?” You give her a peck on the nape, praising her for quickly catching on. “Precisely, baby—from here, I can either put it in the front or the rear, depending on our agreement.” Chaehyun nods slowly, her mind imagining how it would be if you were to take her in this position right here, right now. “I think… I think I want to do this soon.”

“Soon, hey?” you echo, your low voice seductive. “Like, tonight soon, or…?” Chaehyun’s eyes sparkle, a mix of excitement and shyness swirling in them. “Maybe…” she whispers. “But… can we talk about this first, because I think doing it like this requires everything each of us has?” You nod, agreeing with her assessment. “It does, but usually, all I need from you is your moans,” you say, adding a little teasing remark for extra seduction point.

The heat in your voice, the temptation lying beneath it, and the suggestive smile on your lips are enough to ignite a flame of desire within Chaehyun. “My moans, huh?” she repeats, gradually surrendering to the lure of raw, unrestrained desire. “I’m a simple man, baby,” you say. “Besides, your moans sound like music to me.” She nods with firm resolve. “Alright, let’s do it, then.”

You carefully lower her onto the floor, giving both of you the chance to undress. Chaehyun takes off everything rather swiftly, kicking the discarded clothes to the side after she’s completely bare before you. She then takes a few steps, closing the gap between bodies, and reaches for your half-erect member, stroking it to hardness.

She looks up at you with a smile that’s more cute than sexy, more pure than seductive. “Whatever we do tonight,” she begins, her hand running along your length, “I want to emphasize on our love for each other than a simple man-in-woman encounter.” You plant a soft, fleeting kiss on her lips, making a promise to make this more than a physical connection. “Of course, sweetheart. After all, we did all those positions out of love, not mere lust.”

Satisfied with how hard you are, she turns around, facing the mirror once more. “I’m ready,” she says, no hesitation in her voice. You cradle her right hand against your nape as you lift her, your hands firm beneath the soft curve of her parted thighs, suspending her weight in the air. “Vaginal or anal, baby?” you ask, making sure both of you are on the same page. “Vaginal for now, please.”

“Okay, here I go, baby.”

You feel Chaehyun's muscles tense and then relax as you fill her, her soft moan a confirmation of your connection. The mirror reflects the intimate dance of your bodies, your movements synchronized, your breaths mingling in the air. You deepen the kiss on her nape, your hands still fixed on the soft flesh of her thighs, guiding her rhythm. The sensation of her heat around you is intoxicating, driving you to explore the boundaries of pleasure.

The pace quickens, your thrusts becoming more insistent, each movement a testament to the raw desire that consumes you. Chaehyun's moans intensify, her head falling back as she surrenders to the sensations. The world narrows down to the feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the primal rhythm of your bodies entwined.

A surge of pure sensation washes over you both as you reach the finish line. You feel Chaehyun's body tighten around you, her moans reaching a fever pitch. You whisper her name, your voice thick with passion, and she cries out in release, her body shuddering in ecstasy. You hold her firmly, supporting her weight as the waves of pleasure subside, the shared climax a powerful apex of intimacy.

You slowly remove yourself from her heat, letting your excess seed drip onto the floor in waste. With cautious and precise move, you carefully lower her onto her feet, your hands planted on her hips to keep her steady. “You’re alright, baby. You’re so amazing,” you whisper, calming her down and praising her simultaneously.

Seeking comfort and safety, Chaehyun leans back against you, her chest heaving at every deep breath. “You… you’re insane…” she says, signs of exhaustion drawn all over her features. “H-how… how did you do that?” You chuckle, pressing a tender peck to the back of her head. “I don’t know; I just did what I thought would be best, and boy was it the best thing we’ve ever done.” Chaehyun weakly smacks your hand that is resting on her belly. “Next time, you should prepare me more,” she adds. You grin, catching the hint of a chance for a second try. “Sure, baby. Next time.”

Instead of lingering too long in the afterglow, you gently guide her back to bed. You pull the cover over her, wrapping her drained body under the soft material. “I’ll get you some water, baby, okay?” She nods, so you fetch a glass of water and bring it back to her. You caress her head softly as she takes small sips, her eyelids too heavy to keep open. The intensity from The Butterfly has completely disappeared, replaced by a relaxed, soothing tenderness, a reminder that this relationship is built on much, much more than sex—it’s built on the love and care you have for each other.

-

Chaehyun stirs in the middle of the night after having fallen asleep a few hours prior out of exhaustion. “Hi, sweetheart,” you greet her, your tone gentle. “Are you okay?” She nods, her cheeks rubbing against the pillow. “Just a bit sore—wait, why aren’t you asleep?” she asks. You put your tablet to the side, cradling her in your arms. “I just thought I could read some reports while you rested, baby.” She pouts, more playful than annoyed. “You wrecked me and read a report after that? You’re out of your mind, husband,” she continues.

A wave of tenderness washes over you as you hold Chaehyun close. “I didn’t wreck you, sweetie,” you protest, your voice laced with anything but irritation. “You said you wanted to relive some of the entries in the sex diary, so I granted your wish.” She hides her face in your chest, pressing her face against the firm muscles. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’ve made me so sore,” she argues.

As you stay in this warm cuddle with her, a memory from a few months ago resurfaces. “Chaehyun, baby,” you call to her, “didn’t you say you wanted to try doing page 5?” Chaehyun’s forehead furrows, trying to remember if she indeed said it. “Did I? What’s on page 5 anyway?” You shrug, not particularly attentive to the content of said page. “We’ll have to check.”

Chaehyun pulls away from the embrace, quipping, “Curiosity kills the cat, and I’m a very curious cat.” She reaches for the diary once more, quickly navigating to the referred page. She chuckles a little as she reads the entry, shaking her head in amusement. “It’s me sitting on a stool while getting fucked from behind,” she reveals, “God, we’re so… so… oh, what’s the word, naughty?”

While Chaehyun is still stuck reading the entry, you watch her with a smile on your face. It’s both relieving and arousing to see Chaehyun so eager to explore her own sexuality, to embrace the naughty—her word, not yours—things you’ve done together. Eventually, with a sigh, Chaehyun closes the diary and returns it to the bedside table.

“We can do that soon. Besides, I think I want to practice anal sex again.” Your eyebrows rise in surprise, not expecting her to bring up anal sex this soon. “Anal? Really?” Chaehyun chuckles. “I mean, sitting on a stool and sticking my butt out—that’s the perfect position for you to take my ass, no?”

There’s a handful of things that haven’t changed from Chaehyun, and this is one of them: she still doesn’t mince her words.

“I suppose so,” you answer. “You know what, why don’t we talk about it next time—you know, when our heads are… clearer, I guess?” Chaehyun smiles as she returns to her previous position in your arms. “Sure, let’s talk about it. After all, we’re doing all these things out of love and not simple lust, aren’t we?” You peck her on the lips, praising her for her understanding of the significance of this connection between the two of you. “Yes, my love; we are doing these things out of love,” you echo, confirming the mutual understanding between you and her.

-

You stir to the feel of Chaehyun's fingers tracing patterns on your chest. Her touch is light and lingering, a sensual reminder of the passion you shared last night. You open your eyes to find her looking right back at you, her expressions a mixture of affection and desire. "Good morning," she murmurs, her voice husky. "I was just thinking about... last night." A wave of heat washes over you as you recall the intensity of your connection. The weekend morning feels heavy with unspoken desires, a promise of further exploration hanging in the air.

You trace odd lines along her spine, the memory of the smooth skin of her back pressed against your torso still vivid in your head. “Good morning, beautiful,” you whisper, your voice as husky as hers. “What are you thinking about, baby?” Her hand slides along your stomach, its final destination unquestionable. “Are we perhaps going to try that anal-on-a-stool position today?” she asks.

A slow grin spreads across your face as the promise from last night resurfaces. “I think we can give it a try,” you say, keeping a straight face, pretending to be nonchalant. Chaehyun smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You could sound a bit more excited, you know,” she counters, seeing right past your façade. “I mean, think about it; the way you’d be positioned… the access it would provide…” Chaehyun trails off, letting the words hang in the air for you to fill in the blanks with your own imagination.

“Before I let myself run wild, let me ask you this, baby: do you consent to doing anal sex?” you ask, digging deep within yourself to find some clarity of mind amidst the growing sexual tension. Chaehyun smiles, her heart swelling with affection, touched and satisfied by your sense of responsibility in making sure she’s on board. “Of course, love. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have offered you my anus,” she assures you, making clear of her stance.

You walk to the kitchen together, fingers intertwined. You help her onto a stool near the kitchen counter, having her sit in a proper position for now. “The original stool broke a few years ago, and this is what we have now,” you say. Chaehyun looks at you and herself, making estimations about the height situation. “I don’t think this is high enough,” she says. You chuckle, amused by her judgement. “Don’t worry, baby; I can just bend my knees,” you assure her, determined to make the most of what you have.

Maintaining eye contact with you over her shoulder, she shifts to let her butt hang off the edge. “Yes, baby?” you ask, your hands already finding their resting place on her hips. “Can we test if this angle is comfortable for us?” You nod at her question, and you guide your manhood by hand towards her rear, bending your knees as necessary. “This is manageable, I think,” you offer your estimation.

Chaehyun turns around to face you, cupping your face with her soft hands, her thumb stroking your cheek affectionately. “I’ll be honest with you, love, I’m actually quite nervous about this,” she admits, being as genuine as can be. “Can we… can we, like, set boundaries or something?”

You nod solemnly, understanding the apprehension from her side. After all, she hasn’t been penetrated in that hole for so long at this point. “Of course. What boundaries? Safe words?” Chaehyun looks deep into your eyes as she carefully thinks about a way to balance safety and pleasure. “I think safe words can work,” she says. “Did we have safe words back then?” “We did, baby. Yours was pine—short for porcupine.” Chaehyun cracks a small laugh at the explanation. “So, I would just scream pine if I wanted to stop?” You nod, and she starts shaking her head, both amused and relieved by the agreement you once shared. “Yeah, okay, that sounds great.”

Chaehyun turns around again, resting her elbows on the counter. “Oh, we’ve come to an agreement, haven’t we?” you ask, pointing out her perceived readiness, a surge of anticipation warming your blood and stiffening your member. “Should I go grab some lube, just to make it easier?” Her expression becomes thoughtful. “Do we… really need it?” She glances at you over her shoulder again. “Can we try doing it without lube first? Please?” You fall silent momentarily, weighing the option to go in her anus raw and dry. “Alright, let’s give it a try,” you eventually relent. “Let’s try using spit, okay?”

You spit onto your hand and coat your erect manhood repeatedly with your own saliva. “Excuse me, baby,” you say as you apply some saliva on her tight pucker, and Chaehyun arches her back in reflex, a shiver running down her spine. “No going back now,” she thinks. “There, nice and somewhat wet. I hope that’s enough.”

Chaehyun inhales sharply when your tip touches her tight forbidden entrance, but she quickly tries to relax. “Slowly, please,” she whispers as her muscles start to part to make way for your invading member. She takes deep breaths to steady herself as more of your cock enters her, the burn of the stretch nearly unbearable. Eventually, when the entirety of your cock is fully seated inside her tight ass, she… moans.

“Does this hurt, baby?” you ask her, your fingers running along her spine. She takes a few more deep breaths, getting used to the intrusion in her most private part. “Kind of, but nothing… nothing I can’t take,” she answers, shifting her butt around to fully feel the way your cock is parting her anal muscles.

“God, this is… this is…” she trails off, unable to find the words to describe the sensations. “Can you start moving a little, please?”

You slowly retreat, only leaving the first few centimeters of your cock inside her, before pushing forwards once more, savoring the tightness of her stretched muscles as centimeter after centimeter gets swallowed by her ass.

“Oh, fuck…” you mutter, losing yourself in the heat of the moment. You look down at the intimate connection; this looks like it hurts so bad. “Baby, you okay? Want to stop?” She shakes her head to your question, her will to see this through still standing strong. “Can I try moving faster?” This time, she nods, giving you the green light to take her. “Alright, let’s do this, baby.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Give me your hands,” you demand, holding onto her hands like they were some reins. “Let’s do it like we did the first time around.” You deepen your thrusts, your rhythm becoming more primal, more demanding. Chaehyun's moans escalate, her body tightening around you. As you take on this wild pace, the stool begins to wobble, adding an element of precariousness to the encounter, heightening the thrill. She can only stay bent like this, left with no other choice but to take the punishing thrusts that short her brain every single time.

Soon, you stop your pumps to catch your breath, and Chaehyun, with her chest bumping with heavy breaths, looks at you over her shoulder. “D-daddy?” she calls to you, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, baby?” you answer, your tone gentle despite your ragged pants, letting go of her hands which you have been holding for so long. “W-why… why stop?” You bend forwards just enough to land a peck on the back of her head. “Just giving both of us some… some time to breathe,” you reason, your voice getting breathy. “We’ll start again after this.”

A few minutes have passed. Your breathing has somewhat returned to normal, and Chaehyun seems to have recovered as well. “Chaehyun, baby,” you call to her. “Ready to go again?” She nods, returning to her previous position of bending over the counter, offering her hands to be held again. “Actually, can we do something else?” you ask. She glances at you, asking herself what something else means. “What is it?”

“Let’s head to the sofa, baby. I’ll show you.”

You guide Chaehyun, whose anus is getting very sore, towards the sofa, each step heavy but careful. “Kneel on the floor and bend over the sofa, baby,” you direct her, and Chaehyun follows without asking twice. “Alright, that’s perfect.” You spit on her ass a few more times for good luck, and you lodge your cock into her pucker once more for the final stretch.

Her asshole offers far less resistance now that you’ve gaped it, thus letting you slide in with less difficulty than before, but that doesn’t take anything from her; she’s still very, very tight back there. “By the way,” you just remember something, “can I finish inside?” She nods. “Sure.” You give her another peck, this time on the center of her back. “Thank you, baby.”

You start off slow once more, but that’s not for long, as you’re quick to return to the previous pace when you were in the kitchen, your hips crashing into hers while your cock hits the deepest points of her asshole. “Fuck, I’ve missed this, baby—I’ve missed taking your ass,” you blurt, letting your longing for anal sex be known to her.

Having teetered on the precipice of orgasm for too long, your cock sends signals, telling you that your orgasm is very near and approaching rapidly. “I’m going to fill your ass, baby,” you say to Chaehyun, who has lost herself in this all-consuming anal sex.

With one last pump, you stick your cock balls deep, a wave of pure ecstasy flooding your head, her clenching muscles adding more to the bliss, and Chaehyun screams as your hot semen fills her anal cavity to overflowing.

As you ride the high of your orgasm, splashing sounds are heard. “Baby? Are you squirting?” She nods weakly as stray strands of hair get stuck to her face. “Y-yes, daddy,” she admits with no shyness in her voice, only remnants of pleasure from the unbridled encounter. “Ngh!” Chaehyun grunts as more and more of her juice flows out in abundance, drenching the carpet of the living room. “You know, it almost feels like your body remembers some of these things,” you offer her an observation. “I… I guess it does.”

You slowly withdraw, letting your excess seed spill onto the carpet. With cautious and precise movements, you help her climb onto the sofa, lying her square on her back. “You’re alright, baby. You’re so amazing,” you whisper, calming her down and praising her at once. Seeking comfort, Chaehyun opens her arms, inviting you to take your rightful spot in her embrace.

“How… how did you do that?” You chuckle at her question, pressing a tender kiss on her lips. “I just did what my old self would do, baby,” you answer her. “Were you in pain, by the way? Do you want to never do this again?” At first, she doesn’t answer, but eventually, she says, “I mean, you were very deep in my anus.” You nod as a surge of guilt stirs within. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Look, I promise we’ll prepare ourselves better next time, if there is a next time.”

She takes her turn to peck you on the lips.

“There is a next time, yes. After all, I want to remember the bliss of anal sex, daddy.”

You grin, already looking forward to the next time you gape her ass again.

“That’s my good slut,” you whisper, letting the degrading term slip out.

“Yeah, I’m your good slut.”

[pseudowho]

Yagi Toshinori/All Might x Reader

Fluff, suggestive

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

All Might was strong, and soft. You knew this before you started dating (which was an operation performed strictly in secret, so wildly publicised would it be, to be seen on his arm in public).

Candlelit dinners in Musutafu's finest, instead became quiet nights in, with faithful security guards ushering you to the Might Tower penthouse where Toshinori waited, fizzing with excitement.

Instead, Toshinori took delight in stealing your blushes through deliberately poorly-timed whispered compliments. His array of vintage pet names would sound corny, were he any less sincere. It hadn't taken Toshinori long to cotton on to the glee to be found in a secret love affair.

And it hadn't taken long for you to retaliate; which was how you found out how soft the powerful All Might really was.

"I set you free for the rest of the afternoon, young ones! Spend your study time wisely! Strive to be the best you, that you can be!" Toshinori boomed over the heads of the students, filing out before him.

He spun, turning and bending down to you with that familiar trademark grin...only, heartfelt and wicked now, instead of fixed. His voice lowered barely enough to escape the students' notice.

"Of course," he intoned, his breath grazing your ear, setting a shiver down your spine, "my honeybee is already the best she that she could be."

You slapped a handful of books down on the desk, a frisson of electric sending you erect as you turned to him with a warning look in your eye. The warning look quickly died, at his boyish smile and natural warmth, unable to fight a man that you knew absolutely meant it.

Later, you approached him in the busy corridor, schooling your expression to that of polite disinterest in greeting a passing colleague.

"Yagi-san--"

Toshinori jostled you, sending papers tumbling to the floor, and apologising profusely in a dramatic hush, bending with you to collect the scattered reports from the floor.

"I apologise-- I really am sorry-- gosh, what a mess!" As people channelled around you, Toshinori's fingers plaited briefly with yours, his voice lowering again. "Not that messy is something my pookie identifies with, though. Not yet."

You dropped the rest of your papers, stuttering as Toshinori scooped them up with a flourish, standing with you and bundling them back into your arms. You stumbled, blushing as he clapped an enormous hand onto your shoulder with a laugh, and a thunderous farewell, leaving you stranded and skittish in the corridor.

In the lunch queue, you felt a shadow darken your tray, and turned, looking up. This time, Toshinori barely even bothered to alter his tone, instead hiding behind the student and faculty's food-related distraction. He plucked a tiny steaming basket from the self-service window, dropping it onto your tray with a muted thmp.

"Dumplings...for my dumpling."

You snapped, grabbing his usual cold brew from the fridge, and popping it onto his tray, smiling sweetly up at him.

"I'm lucky to have such a cute guy choosing lunch with me."

A blush burned over Toshinori's cheeks like you had slapped it on him. You felt a roar of success as, when you were called forwards, you saw Toshinori fumble his tray with enormous hands, his coffee splatting to the floor to his stuttered apologies. You left with a flick of the skirt and a smirk on your lips.

Between lessons, in the stream of shouting students, you felt yourself scooped in one great palm and effortlessly shepherded aside, hearing Toshinori's gravelly tones announce your departure; "My dear, could I borrow a moment of your time to discuss a lesson plan?"

You loaded a bullet as Toshinori pulled you round the corner, sniping him before he could take his shot.

"Darling, I must say--"

"What's such a handsome bear needing with me, in a narrow little corridor?"

Toshinori gasped, a single broad palm pressed to his chest, staggered by the force of his b-dmp. His blush rose from the collar up. He reached one trembling hand out to you as you walked away, leaving him stunned in your wake.

As the day wound to a close, you entered the staffroom, to find Toshinori and Aizawa stood, talking at the window. Toshinori grinned, faltering just so as you approached him with a honeydew smile.

You looped your hand through the crook of his elbow as if you were in black and white, pecked his cheek in a chaste little kiss, and fired off the killshot.

"I've missed you," you chirped, "Hubby."

A strangled choke left Toshinori's throat, and he almost buckled, gripping the window frame hard enough to make it crack with another hand clutching his heart.

Aizawa shot you a look of despair as you walked away, looking between you and Toshinori, who had yet to regain his usual colour. Aizawa called after you as you left, sniggering.

"You can't just do that to him. Hey! Come back! You can't do that to an old man--"

"Aizawa-kun, please--"

You called back over your shoulder. "He had it coming, Shouta. Turns out he can dish it out, but he can't take it!"