#they only have the first half of the show

[thespianinthebackcorner]

I think part of the reason this narrow definition of "canon" is also part of why people are so incensed about other stuff that has degraded fandom culture nowadays too. Along with a lack of media literacy, people have begun to expect things served to them on a platter exactly as it says on the tin- but that's just not how art works. You cannot have a functional clock without the gears, and good art has a great many gears hidden beneath the surface. For a piece of media to operate at its full capacity and do what it is meant to- in this case, serve as queer representation- you cannot show every single gear in the clock, and often- especially in modern society, where it is still for some reason a dangerous struggle to have that queer representation included in mainstream media- sometimes it is better, necessary, to hide the gears and let the audience figure out the true nature of the clock and what makes it tick the way it does. It's a very recent phenomenon that media has begun to be blatant about their representation and allowed the characters to be obvious about who they are, and people are taking this openness for granted and not looking back to see how we got to this point.

This also means people don't learn to see what is and is not good representation, as when you learn the structure of the gears and how to spy the right kind of a clock, it becomes easier to find the gilded models made only for money and not out of love for the craft and the purpose. If you do not learn to find the "hidden" representation, the gears just below the surface, you cannot possibly learn to find everything below, all the mechanics that make the gears turn, the source of the energy- and, in turn, you cannot recognise a good, beautiful, clock deserving of your love and worth the time and effort made to make it, and you cannot learn to tell those from the cheap imitations made to trick people into buying half-broken clocks with no soul behind their creation, only greed. I myself, as of now, can often only find the mechanics of the upper layers, the more obvious things, and often have to be told what is and is not good representation by those who are more experienced. But it is a skill you must learn and hone, as the more you learn to recognise the maker's mark of a good clock, the more you learn to discard the fakers and push them to do better.

As artisans like I am, it is even more vital a skill, to recognise what you may be unconsciously putting into what you are crafting. I can create a few levels deeper than I can recognise, but analysis of your own work- and asking others to analyse it for you- is necessary to grow this skill so that not only do you avoid mixed messages, you can fight biases hidden further than you might be able to see at first. This is still something I need to learn and hone, too- I still have some internalised ableism, and I've had to come face-to-face with that as I write my first HMS fic (hence why chapter 2 is taking so long, sorry guys. I didn't know it was there until I started research for Heart). I have to learn to discard it and put the effort in to ensure I don't accidentally write that into the story as a subtextual message, and that isn't easy, but I'm learning. And so long as I keep learning, eventually I will overcome it and by nature learn to see and create even deeper into the gears of this clock I am just beginning to craft- and all the others I haven't started and haven't finished and haven't yet come across but will in the future.

I hope this analogy makes some sense.

Discussions of what "counts" as "canon" queer representation fall apart the second you start talking about media older than about five years or so. If your only metric for "canon queerness" is a character looking directly into the camera and explaining their identity in specific, modern, US-American-English terminology, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like. If your barometer for what counts as "canon" requires two characters of the same gender to kiss on-screen, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like.

Dr. Septimus Pretorius (portrayed by Ernest Thesiger in 1935's Bride of Frankenstein) was never going to look directly into the camera and explain his sexuality in 2024 terms, but he remains an icon in queer media history. You cannot look at that character (blatantly queer-coded in the manner of the time, played by a queer man in a film directed by another queer man) and tell me that he isn't a part of queer media history.

To be honest, even when discussing modern queer media, I would argue that the popular idea of what "counts" as "canon" is very narrow and flawed. I've seen multiple posts in the past few days that say the Nimona movie is "implied" trans representation, and I just...no, y'all, it's not "implied," it's an allegory. The entire damn movie is about transgender struggle, and the original comic is deeply tied into N.D. Stevenson's own queer journey. It isn't subtle. You cannot look at that movie and pretend that it isn't about trans struggle. It's blatant, and to say that Nimona "isn't canonically trans" is a take that misses the story's entire message, and the blatant queerphobia that almost kept the movie from happening. (I wrote a five thousand word essay about the topic.)

Queer themes, queer coding, queer exploration, and queer representation can all exist in a piece of media that doesn't seem to have "canon queer characters" on the surface. Most queer characters are never going to be able to explicitly state their specific identity labels, be it due to censorship or just due to the fact that scenes like that don't fit in some narratives. Some stories aren't conducive to a big "so what's your identity?" scene.

Explicit, undeniable, "this is my identity in no uncertain terms" scenes are very important and radical, and I'm not saying they shouldn't ever exist. I am saying that you can't consider those scenes the only way for queerness in a piece of media to be "canon."

[gf2bellamy]

Hello, I hope you're having a lovely day. If it's okay, could I please request a Spencer reid x reader where the reader (who is Reid's work colleague) has gos on a date but gets stood up. Spencer happens to be going to the same restaurant and sees that the reader has been stood up to he pretends to be their date, and then the reader and Spencer confess their feelings for each other.

Please of course feel free to ignore, have a lovely day.

stood up — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of being hungry a/n: thank you for your request !! i hope you like this <3 ( i won't lie i giggled and kicked my legs a couple of times while writing this )

You drummed your fingers against the smooth surface of the table, the rhythmic tapping the only thing grounding you as the lump in your throat grew tighter. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the sting of tears that threatened to spill.

Crying over this wasn’t worth it—you were an FBI agent, for god’s sake. You had seen and dealt with worse. But somehow, sitting here alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show, felt like a different kind of cruelty. 

Your day off was rare, something you didn’t take for granted. You had been looking forward to this—good food, good company.

Instead, you were left picking at the corner of the menu with nothing but a half-full glass of water in front of you. 

A waitress passed by, offering you a small, knowing smile, the kind that made your chest ache even more.

You hated that look—the one that said, Oh, sweetheart, I’ve seen this happen before. You could almost hear her inner monologue: Poor thing, all dressed up, waiting for someone who clearly wasn't about to show up. 

Your stomach growled, reminding you that despite your sour mood, you were still human. You had planned to indulge, to enjoy yourself, but now the thought of eating alone made your appetite vanish. 

The door chimed as someone entered, and you glanced up out of instinct, heart foolishly clinging to hope. But it wasn’t your date. Just another happy couple, the kind of people who didn’t have to wonder if they were worth showing up for. 

Five minutes later, the door opened again, but this time, you didn’t bother looking. You sighed, reaching into your bag to grab your wallet. At the very least, you needed to pay for the water and leave a tip—the waitress had been kind, even though you had done nothing but take up space. 

Then, you heard it. 

A voice—one you knew as well as your own heartbeat. 

“Hey.” 

You froze. 

Slowly, you lifted your head, and there he was. 

Dr. Spencer Reid stood beside your table, his gaze soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding or rescuing you from an evening gone wrong. 

“Hi,” you said, your voice small. It felt like the only appropriate response, though you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight slightly as he glanced between you and the half-finished glass of water on the table. His eyes flickered to the empty chair across from you, the one that had remained untouched all evening. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, a telltale sign of nervousness. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

It was a ridiculous question, really. He was a profiler—of course, he could tell you weren’t okay. He had likely picked up on the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers fidgeted with the napkin on your lap, the disappointment etched in your expression. But still, he asked. 

You exhaled, looking down at the table, at the small water rings left behind by your glass. “Honestly? No.” 

Your voice was quieter now, tinged with frustration and hurt. You swallowed hard before forcing the words out. 

“I got stood up.” 

The moment you said it, you regretted it. Saying it out loud made it feel even more real. More humiliating. 

Spencer’s first thought was How? 

How could anyone stand you up? Someone as incredible as you? His mind immediately went into overdrive, analyzing every possible explanation. Maybe your date had an emergency. Maybe it was a terrible reason—one he wouldn’t accept regardless. But in the end, none of it mattered, because the fact remained: someone had willingly passed up the chance to spend time with you. 

And that was incomprehensible to him. 

If it were him? He would have been here fifteen minutes early. He would have memorized the menu ahead of time, making sure to pick something he thought you’d like so he could suggest it in conversation. He would have done everything in his power to make sure you knew, without a doubt, that he wanted to be here. 

But it wasn’t him. 

And as he stood there, trying to suppress the irrational wave of frustration at a person he didn’t even know, you were thinking something else entirely—how mortifying this was. 

It was bad enough to be stood up. But to be seen by him—the one person you had been trying so hard to get out of your head? That was almost unbearable. 

You had told yourself that going on a date would be good for you, that it would help get your mind off of him. The wonderful, brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, who you worked beside every day, who you admired more than you cared to admit. 

And yet, here he was. 

Seeing you at your lowest. 

“You…” Spencer started, then hesitated. He cleared his throat before trying again. “You don’t deserve that.” 

The sheer sincerity in his voice made you look up at him, surprised. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed together like he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t quite grasp them. 

You forced out a weak chuckle. “Well, apparently my date thought otherwise.” 

“It's still wrong.” 

His voice was firm this time, leaving no room for argument. 

Your heart stumbled over itself at the conviction in his tone. 

Spencer shifted again, glancing at the chair across from you before meeting your eyes. “Can I… sit?” 

Your breath caught for a split second. 

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. 

He pulled the chair out and sat down, setting his bag on the floor beside him. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, more tentative this time. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Spencer asked, even though he already knew the answer. 

You shook your head, still feeling a little awkward about the whole situation. 

“Do you want to order something?” he asked shyly, his fingers toying with the edge of the menu. “They have this great pasta dish here.” He opened the menu and turned it toward you, pointing at one of the options. 

You glanced at the menu, then back at him. “You’ve been here before?” 

Spencer gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I, uh… yeah. I like coming here from time to time,” he admitted, his voice soft. “It’s close by, and they have good food.” He looked back down at the menu, as if trying to downplay the fact that he had just revealed something personal. 

You found yourself smiling, the initial embarrassment of him seeing you alone fading into something warmer. It was such a Spencer thing—to have a go-to spot, a little place he frequented in the city’s chaos. 

Before you could say anything else, the waitress returned, her expression noticeably brighter now that you were no longer sitting alone. 

“Can I take your order?” she asked, her eyes flickering between the two of you. 

Spencer hesitated, waiting for you to speak first. He wasn’t going to order if you weren’t. 

“I’d like this pasta dish,” you said, pointing at the menu. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught the way Spencer’s lips quirked into a small, barely-there smile—like he was pleased with your choice. 

“I’ll take the same thing, thank you.” he said. 

The waitress jotted it down, then collected the menus. Just before turning to leave, she shot Spencer a look. 

“You shouldn’t make people wait like that,” she said before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Your eyes widened slightly, and Spencer’s brows furrowed in confusion before realization dawned on him. 

“Oh—no, I wasn’t—” he started, turning to you quickly, his expression flustered. “She thinks I was the one who stood you up.” 

You laughed—really laughed—for the first time that night. The sound was warm, genuine, and it made Spencer smile almost instinctively. He didn’t even realize he was doing it; it was just a reflex, like hearing something familiar and comforting. 

You glanced at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. He didn’t have to do this—he didn’t have to walk in, sit with you, turn what had been an awful night into something… bearable. Maybe even good. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, tapping your fingers against the table in a nervous rhythm. “You know… for sitting with me.” 

Spencer’s gaze was already on you, observing you in that way only he could—like he was memorizing every detail. You met his eyes, feeling a little shy under the weight of his attention. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “I like spending time with you.” 

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, pushing past the leftover humiliation of being stood up and settling into something warmer, something that made your breath catch. 

You weren’t sure what to say to that. Because you liked spending time with him too. More than you probably should. 

Before you could respond, the waitress returned, placing your plates in front of you with a satisfied nod. “Enjoy,” she said before heading off to another table. 

Spencer adjusted his napkin, giving you a small, expectant look. “You know,” he said, “statistically speaking about 20% of first dates end in one person being stood up.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

He hesitated, then winced slightly. “I… thought it might?” 

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Spencer, you really have a way with words.” 

Spencer grinned, nudging his plate slightly closer. “Maybe, but… if you think about it, those statistics also mean that 80% of the time, the date actually happens. So, technically, the odds are in your favor for the future.” 

You hummed thoughtfully. “That’s if I decide to go on another date.” 

Spencer stilled for a fraction of a second before composing himself. “You might,” he said carefully. “If the right person asked.” 

Something about the way he said it made your pulse quicken. 

You glanced up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “You’re not trying to set me up with someone, are you?” 

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it, looking slightly flustered. “No! No, I— I wouldn’t, um…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I just meant… someone better will ask. Someone who won’t stand you up.” 

“Is this your way of asking me on a date, Dr. Reid?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you looked at him. 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he seemed completely thrown off. His fingers twitched near his napkin, and he suddenly found the salt shaker incredibly interesting. “I mean—uhm—I…” He trailed off, clearing his throat as he stared anywhere but at you. 

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. Watching Spencer Reid—genius, profiler, and one of the most brilliant minds you knew—struggle to form a coherent sentence was both endearing and adorable. 

Then, after a long pause, he finally looked up at you, his nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“…Aren’t we kind of on a date right now?” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

The biggest grin formed on your face, one you couldn’t hide even if you tried. 

“I guess so,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked down at your plate, suddenly feeling shy. 

The butterflies in your stomach screamed, your nerves a tangled mess of excitement and disbelief. 

A pause. Then, he shifted in his seat, his fingers pressing together as if debating whether or not to say what was on his mind. 

Finally, he did. 

“I… I like you,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I have for a while.” 

Your breath hitched. 

You had spent so much time trying to push your feelings for him away, convincing yourself they were one-sided. But now, hearing the words from his mouth—it was almost overwhelming. 

“You do?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Spencer nodded, eyes flickering between yours, searching for any sign that he had made a mistake. “I do.” He let out a small breath, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I think I’ve liked you from the moment we met. I just… never thought you’d feel the same.” 

You could’ve laughed at how ridiculous that sounded, at how blind he had been. 

Instead, you reached across the table, hesitantly resting your hand over his. His fingers tensed for a brief second before relaxing under your touch. 

“Spencer,” you murmured, looking at him with nothing but affection, “I’ve liked you for a long time, too.” 

His lips parted slightly, as if the words had momentarily stunned him. Then, a breathy chuckle left him, one of pure, unfiltered relief. “You have?” 

You squeezed his hand gently. “I have.” 

Spencer licked his lips, nodding to himself as if processing everything before smiling—really smiling. “Well, that’s… that’s good.” 

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand once more before pulling back, the warmth still lingering between you. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, picking up your fork at last. “It really is.” 

And just like that, the night that had started as a disaster became something else entirely—something perfect. 

[baronboar]

This time let's circle back to equity later and focus on some basics! What's up with TAILS?

Transcript under the cut:

1. First of all, why do the people in a setting even need tails? Humans don't have tails for a number of reasons, we don't chase prey so we don't need it to help us change direction like a rudder. We also don't climb trees so we don't need one for keeping hold of branches or for balance. But in a world of megafauna, maybe you need a tail to help you turn fast to flee? Or maybe a hunter needs a rudder to swim? But most importantly!! It's fun & helps your people feel unique!

[IMG: A an anthro rat and sea lion, the rat is leaning over in a similar fashion to the sea lion who naturally stands horizontally like a T-rex. This shows how they both can use tails as counter balance.]

Think about why species in a setting might have tails and perhaps you will think of something that adds depth to your world… For warmth, like a blanket! To increase visibility when foraging! For Combat!!!

[IMG Three tails, a big fluffy artic fox tail, a tall lemur tail, and a spiny draconic tail.]

2. Clothing is the main issue I see brought up when discussing tails & Furgonomics. many solutions can be found when looking at furry artwork, so look around! The only solution i'd say is not valid is…The belt under the tail.

[IMG: a tailed person from behind, their jeans are below the tail, you can see their butt cheeks.] [IMG: Two illustrations of human femurs with tails, the spine points them downwards.]

A tail would sit far too low to comfortably wear trousers there, imagine wearing yours below the pelvis at your hips? Even with a belt that is far too risqué! The best solutions all put the waistband above the tail and either have a hole for the tail or in the case of clothing like dresses and skirts allow the tail to sit freely beneath.

[IMG: Three different people with different garments. The first is labelled 'breech cloth', it's a Y shaped cut of fabric attached to the waist by a string. The second is labelled 'sarong', the feline figure from the side has a length of fabric around the belly with a length hanging down over their pubic area like a loin cloth. The third is the most like trousers/pants, the belt keeps shut a flap that goes over the base of the tail that overlaps with the tail hole.]

In my setting of Firnus different cultures have their own designs to fit environmental needs. The Gilter braghe is a sleeveless trouser designed with modesty in mind. compare this to the rav breechcloth, made for wearing under robes. Or avoid the tail hole all together and beat the heat with the pantheran quarter sarong!

3. So where else can tails be a problem…? CHAIRS.

[IMG: Two normal chairs, they have back rests but also gaps between that and the seat.]

most people are going to jump immediately to seats like these:

But i'm going to make my case as to why this would not be comfortable: See this dog skeleton to the right? When a quadrupedal animal sits, they don't rest on their upper legs or put any pressure on their fragile tails, Instead they rest on their hocks & hind feet! Why? Exactly as we discussed with trousers, tails wouldn't go out, they'd go down. As part of the spine, if you wanted to sit back in a chair your spine would be vertical.

[IMG: A dog skeleton from the side.] [IMG: A small concerned mustelid says: "Sitting on your tail would feel like bending your fingers backwards with your full body weight!"]

…So, I believe anthro species wouldn't want to put pressure on their tails by sitting on them… So we cut a hole out from the bottom and back of the chair, right? Yes! and no. Yes because when you're world building you can do whatever works best for you! But no because I'm not satisfied with this answer and I'm driving this PNG!!!! So how do we fix this? Let's see why chairs even exist in the first place!

[IMG: a chair like the ones above with a half circle cut from the back of the seat.]

4. The earliest (known) chairs come from the 2nd dynasty of Egypt during the Thinite period. These chairs were as short at the seat as 10 inches! …But like, Why? as a status symbol! These caught on as nobility wished to copy kings, and then the common people copied nobility. They're also useful to keep your clothes clean and prevent you from resting on cold or wet ground.

[IMG: Two desert foxes, one on a chair is joyfully sitting upon a chair, covered in gold adornments like a pharaoh. He says: 'I'm sitting higher! So I'm better than you!' The other fox looks concerned, wears no gold as she kneels and says: 'Hm.']

But we don't need kings!! If you want something for similar use without those connotations. Here's some options:

[IMG: Two people sitting on a bench and a large plush pillow as well as a rectangular cushion that's rolled up.]

Kneeling! While many cultures use this to show reverence, few still kneel for comfort.

Benches and stools! Before chairs became affordable for the average person simpler furnishings were commonly used. These don't have tricky tail holes to fumble around with and can be as simple as a plank.

cushions! A thick pillow or rolled rug would allow a person to sit cross-legged without their tail pressing down against a hard surface.

Think about who needs chairs, where they'd be used, and the answer will come naturally! Have fun world building!

[promiscuousg1rl]

dealer!rafe and stripper!reader meeting for the first time

warnings: vulgar language, rafe being a strip club virgin, inaccurate portrayal of strip club atmosphere, brief talk of ass shaking

"you tellin' me you ain't none of your bitch ass friends took you to a strip club befo'? barry looks up at rafe with a pair of wide eyes, shaking his head. "that shit is sad man, all that money and you ain't never made it rain on no strippas."

rafe chuckles as they make their away across the crowded parking lot. hands tucked in the pockets on his khaki pants. "what can I say man, the place never interested me before."

"what?" barry frowns in confusion. "beautiful women shaking they ass and titties in yo' face don't interest you?"

shrugging, rafe stares up at the sign that read Magic City Gentlemen's Club. "never been in one to know for sure."

"well country cub, i'm 'bout to show you exactly what you and them soft ass rich boys been missing out on." barry smirks, slapping rafe's chest before leading him through the double doors.

although the parking lot was evidence for how packed the place was, it still was a bit shocking to see just how many people were in attendance. if they weren't standing at the bar being serviced by the bartenders then they were surrounding the stages, salivating over the half naked women they were showering with dollar bills.

a part of him expected to only see Pogues in the likes of this place but as he looked around he recognized a bunch of men who were not only country club members, but associates of his father too.

"aight now," barry claps his hands together. "while it is a lot of bad bitches innis place to choose from, ima do you a favor and get you hooked up with my favorite one."

scoffing, rafe glances around at the various scantily clad women leading men around by the hand. "been here so much you actually have a favorite?"

"aye man, don't knock it until you see her. trust me, she got the potential to make you spend all ya money on her and go broke."

looking around eagerly, barry's eyes frantically scoured the dark club until the stop on a spot across the room. "lo and behold," he grins. "aye angel!"

rafe follows his gaze, there you are. he has no idea if that was your real name or if barry calling you that had anything to do with the pure white lingerie outfit you were wearing. his eyes trail down from your soft curls to the curves of your exposed body.

"from the looka' that drool goin' down ya chin, you see the hype." barry snickers from beside him, making rafe shove his shoulder. "angel!"

at the second shout of your name you finally look over at barry, a bright smile gracing your gloss-covered lips. on the tallest heels he's ever seen, you saunter over to them with your hips swaying.

"barry," you bat your eyelashes at him. "made some good sales today?"

barry smirks at you, stepping so close that your chest nearly touches his. "you know I like to come spend a lil sumn sumn on you and your girls when I got it."

you hum, lips stretching into an even wider smile. "i'll let them know to make it good for you tonight then." as if you're barely noticing him hovering a few inches away, your eyes meet rafe's with a curious glint in them. "who's this?"

"angel, this here is my homeboy and business partner country club," leading you over by the hand. "country club, this is angel."

much like he did you, your eyes survey him from head to toe. the way you spend a few seconds too long on his pants has him fighting off the urge to fidget.

you huff out a laugh. "thought you said kooks were only good for being customers."

"what can i say, we make good money together."

gently easing your hand out of barry's, you angle your body towards rafe's. his brooding silence making him all the more appealing to you.

"you a first timer country club?"

" 'that obvious?" he drawls out.

you shrug. "trust me, i would remember a face like yours."

"huh."

"so," your eyes don't leave his. "who's going first?"

your heels are the only reason you can see the way his pupils dilate and you come to a quick realization that you hope that its him.

a throat clears from beside the two of you, making you look over a barry. "well i hyped you up to my boy so i'ma gone and let you show him wassup."

with that, he strolls over to one of the other dancers lingering around and leans down to whisper in her hear.

"well country club--"

"rafe," he interrupts. " 'name's rafe."

"rafe," you purr, resting a hand on the center of his chest. "you ready?"

"lead the way angel."

a/n this was so rushed but fuck it we ball 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

[hoonieyun]

why... ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

breaking up with your boyfriend means losing a lover but what happens when your boyfriend was also your best friend, meaning you lost both and now have to face him for a popular youtube show

park sunghoon x reader

genre: angst, heartbreak, exes reunited, exes to ..?

warnings: profanity, sad shit, miscommunication, 18+, not proofread LOL

masterlist - word count: 4671

when your ex-boyfriend reached out to you to be a part of a youtube video your initial reaction was “what is he talking about?” but as you read more about what the video is about and after watching some clips, you ended up agreeing. you weren’t necessarily excited to do it but you didn’t have anything better to do for that weekend anyway. 

sunghoon on the other hand, was very excited. he always called you his “soulmate” or “the one that got away” so in a lot of ways, to him this was the perfect opportunity to check if the spark was still there. 

the two of you used to be best friends before lovers. you had met during freshman orientation for university and for some reason, sunghoon stuck on to you like his life depended on it; he followed you around like a lost puppy and although he didn’t know you and you didn’t know him, he felt comfortable around you enough to let you guide him around your enormous university as if it also wasn’t your first day too. you both were inseparable ever since. sunghoon hadn’t given you a straight answer aside from. “i don’t know, you looked nice.” whenever you would ask him why he clung onto you that day and quite frankly, you were grateful that he did. you would go on to become best friends for another year and a half before the two of you would realize your feelings for each other. 

sunghoon would take you out on a date one winter night where the two of you would go ice skating or more so, sunghoon would ice skate and you would try your best to stay balanced on your two feet. 

but he was right by your side throughout the whole night and by the end of it, he was your boyfriend and you were his girlfriend. he was by your side every day until graduation when your relationship met its untimely end. you had always had a love for helping others so studying medicine was something you dove into right from the beginning. your father had fallen ill at some point when you were young and after losing him, you promised yourself you would be a part of the life changing phenomenom surrounding the cure for several diseases. 

when you had gotten the call that you had gotten accepted to further your studies after graduation to do research and to acquire your M.D that would later lead to your residency, you jumped at the chance and said yes without thinking twice. 

you hadn’t even considered the idea that this opportunity was in a whole different country, meaning you’d have to leave everything and everyone you knew behind. your family and friends, and your boyfriend who was also your best friend, sunghoon. reminiscing on your relationship was something you hadn’t done in a long time considering you were so busy with work and research that you barely even had time for your own life. 

but you found yourself thinking about those memories from so long ago as you pulled into the parking lot of the studio the youtube video was recording in. you hadn’t seen sunghoon in for a whole year since your breakup and you could only think about what his reasoning was for this meeting and for it to be something that would be broadcasted and watched by thousands of people on the internet. you had to push past your nerves and tell yourself that everything would be fine, that you’re just meeting with your old best friend who just happens to also be your ex. 

you had the opportunity to come home because after a long and busy year, your team had made enough progress that allowed you some downtime; so you decided to fly back home to see your family and sunghoon just happened to know you’d be in town so you could do the recording and more importantly, see him. a nice lady greeted you as you entered the building and gave you the rundown of how filming would go, she explained that you’d ask your ex questions and vice versa and to try to keep it as cordial as possible if there was a possibility it would escalate. 

she guided you to your own dressing room where she’d call you once the current ex-couple was done filming. you thanked for her kindness and she tells you to help yourself to the several snacks and refreshments set on the coffee table in the middle of the room. you didn’t know what to expect and the longer you waited for filming to start, the more your mind ran wild with questions. 

does sunghoon hate you?

did he invite you here to humiliate you on camera?

do you still love sunghoon?

does he still love you?

so many things were running through your mind but you weren’t going to let it cause you to spiral. as you waited for your turn to film, you decided that doing some breathing exercises would help soothe your worries; so you slide off your shoes and sit with your legs crossed in the middle of the room before closing your eyes and focusing on steadying your breathing. 

your breathing was no longer sporradic and a sense of calm wafted throughout the room as you took the time to zone out all of the noise even if it was just the sound of the air conditioning and the occasionally muffled voices of those outside the room. “yn, we’re ready for you.” the lady who you met earlier says as she pokes her head into your room. you slowly open your eyes and think about her words. “we’re ready for you.” 

ready. you smiled at her and gave her a small nod before standing up and putting your shoes back on. they were ready but you weren’t entirely sure that you were; and there was much time to turn back now as you exit the dressing room and are instructed to wait behind a curtain as someone who worked for the production team introduced the concept of the video for your episode. 

here goes nothing… 

the room pauses for a moment and one of the production assistants gestures for you to walk onto the set, pointing at the small marking on the ground for where you need to stand and introduce yourself before taking a seat on the chair on your left. 

you thanked him before walking over to where you needed to stand and smiling at the camera, trying your best to not sound or look nervous as your eyes scanned all of the cameras and crew in front of you. 

“hi, i’m yn and today i’ll be doing an interview with my ex.” you said softly before taking your seat. 

soon after, you see a figure emerge from the other side of the room and at first his face is covered in the harsh shadows caused by the studio lights but as he gets closer you see the familiar face of your best friend and ex-boyfriend, sunghoon. 

he’s just as handsome as ever wearing a simple striped shirt in thick black rimmed glasses. you could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat when the light hit his face because seeing him after a whole year, he’s only gotten more handsome. his arms were more toned, face sharper but still had that soft and warm smile you loved so much, and he had this confident air around him. not the type that came off as arrogant or egotistical, but more so like he was comfortable and happy. he was radiating a type of energy that you hadn’t seen before and you weren’t sure if it was because he was doing so much more after your breakup or if the idea of seeing you and being around you again made him this way. 

“hello, i’m sunghoon and today i’ll be doing an interview with my ex.” he says with that smile, god that damn smile. his smile put you in such a trance that you got lost in the way his dimple would appear, how bright his smile seemed, and how crinkled his eyes would get. his smile that you’ve missed so much. sunghoon takes a seat across from you but not before initiating a hug, to which you were pleasantly surprised by. you quickly stood up to hug him and once again the warm feeling you got whenever he was around returned. he softly rubbed your back just like he did when you were together and it brings you back to when the two of you were bright eyed 18 year olds navigating university for the first time. 

“you look good” he says and it causes heat to rush to your cheeks as you take in his compliment. you return one of the same and he smiles with a nod as the two of you take your respective seats. the tension isn’t awkward in the slightest, or at least you don’t think it is, as you wait for the next instructions from the producer. 

“alright, go ahead and briefly catch up and we’ll throw in the first question after a moment.” he explains and you both nod at him. 

“how are you?” you asked and he gives you a short answer of how he’s been doing okay, could be better, excited to do the video; nothing substantial but also not nothing? 

you go on to say that you’ve been pretty busy with life and were surprised that he reached out to do the video, telling him you were reluctant first but eventually agreed because you just happened to fly back home for a little while and had the time to do so. 

“okay, first question: how long did you guys date?” the producer asks and you look over at one another before answering simultaneously; “four years” and your voices blending in unison causes the two of you to laugh. it was just like old times when your friends would say that the two of you were hanging around each other too often that you guys have begun to either finish each other’s sentences or say the same things at the same time. 

what was your first date?

sunghoon was going to answer but he notices that you’re about to speak so he gestures for you to keep going, “we went to an ice rink during christmas break and i was shit at ice skating but he was the best teacher ever and was there by me the whole time making sure i was okay and when i shed a few tears because i was so bad he was so quick to console me and help me off the ice so we could get something warm to drink and grab dinner.” you answered. 

sunghoon smiled at you endearingly the whole time, you hadn’t noticed at first because you were talking to the camera to the side and once you had glanced over at him, he suddenly sits up straight and quickly wipes the grin off of his face. you blush at his actions, finding it cute that he still had the habit of trying to hide whenever he was admiring you even when the two of you were dating. like he was too shy to get caught staring and admiring your beauty. 

“yup, she was bad at ice skating and still is i presume because i’d ask her to go ice skating every year on our anniversary and she’d just look at me with puppy eyes like she was begging not to go even if i was just teasing her.” he chuckled and dropped your head in hands in embarrassment because it was true. 

“hey.. it’s scary! i don’t know how anyone can do it, being unbalanced is so scary it feels like i'm constantly fighting the fall that is eventually going to happen.” you retort with a pout and there it is again, the smile that creeps onto sunghoon’s lips whenever he’s watching you as if you were the only person in the room… and right now; you were. 

who said i love you first?

when the question leaves the producers lips, you and sunghoon mimic each other without any verbal response but a gesture. both of your fingers point towards him and the identical motion causes the two of you to laugh once again. it was like you were both falling into your usual behavior, like no time has passed and you were still the two young freshmen who found comfort and love within the other. 

“i said it before i could even ask her on our first day. i think i realized that i loved her when she’d wake up extra early to wake me up for classes even if she barely slept. i’m a really heavy sleeper so i usually sleep through my alarms, especially for morning classes, but she’d always come knocking on my apartment door to wake me up before my alarm could because she knew i’d just sleep through it. 

i mean- i loved her before that but i think it was at that moment i realized that she was someone i loved in a way i’ve never loved someone else before.”

sunghoon’s story almost brings tears to your eyes because you hadn’t known it was that moment that he started to develop feelings for you. you started doing that halfway through freshman year but he didn’t ask you out until the winter of your second year in university. 

“yeah, he said i love you to me that morning because i even brought him breakfast and coffee and at first i thought it was just him showing his gratitude but now i guess it was his first time saying i love you- which i didn’t know by the way because you didn’t ask me out until like a whole year later.” you teased and now it was sunghoon’s turn to hide his face in his hands shyly. 

“in my defense, i was afraid it would ruin our friendship but i’m glad you still said yes to me when i asked you out, it was the scariest day of my life.” he said and you furrowed your eyebrow at his confession. 

“really? scarier than when we were waiting for our biology lab reports back from professor kim?” you asked and he nods, “way scarier than that, i couldn’t imagine ever losing you so i was so scared that if i asked you, you’d reject me and that was that…” he says, trailing off at the end as he realizes how sad it sounded. your eyes softened at his words and you always knew sunghoon to be softer and gentle, but knowing that he had this inner conflict with asking you out or not because he was afraid of losing you really hurt; because in the end you lost each other. 

you cleared your throat at the awkward silence and sunghoon looks away like he’s confessed something he shouldn’t have told you. it’s not that you didn’t know he felt this way because you’ve always kind of knew that losing one another was a fear the two of you had but you never knew how much it affected him. 

what do you think was the cause of your breakup?

“i can answer that..” you begin to say as you look directly at the camera, trying your best to ignore sunghoon’s piercing gaze on your face. 

sunghoon would call you the one to get away because he always felt like he let you get away. when you first broke up he would constantly hit you up, trying to fix your relationship but you were pretty set in stone on your decision. looking back at it now, breakups aren’t generally mutual but you didn’t really give sunghoon the time to process. ultimately just telling him that your relationship couldn’t go on any further. 

“i got accepted to do research and continue my studies for my M.D. and work towards my residency and unfortunately it was in a whole other country. i accepted it without even thinking about how it would affect my relationships and i know it may have seemed selfish but it was opportunity i couldn’t pass up because i didn’t think it would come around a second time.” you looked at sunghoon as you spoke and his eyes were glued to the ground. 

“this was during graduation, i literally got the call a day after graduation and it took me several days to tell sunghoon but the longer i waited it just ate me from the inside out. 

i didn’t know how to tell him and it just came out one day and yeah… 

we went through several scenarios of how we could make it work but to me everything felt so uncertain except for the decision that we landed on. i know it wasn’t ideal but i would be gone for a long time and i wasn’t sure how long distance would work so i suggested for us to break up.” you said with a sniffle, noticing that you haven’t had the chance to fully unpack that moment with sunghoon until now. 

“i just wish we tried harder… i didn’t want to let you go; i still don’t.” sunghoon adds and you look up at him with tears brimming in your eyes. “i’ve always called you the one that got away because i did let you away. i should’ve fought harder so that you’d consider trying other options aside from ending what we had but i respected your decision even if i didn’t want that for us.” the room is silent after sunghoon’s statement and you try to look around, eyes landing on anything in the room just so you didn’t have to look at sunghoon who you knew was staring directly at you. 

what is something you wished you could say to your ex that you didn’t have the chance to?

you finally look at sunghoon and he mimics your expression. one of hope that shadows the anguish and despair that he hides deep below inside of himself. 

“do you want to go first?” you ask and he nods, sitting up and sniffling a bit before speaking. 

“um, there’s a lot i wish i could tell you to be honest. i wanna tell you about all of the stuff i’ve done in the last year, all of my accomplishments, milestones, and successes that i wish you were there for but i think i finally want to tell you the one thing you’ve always asked me. 

when we first met, it was during freshman orientation and although we didn’t know each other, i clung onto you and stuck by your side the whole day and you let me. which was very kind because normally someone would get weirded out by that but you didn’t. 

you often ask me why i did that and i’d always tell you it was because you seemed nice and friendly, which is true, but the real answer was because you were the only person in that gigantic building hall that helped me. it was so crowded in that hall and some guys had shoved me causing me to drop the several pamphlets and packets the people were handing out and the several people who either looked at me and continued walking by or simply walked over me as i picked up my things, you were the only one to help me. 

so, yeah; i guess it was because you were kind to me but it was for the most part because you made me feel cared for; even with that small gesture. it was the precedent of how i’d see you for the rest of my life. the kind, caring, and generous girl i fell in love with. 

i mean, you’ve told people that we broke up because you wanted to pursue your studies abroad but i love to tell people that we broke up because you chose to focus on the kindness in your heart to help those who are sick. 

she’s studying to become a doctor and dedicating countless hours to research so they can come up with a cure for various illnesses that have taken the lives of many. that’s why i never got angry or upset when she wanted to breakup; because i know it was bigger than that. she didn’t want to breakup because she hated me or was tired of me… we broke up because she had to choose the kindness in her heart to help thousands of people instead of harvesting the love we had for one another. 

which i can never be mad at.” 

the tears in your eyes have started to fall across your cheek and when sunghoon finally catches your gaze, he’s instantly standing up to reach over and wipe your tears away. gently cupping your face and wiping the tears with his thumb much like he did when you two broke up and as he sent you off at the airport. 

it was a bit ironic that sunghoon was comforting you in this time because in a lot of ways, he should be the one hurting. he was the one who had to receive the shit end of the stick in your relationship but every time, he chose compassion and his love for you instead of the anger or negative emotion that someone else would’ve felt towards you. 

you melt into his hand and you’re wrapping your arms around him before you could even think and thankfully; the familiar feeling of sunghoon’s strong arms wrap around you. the most comforting and warm place you’ve ever been, one that you’ve missed for a whole year. 

the two of you stay in that position for a while and once you’ve stopped crying, he lets you go so you could go back to your seats and continue the interview. 

this episode of the youtube series would definitely be a tearjerker just from that single moment. 

“i think something i’ve always wanted to tell hoon is that i’m sorry.” you begin and sunghoon is shaking his head to tell you that you have nothing to be sorry for, but you did. 

“no, i am very sorry. you said it best i chose to pursue my studies so i can help people but you’re the most important person in my life and i know it hurt you to see me not fight harder for our relationship when you tried so hard to come up with solutions and i just seemed to deny them all. 

i’m sorry that i made it seem like i chose my career and my studies over you and it hurts even more to know that you’ve supported me throughout all of it and it turned out to be the cause of our breakup. i’m the cause of our breakup- you’re not..- but i am..” sunghoon interrupts to reassure you but you persist, wanting to get your point across. 

“i’m okay with holding that burden because i made that decision to accept the research abroad and i made the decision to breakup with you even if you didn’t want to and i made the decision to stop talking to you once i was gone because it would only make things harder. 

so… i’m sorry that i made you feel like you were just a second option that didn’t surmount the other and i’m sorry for giving you the love you poured into me.” 

tears are pouring down your face again and although your vision is slightly blurred from the tears, you could tell that sunghoon was also crying. the producers let the two of you console each other for a few moments before having to continue the interview. they hand you both several napkins to wipe away your tears and the staff watch as you two wipe the tears away off of each other’s face; much like a couple would do. as if the two of you hadn’t even broken up in the first place with how connected and bonded the two of you were. 

do you regret breaking up?

and as soon as the question leaves the producer’s lips, you’re both nodding instantly. which was a pleasant surprise to you both as sunghoon had expected you to say no because you were so determined to break up and how you wanted to focus on your studies. to you it was a surprise because you never expected sunghoon to want to get back together with how dismissive you were of his feelings when it came to what you were prioritizing in your life. 

if you could, would you get back together?

the producers point first at sunghoon to which he nods with a small yes and when the producer points to you, you do the same. 

“thank you both for being here today-” the producer is interrupted with a pause as he bids farewell and thanks the both of you for attending and participating in the video. 

“can you believe that was two years ago…” you ask as you look up at sunghoon who’s eyes are still glued onto the computer screen. you had paused the video the two of you did two years ago for a youtube show that interviewed exes and you were so grateful that you said yes to sunghoon when he asked you to be on the show because it brought the two of you back together. 

“i know.. time flies when you’re with the one you love, huh?” he says teasingly and you rolls your eyes at him, slapping his chest playfully. 

“thank you for taking me back..” he says and you furrow your brows at him. 

“i should be the one saying that, i can’t believe i almost said no to the show… can you imagine? then we wouldn’t have gotten back together.” you said and sunghoon brushes it off. “please, i’d find a way to get back to you in any lifetime. you’re the one that got away but that doesn’t mean that i can’t ever get you back… and i did.” he says, pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead. 

sunghoon presses play to continue the video of the two of you. the interview that changed the both of your lives and brought the love of his life back to him. 

after the interview was over, it was fairly late so he asked if you wanted to grab dinner and the rest was history. in the short 4 hours that you two were together for the video and the dinner; your love for each other was reignited. like it was simply dormant inside of you and you realized that sunghoon was your soulmate. he waited patiently, supported you from afar, and admired you throughout all of it and still loved you. 

your love was merely dormant but sunghoon’s was always alive. like his love for you was a lit candle and he used the fire he had to relight the wick of your candle, burning your love brightly; sharing the same flame that would burn forever for each other. 

you had gotten back together after the interview and have now been dating for another two years on top of the previous four from university. the one year break that was referred to as a “temporary pause” as sunghoon likes to call it was simply just so you two could find each other again. 

because if you love someone you have to let them go but if they come back; then it’s fate. 

and that’s what the two of you were. it was fate that you two met during freshman orientation, it was fate that you two got together despite the fears of losing each other in the process, and it was fate that you still returned to sunghoon even after a whole year of being away. 

but this time, neither of you would be losing the other. 

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[cheerysmores]

My wife once told me she would never play Baldur's Gate 3 because 'it's that slut game.' One year later she finally caved and did her very first playthrough.

May I present: Mrs. Cheery's chaotic gremlin adventure to Baldur's Gate.

Act 1

Our hero is the drow fighter, Lady Coolio. To this day we do not know whether Lady is her name or her title. She has a big sword, big tits and one goal: get to The Baldur's Gate with no distractions.

Escaped the 'Meat Bus' (Nautaloid). "Right how close am I to Baldur's gate? Like three hours?"

Sold her camp clothes by accident and was very sad that all she had to run around in was a grey hobo sack. (No mods. Sorry wife)

Asked if Withers was Solas's Dad.

Lady Coolio calls Astarion rat boy. In Wifey's words “he told me ‘when I was a little lad Cazador made me eat rats.’”

To be fair she isn't great with names so Halsin = Hoisin Sauce, Lae'zel = onion lady, Volo = Volvo, Cazador = Calzone (sometimes)

In camp: Gale "I'd like to show you something rather magical". Lady Coolio: "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR MAGIC PENIS"

“There are so many dead bodies everywhere this entire place has got to stink” (just act 1 generally)

Act 2

Ran into the shadow cursed lands very under levelled and Last Light inn instantly got sacked. Bad news as she was romancing Karlach and now can’t get her second upgrade. Lady Coolio firmly blames Isobel for "triggering like three opportunity attacks when she could have... not done that."

Died to the shadow curse a LOT. Her: “Why is everyone dying????” Me: “Remember the moon lantern?” Her: “The what?” Me: “… that thing with the swearing pixie in it” Her: “ I still have to use that????” Me: “ yes, because Isobel is dead” Her: "WHY IS SHE STILL CAUSING PROBLEMS."

Hates the Gauntlet of Shar. Asked Shadowheart, “Is Shar the only goddess with an Olympic qualifier to join her religion?”

And now a series of comments on the Dead 3's chosen: “so the bad guys are evil undead Santa, Lady Gaga and the ugliest man I’ve ever seen?”)” “Is Gale… horny for that crown??” “Maybe Myrkul would be more threatening if he wasn’t standing in an giant toilet and not moving”

On discovering the Emperor) “wait my fairy god mother is a SQUID??? oh :( ”

She did however become half illithid but hated that she ended up with varicose veins on her boobs.

Gale and Astarion then graduated to “those weak pudding men” because they kept getting stuck halfway across the map by missing jumps. Act 3

Said “Brexit means Brexit” every time she met someone who was complaining about the refugees.

Went to see Raphael at Sharess's Caress. Didn’t sign his contract “ I trust neither Lord Farquad nor squid man but I’m not selling my soul to someone who has such bad vibes.”

At Gortash's coronation. "I thought he was popular? Like seven people turned up to watch it. Is it because he's really ugly and smells like Lynx (Axe) body spray?"

She wanted to eat Orin's outfit because it looks like delicious bacon.

Walking around the city: "so where do I go??" "Anywhere you like." "I hate this."

She would not stop stealing things. I think she murdered the entire battalion of flaming fist in the lower city because "a lady's gotta eat." She also killed everyone in sorcerer’s sundries including Rolan.

Had the prototypical stress aneurysm while doing the iron throne but somehow managed to get ALL the hostages out.

Lae’zel was kidnapped by Orin for 9 in game days . When I asked about this she said “FINDING CLOWN MEAT IS MORE IMPORTANT.”

“Why does every door here lead to the sewer????? And why are there so many live mines in the sewer??”

(in the basement of the elfsong) “soo because the Emperor has a shitty basement I’m supposed to be best friend with him now? This soup recipe does not make me trust you squid man”

Halsin “nature used all its powers when crafting you” Wife “well it also crafted bacon lady (Orin) so swings and roundabouts”

Astarion stayed a spawn and she convinced Gale not to use the crown. “No one is becoming ultimate bitch on my watch”

Despite her distrust of the Emperor she still allied with him in the final fight. Because, and I quote, "Lady Coolio's goal is to stop the Absolute. The Emperor has the same goal. I don't know when I became everyone's therapist and in charge of them making better choices but I'm putting my foot down at replacing dehydrated onion queen with baldy prince king over here. The Gith's religion is not my problem."

In her canon Lady Coolio and the Emperor high fived when they won.

85 hours later and Lady Coolio is the hero of Baldur's Gate. Please enjoy this picture of our heroine.

[catcatb0y]

I ran out of tag... (It's mostly like two things that end up becoming annoyingly intertwined the more the series goes on). He was only powerful when it was convenient to the power scaling, which led to him being constantly put in otherwise intensely traumatizing victim situations solely to spur the main character into saving him no matter the cost. Which normally would have only furthered his unrealistic inferiority complex (and also his fear of weakness as well as distaste for weak people given how many people VICTIM BLAMED HIM, which you'd think would only confirm his fucking bias??) which OOPS was made into a... realistic inferiority complex?? Somehow solely to show that the MC somehow managed to grow past the underdog he never fucking was, and since the fans adored this, that became his only character! Yeah, somehow THAT was his big character growth...

He went from a complex, morally grey character to UwU empty ship fodder, and the fans of the series ate it up SO much that one of the main villains (one of the only people who genuinely acknowledged the strength and horrible treatment of my silly guy) telling him 'You're useless actually, I just want to kill you to make that other kid sad lol-' is seen as his PEAK. That. That's his peak. That's the "good ol days" the shipdom romantacizes. A villain poking at his weakness and deepest insecurity is somehow the canonizing moment of the ship (and it doesn't even happen, MC gets mad at his best friend's death for three seconds and then effortlessly kicks the villain's ass, as like the shittiest cherry on top) < it only gets worse from there!

I was also a shipper back in the day, and, in hindsight, I really should have seen the whole shitshow coming, but unfortunately I went on to dedicate six years to this hyperfixation that continues to haunt me three years after I attempted to quit the fandom cold turkey. It didn't even work.

reblog this with one canon thing you dislike / think is flawed about your blorbo and/or the way they were written

[kawoala]

howdy!!!! i’d like to place my order at meeyas diner.

mm, for a burger, could I get haikyuu + kuroo tetsuro? (surprise)

sides, hm… could I get something silly and sweet, like curling up on the couch, brushing teeth together, etc??? just domestic shenanigans.

for a drink, i’d like roommates to lovers, if it’s in stock. also, could I get that traditional? thanks! mwah mwah (also this event is sooo freaking cute btw)

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE; kuroo tetsuro. burger—haikyuu. drink—roommates to lovers.

contents word count ; 855. sickfic. howl’s moving castle mentioned. kuroo is a good friend. also yaku + kenma mentioned.

authors notes LOVE ME A GOOD SICKFIC!! idk if i made kuroo like. accurate but i tried my hardest!! i was going to include a confession at first, but it kind of just went the it went yk? had a mind of its own.

KUROO TETSURO is nothing if not a good person. you’ve only known him for about two years, lived with him for even less, and yet you know that he’s a good person.

he’s the kind of friend to show up at your job with a bento full of your favorite food, the practice excuse of i was nearby rolling off his tongue easily. yaku had been having a hard time adjusting to his new university team, and kuroo really wanted him to make some friends, so he made enough for yaku to share.

he’s also the kind of friend to show up to your apartment unannounced, groceries in hand, ready to make dinner. kenma had been doing his annual 24-hour stream and kuroo noticed he was strictly eating ramen. you’d been creeping on the comment as kuroo was cooking, and they were filled with feral teenage girls talking about how good his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up.

and, thankfully, he’s the kind of friend to call off work the second he notices you’re sick—even if you beg him not to. today, his counter argument was, “i don’t even wanna go to work, though. plus, i think i’m getting a little warm. feel my forehead; do i have a fever? oh god, i can feel it settling in, y/n. death, knocking at my door.”

and then he flopped down on you, draping his arm over his eyes in a dramatic gesture. 

so, now, you’re here; curled up on the couch, shared blanket pulled up to your chin, howl’s moving castle playing on the TV. kuroo sits beside you, work clothes long gone, replaced by his favorite hoodie and a pair of sweats. early, you’d briefly wondered how he could look good even in clothes like that, but shook the thought away quickly.

you can not be thinking of your roommate like that.

an empty bowl that once had soup in it sits abandoned on the coffee table, along with two mugs of tea. you didn’t want him to stay home at first, but after getting special treatment, you’re glad he did. 

you haven’t been watching the movie for long. sophie is just now meeting howl again, a scene that didn’t make sense to you the first time you watched it, but did after watching it again. you glance over at kuroo again—you’ve tried to stop, but can’t—and notice his brows are furrowed.

you nudge him with your foot until he looks over, face relaxing into a small smile. you tilt your head. “why do you look so confused?” you ask, voice raspy and thick with sickness.

he glances at the TV, then back at you. “why did howl do that? like, pretend to be sophie’s boyfriend or husband, or whatever?” he gestures vaguely with his hand. “couldn’t he have just been, like, ‘hey, stop messing with that girl,’ or something?”

“what? no, of course not. that scene practically makes the whole movie. haven’t you ever watched this before?” it’s your turn to furrow your brows.

he simply shakes his head and your jaw drops. you sit up properly now, blanket falling off the too half of your torso. “what? what are you talking about?” he awkwardly looks to the side. “you’ve never watched this? howl’s moving castle—never watched it?”

again, he shakes his head. “never,” he confirms. “i’ve heard of it, because of you, but i’ve never had the chance to watch it.” he pauses, then smirks and shrugs. “too much big boy work to do, i guess.”

you narrow your eyes for a moment, then playfully roll them. you settle back into your spot again, adjusting the blanket once more, and sigh. “that was sexist. also, i watched it when i was a kid.”

“hey, that was not sexist, c’mon.” you can tell he’s trying to get your attention again—he always sounds the same when trying to get someones attention. “hello-o-o,” he sings out, leaning closer to you.

you still don’t answer him, opting to stare at the screen of the TV. you’re not really paying attention to it, but you hope you at least look like you are.

the couch dips right beside you and kuroo is suddenly hovering over you, staring at the side of your face. “i want being sexist,” he says. “i love women.”

“oh, please.” you almost snort. “you haven’t been on a date for, like, four months.”

all you get is a hum in response. he plops back down with a sigh and you keep your eyes on the TV. after a beat of silence, you look over at him.

“hey.” again, you nudge him with your foot. “thanks for staying home today. and making food for me. i really appreciate you.”

for a solid second, the look in his eyes is unreadable. usually, you can tell what he’s thinking like he’s speaking into your mind himself—it’s been that way since you first moved in together. something just clicked between you two. but now, you can’t tell.

“yeah, whatever.” he laughs and shoves your legs away playfully, not bothering to fight the smile on his face.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: there is quite literally no plot here 😭 just a lazy day with william and smut. not too much to say except i hope you guys enjoy!

word count: 3.1k

tw: dirty talk, masturbation (f), oral sex (m receiving), oral fixation, unprotected p in v sex, biting (brief and not sexual), pillow humping,

summary: a rainy off day means you and william have nothing better to do than fool around on the couch

Rain batters the windows of the apartment, a steady rhythm that’s serving as the perfect background noise to your lazy afternoon. You’re grateful for the miserable Toronto weather that’s giving you the perfect excuse to not go outside or be productive on William’s day off.

The dogs have been walked and are now sprawled across your bed, even though they know they’re not allowed up there, you’re too lazy and comfortable on the couch to get up and shoo them out. Eventually you’ll get up and kick the dogs to their own beds, but for now they’re getting their way. Spoiled little brats.

Your cheek is pillowed on William’s thigh, hard muscle and blond hair under the slippery fabric of his basketball shorts. One of his hands strokes lazily through your hair, twisting little pieces here and there, tugging gently and absently.

His other hand glides over your side, the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, pats your ass gently, and repeats. It’s a soothing, repetitive motion that has your eyelids fluttering as you try and focus on the TV. The hand dips under the waistband of the sweats you’d stolen from William’s drawer, baggy and worn out in all the right places, finger toying with the thin strap of your thong. He snaps the elastic playfully against your skin and you huff a little noise, turning your face to nip at his thigh in warning.

“Trying to watch,” you mumble, even though you’re only half focused on the episode of Cobra Kai that’s playing. You’re catching up on the latest drop of episodes, William a faux-reluctant participant in your binge. He’d complained when you first started watching the cheesy show, but quickly got absorbed in the antics.

He chuckles and pulls his hand from its spot tangled in the elastic band of your thong. His fingers dance up over your side again until his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, forearm draped over your collarbones and one big hand curled around your breast. He plays with your nipple, thumbing at the tightening point through the fabric of your shirt. The sensation makes you shiver, distracting you and sending a warm flood of arousal to pool low in your belly.

William hums, still playing with your breast, kneading like a cat. It’s impossible to concentrate on the show, so you wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug his hand up so you can tuck it under your cheek.

“Hey,” he laughs under his breath, “I was playing with that.”

You angle your neck and look back at him, lips curving in a faint smile. “I’m trying to watch my show. Behave,” you murmur, William’s fingers wiggling against your face. You nudge at the palm of his hand with your nose and he laughs again.

“Of course, älskling,” he says, tugging at your hair and settling deeper back into the couch.

While you watch, William’s hand shifts under your cheek and you let the intrusive thoughts win for once, sinking your teeth into the fleshy part of his palm near his thumb. It’s not a deep bite, more than a nip though and William exhales sharply at the surprise.

“What was that?” He asks, looking down at you where your teeth are still clamped around his skin. He taps his thumb against your cheekbone and you release him, leaving a faint imprint of your teeth behind.

“I dunno,” you roll onto your back and look up at him. “I just wanted to bite you.”

William squishes your cheeks together, puckering your lips, and shakes his head at you. His eyes twinkle with mischief and you wonder what he’s going to do next. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the fabric of his shorts twitch and you try to hide your grin, knowing that he’s getting hard.

“We have to find something better for you to do with that mouth,” William murmurs, pressing his thumb against your lower lip. He presses a little harder and you let your mouth fall open, the pad of his thumb landing on your tongue. The corners of your lips quirk up at the corners and you close your mouth around his thumb, tracing the tip of your tongue over it like you would if it were his cock.

“There you go.”

William grins at you, the rest of his fingers curling around your cheek and stroking your skin. “Keep that mouth busy so you don’t bite me again,” he teases and you hum, eyes fluttering shut as he strokes at your hair. You let your teeth scrape over the pad of his thumb and William chuckles, low and deep in his throat.

It keeps you occupied for a few moments, but you’re getting wetter the longer you sit with his thumb pressing against your tongue and you rub your thighs together before letting one leg fall open to the side. Your hand slides up over your hip and under the waistband of your pants, fingertips finding your clit like a magnet and rubbing circles around it for relief. You sigh happily, mouth falling open just enough for William to withdraw his thumb.

“Getting all wet just from sucking on my thumb?” William murmurs, watching the way the fabric of your pants shifts as you work over your clit. “How wet will you be with my dick in your mouth, huh, älskling?”

His tease only serves to turn you on even more and you turn your head so you’re looking directly at the tent in his pants. You grin and let your tongue dart out to wet your lower lip. You and William both know that sucking his dick will lead to you making yourself come at least once on your own hand - it’s tried and true at this point.

“Why don’t we try it and see?” You reply softly, playing along. Reluctantly, you slip your hand from your clit and shuffle around, nearly falling off the couch in your attempt to get between William’s legs.

He laughs and catches you around the waist. “Real sexy, älskling,” he teases, drawing you to his chest so he can kiss you before helping you out of your sweats and on your knees. You settle between his legs, your shoulders touching the insides of his knees, and adjust your position so the heel of your foot is tucked against your clit. The position will end up being uncomfortable soon enough, your legs already starting to go numb, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Lift up so you can take these off,” you slide your hands over his thighs, enjoying the contrast of his leg hair against your palms. The fabric of the basketball shorts bunches and gathers, exposing inches of thigh as you move.

William grins at you and lifts up, thigh muscles tensing as they’re engaged. Your fingers curl around the fabric and tug, rushing to pull them down his legs. His cock, thick and hard, springs free and slaps against his stomach, standing proud and already beading precum at the tip. You lick your lips involuntarily and William wraps one hand around the base of his cock, squeezing.

“That desperate for my cock in your mouth, huh?” He teases you, stroking himself slowly. Your stomach flips and you watch his hand move, tendons flexing beneath his skin. “Actin’ like my own personal little slut.”

“Mhm,” you hum, looking up at him with wide eyes before you lean up on your knees and drape yourself over his lap to get closer to his cock. “Sit back and let me get my mouth on you.”

William opens his mouth to retort, but anything he’s about to say is choked off in a groan when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and suck gently, flattening your tongue over his slit.

“Shit!” He moans and his hands fly to your head, tangling in your hair. You grin around him and take another inch or two into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him and humming. “Älskling, fuck, feels so good.”

You let your hands wander over his shaft and balls, stroking and applying pressure, tracing the veins on his cock with light fingertips until William’s thighs are trembling. His hips buck and the head of his cock hits against the roof of your mouth. You groan around him and William curses loudly.

With one hand, you wrap the base of his cock in a steady pressure, sliding your hand up and down the few inches that aren’t in your mouth. The other hand drifts down between your legs, toying with your clit until your fingers are soaked with your own arousal. William’s cock is a thick, heavy weight on your tongue and he keeps his fingers twisted in your hair, holding your face in position.

He keeps up a mindless stream of chatter over your head, biting off curses every time you hollow your cheeks. Tears fill your waterline when he tugs just slightly too hard on your hair and you whine in the back of your throat, lifting up on your knees to swallow more of him down. You continue rubbing at your clit, nearly at the edge of your own orgasm just from sucking William’s dick.

“Gimme,” he mumbles, reaching blindly at your upper arm, “wanna taste you, älskling.”

Fuzzy-headed, you swallow, your throat working around the head of his cock and William curses again. He grabs at your arm and drags your hand away from your clit, holding your wrist so he can wrap his lips around your fingers, sucking your arousal from them.

You whine, lust shooting straight down your spine and making your clit throb painfully. William smirks down at you, his tongue warm on your fingers. He matches his movements to yours, sucking at your fingers when you suck at his dick and as much as you love when he uses that mouth for dirty talk, this is even hotter.

Bracing your free hand on his hip, you lean in even more, swallowing down all of William’s thick inches, your nose pressed against the coarse hair trailing down his stomach. He groans around your fingers sending a vibration straight down your arm and to your core. You’re dripping on the floor, a flood of arousal unstoppable.

William’s stomach muscles bunch and tense and you know he won’t last much longer, precome and saliva filling your mouth and leaking out around the plug of his cock. You hum a few more times, bobbing your head up and down until you feel him thicken on your tongue and he comes almost without warning, warm, thick ropes of come shooting down your throat. You swallow and swallow and come leaks out the corners of your mouth, but you don’t bother wiping it away and when he’s done, you pull off of his cock. A string of saliva connects your mouth to the head of his cock and you break it with your tongue, leaning in to kiss the sensitive, ruddy head softly.

He bites out a curse and his hips twitch up in your direction, making you grin.

“How was that?” You ask cheekily, resting your cheek against the inside of his knee and tracing your fingers lazily over his inner thigh and up over his hip. William’s softening cock twitches with interest and you stroke delicate fingers over his shaft and balls, playing with him.

Your boyfriend looks down at you with a drunken look in his eyes. His mouth curls in a contented smile. “You’ve got a fucking magical mouth, älskling,” he laughs hoarsely. “I love it when you get to work.”

The praise warms your stomach and you dance your fingers up into the trail of dark hair below his belly button, scratching your nails against his skin. The fabric of his shirt lifts with your movement and your mouth waters at the sight of slightly tanned skin and hair. His cock is fully soft again now, resting against his thigh and you want to keep playing with him, horny as ever. Your clit throbs, reminding you that you haven’t come yet, the steady stream of arousal from your cunt making a mess of the floor and your thighs.

William notices how you shift and his eyes twinkle. “Did you not come?” He asks, reaching down to cup your cheek in one big hand. His thumb toys at your lower lip and your tongue darts out to lick the pad. “Do you need a little help?”

You nod, giving him a wide-eyed, pleading look. You want his fingers in your cunt, knowing it’ll take too long for his cock to get hard again and you’ll be left suffering for too long.

His grin turns slightly mocking and you pout, knowing that William is absolutely not going to help you out. He leans to the side and grabs a throw pillow off the couch, tossing it to you while saying, “if you can get yourself off with the pillow in the time it takes that magical mouth to get me hard again, I’ll fuck you like you deserve, ��lskling.”

“Will,” you whine, pouting. He pinches your cheeks together, pursing your lips and leans down to kiss you.

“Those are the terms, take them or leave them,” he says, cradling your chin.

You frown at the pillow on your lap and huff an annoyed sigh, he knows he’s playing dirty and you’d do just about anything to come on his cock. You snatch the pillow up and shove it between your legs, immediately moaning when the rough fabric brushes against your swollen clit, “oh my god.”

Without really thinking about it and letting instinct take over, you rock your hips over the pillow, sighing when pleasure starts to build low in your stomach. William’s fingers are warm on your face and you look up at him, the intensity of his eye contact making you even wetter.

“Look good, älskling, riding that pillow like it’s my cock,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. His other hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly. “I’ll help you, but you need to get that mouth to work.”

You hum and dig your nails into William’s thigh, breath sawing in and out of your lungs on whimpers as you rock over the pillow. Each catch of fabric on your clit sends sparks dancing in your vision. “Wanna come,” you whine, leaning in and bracing yourself on his thighs. William’s hand falls away from his cock as you wrap your lips around the tip, swirling your tongue in a haphazard rhythm. Your hips stutter and it takes you a minute to coordinate your mouth and your hips so you’re sucking him to hardness while giving yourself pleasure.

“Come on, baby,” William wraps your hair around his hand and makes a fist, pulling it back from your face so he can see the way his cock disappears into your mouth. “Touch yourself too, go ahead. Fuck, you look so good with my dick in your mouth.”

You whine around him and drop your hand to your clit, circling it with stiff fingers, gasping and choking on William’s cock as your orgasm builds.

He keeps talking over your head, but your energy is focused on breathing through your nose and trying to finish, his words blurring together into nonsense. His cock thickens on your tongue, heavy and hard, and you have to pull off him when you come, afraid you’ll bite down.

Your orgasm explodes in your body, gushing out onto the pillow and your thighs, your vision blurry and your chest heaving as you try to suck air into your lungs.

William’s hand is warm and heavy, cradling your head and he scratches his fingers lightly against your scalp. “Feel good, älskling?” He murmurs, laughing when you nod against his hand, head fuzzy and legs trembling. Your knees are starting to hurt and you shift, the pillow chafing against your sore clit. You whine and William laughs again, wrapping his hands around your biceps and tugging gently.

You go easily, your knees cracking slightly, until William has you straddling his lap and draped over his chest. He cups the back of your neck and tilts your head so he can kiss you sweetly. You hum into his mouth, hips moving absently over William’s lap. His cock is trapped between your bodies and you can feel it pulse.

“I feel like a limp noodle,” you reply, mouthing at William’s jaw. His hands slide under your shirt and splay over your back, holding you tight against his chest. “I’m never moving from this spot.”

You feel William’s laugh rumble through his chest as it reaches your ears and he rests his chin on top of your head. “Good, because I promised you the orgasm you deserve and I don’t plan on going back on my word,” he says, hands roaming lower on your ass and grabbing so he can lift you and notch his cock at your entrance.

A keen works it way out of your throat as William’s cock fills you inch by inch, his hands tight on your ass to lower you gently. You wriggle and gasp, overly sensitive. “Will…” you exhale his name on a breathy moan, his cock bottoming out and stealing the rest of the air from your lungs.

“Just relax, älskling,” William hums, pumping his hums up into yours. “I’ll do all the work.”

He hits a particularly deep spot inside of you and you wail, muffling the sound in his neck, clinging to him tightly as he fucks up into you.

Neither of you last particularly long and William makes sure you come first before he pumps you full, holding you down on his cock while he finishes with a shout of your name and his fingers digging tightly into your skin.

If you thought you felt like a limp noodle before, you’re even more wrung out now, your body buzzing from adrenaline while simultaneously exhausted. Even though you’re sticky and sweaty and you really need to get up and clean off, you burrow deeper into William’s neck and go limp against him. His heart is racing against yours and you wiggle your hips to get comfortable.

“Make sure I get up in five minutes so I don’t get a UTI,” you mumble around a yawn.

William’s body slumps back into the couch and he kneads absently at your ass, amusement in his voice when he replies, “yes, ma’am.”

[amfstargirl]

Details of half return

The narrative starts with y/n going back to their old house, where they start with reminiscing about memories from their old home. They admire every mark they left in their home when they were a kid not knowing that was the last time they were gonna live and make memories there. It's also a perfect situation where you can relate to Adrianne Lenker's lyrics, specifically in which she says, “standing in the yard, dressed like a kid,” which indicates a moment of nostalgia. To me, this song is highly associated with missing the innocence, youth, childhood, or simply who you were in the past.

 If you're wondering why the reader goes to their old house, it's because it's a way of letting go for them. As they have said in the story that it was a way of letting go and mourning that version of them. Because you can never really let go if you're not mourning/did not mourn even the slightest.They saw it as a necessary step in the process of growing and becoming a new person.

In the old house scene, you can see the memory of the reader, where they see the life they want in the lives of others, making them yearn for that. The space between two windows, reader and their neighbor, indicates or symbolizes their current life (reader's window), while the other mirrors the life they long for (neighbor's window), like a window to their desired reality. So watching the Barbie movies/shows through their neighbor was them actually watching the life they wish for. 

Also, the puppy she found on a random day while she was alone. The puppy is a symbolic object of the reader. As you saw in the first scene where they both first met, it was said that the puppy was just crying for its mother and father, hoping, waiting. (That's eerily familiar, don't you think?) And! The reader named the puppy “Amara,” which, if I'm not mistaken, means forever loved, which she is. Amara was a mirror of y/n's soul. And y/n treated them the way they have always wanted to be treated. 

But Amara is not a mirror to the current reader's soul. Do you get it? Because Amara was the symbol of the past version of them, which means they were the beacon of youth Y/N once had. Amara staying and waiting within the walls of where they both grew up just connects to y/n’s journey of letting go. That is why when the reader saw her, whispered gently to her and reassured her that it was okay, that she could rest now. representing readers' way of saying goodbye to the old y/n and letting them rest. The scarred innocent of their younger self is now free from the heavy pain of the things they went through. 

The scene where the reader “made up” with their mother and the fact that their mother admitted she never hated them that much but couldn't confirm that she didn't entirely hate them is SO important. It was a moment where their mother finally acknowledged her faults and apologized bitterly but with sincerity. She was very honest in that scene, as she knew that was what you needed and wanted. No sugar-coated words, only the truth. Also the fact that they made up, but it was also going to be the last time they would see each other!! Because the reader cut them off on good terms, and that was the final step in making peace with everything that was part of their past. 

Also, if yall were wondering how the reader “moved on” with the Bat family, it was actually the first ever step they took in making peace with their past. As their way of doing it was just accepting. Accepting that they will never see them as family, and they will never be interested in them in any way. (Guess who got clowned.)

And Alfred, who was driven by his own selfish desires. Now we all know that it was Alfred who took care of the reader the moment they got to the manor, so naturally it would be Alfred who first spiraled into yanderism. I like the idea of Alfred; despite wanting what's best for the reader and what makes her happy, he is still a yandere. And that means he still has traits of a yandere, which is what made him come up with a heavily detailed plan. 

[je0ng1nn]

SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE — Hwang In-Ho

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ PAIRING — Hwang In-Ho x fem!reader

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ INCLUDES — basic Squid game violence, maybe a little bit spice, age gap (reader is mid 20‘s In-house is late 40‘s), Jealousy

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ NOTE — Okay y‘all.. since my last fanfic about Sangwoo got lots of love, i decided to write another one.. this time about In-ho!!! I seriously love that guy it isn’t normal anymore… I also tried out a new writing style as i‘m still trying to find out a good style to write in, so let me know which one you prefer!!

I was talking to Gi-hun as I felt an uncomfortable feeling, someone was staring at me. But not the normal staring, the type of staring that would linger on you for way to long. The type of staring that made you feel uneasy right away. But i decided to shrug it off. „I hope the next game won’t be too difficult,“ Gi-hun said as he slowly exhaled.

„Me too.. the last game was exhausting enough.. I really thought we would’ve died when we only got 10 seconds left to make it to the finish line..“ I closed my eyes in relief, it was definitely an expierience for itself, Pentathlon felt like the hardest one.. Red Light Green Light was very easy.. just the shock of the people dying for the first time got to me.

„Hm.. let’s just dig in right? I think we need enough energy for today.“ Dae-ho said. I nodded and started to eat my food, listening to the others as they continued to talk. Me and Young-il were the only ones being quiet.

„Y/N-ah.. take my bread, i don‘t need it. You didn’t eat a lot yesterday after the game ended.“ Young-il smiled at me, it was a weird but reassuring smile.. it made me feel warm inside. „Oh really sir? It isn’t a problem or?“ I asked again, only to make sure. He just nodded and handed it to me, i didn’t take the whole tho, i broke it in half.

„Young-il sir, don’t give me everything, you also need some food and energy.“ I gave him the other half. He was a little shocked by my action, his eyes widened slightly. I looked up at his, before giving him a soft half-smile. He nodded and ate together with me.

We continued to eat in peace before guards came in. „Players, please follow us to the next game.“ the one in the middle said. We all looked at each other before hesitating to stand up. Young-il took my wrist to make sure i didn’t get lost in the crowd.

My cheeks got a light shade of pink as i quickly looked away. I heard a short chuckle coming out of Young-il‘s mouth. I just decided to ignore it, but my body made it hard. It completely gave me away, my heart skipping a beat at his sweet chuckle.

We followed the guards into a room, Young-il‘s grip tightened on me when we arrived inside. „What could this place be?“ I asked quietly as i looked around. The whole room was big and colorful. It counted 50 Doors, each having different colors, in the middle of the room there was a platform with a statue in the middle of it. It looked scary but also nostalgic, like a sweet children’s place, but knowing what happens in here, it didn’t seem so sweet as it looks.

„Players, please step on the platform in the middle of the room“ the creepy voice called out, I tensed at hearing it, which Young-il felt. He looked down at me, his hand letting go of my wrist but finding its way on my shoulder instead, drawing circles on it to reassure me.. which weirdly helped.

„When the game starts, the platform will spin. Shortly after, a number will be called out. You must then form a group that matches the number, enter one of the surrounding rooms and lock the door within 30 seconds, or be eliminated.“ We all slowly went to the platform, i kept holding onto Young-il somehow, only his presence already kept me safe..

„I repeat,“ I completely blended the creepy robot voice out as i was looking up at Young-il, captivated by his beauty. Of course he isn’t stupid, he noticed i was staring, but he enjoyed the moment just like me.

The other‘s talked, but i stayed quiet, they tried to make a planning what to do when certain numbers got called out. I held onto Young-il‘s arm, just listening closely to the others. After around 2 minutes, the platform suddenly started moving and music started playing. I accidently stumble at the sudden movement, but Young-il catched me with his strong arms.. „Are you okay?“ I just nodded.

I felt uneasy, this didn’t feel right. The song made me feel even more uncomfortable. Young-il noticed, he tried his best to help me, which did. His presence already made me feel better. Suddenly after some time, it stopped again. Everyone stumbled again.

„TEN“

I looked at Young-il, and then at Gi-hun. We were 5.. we needed 5 more. Hyun-ju came to us, „are you guys 5?!“ she quickly asked, the pressure in her voice was bearable. „We‘re 4! we just need one more!“

Gi-hun nodded, he looked out for someone, and noticed Jun-hee, it was the pregnant girl. She was nice earlier to me. He looked over to Hyun-ju who knew what he was symbolizing. 8 of us already went to the room quickly, Hyun-ju took Jun-hee‘s hand and guided her quickly but also gentle to us, after all she was pregnant.

We had 15 seconds left and Hyun-ju quickly closed the door, I was in a corner next to Young-il. He squeezed my hand to calm me down. He leaned down, whispering in my ear.

„We are ten, don’t worry. I‘ll protect you, yeah?“ His voice was low and raspy, i had to keep my composure and nodded. „Thank you Sir.“

He chuckled again, his breath touching my neck. „Drop the sir, yeah?“ I just nodded as i felt another blush creep up my face.

The timer was already over. We could hear gunshots, but Young-il covered my ears. He kept his promise, keeping me safe.

„The following Players were eliminated: Player 013, 043, 049, 054, 060..“ Our room was quiet, Gi-hun was looking throught the little slit of the door, watching the people getting taken away.

The atmosphere was tensed, everyone was breathing heavily. Yet Young-il was calm as always, drawing circles on me again, but this time, on the inside of my arm. Shortly after, out doors were unlocked, and we slowly went out. I almost slipped from the blood on they floor, but luckily Young-il kept me in his arms.

And everything repeated, the platform started spinning and the music went on. This time i didn’t stumble, as it was as unexpected as last time. And soon after, it stopped again.

„FOUR“

we all looked at each other in panic, we were 5, shit.. Young-il look at Gi-hun before pushing me into his arms. „Take care of her, and go, Now!“ He yelled, Gi-hun catched me quickly, but i tried to get away from his grip. „Young-il!“ I screamed out, but i couldn’t run after him. Gi-hun just let out a quick „don’t worry“ and ran with me in his hand to a free door. Dae-ho quickly closed it after we got in. I was rushing to look through the slit, but i couldn’t find him.. Shit, where was he???, Gi-hun tried to pull me away, but i just hit his hand away.

5 seconds later the door locked. I flinched at the gunshots, but i couldn‘t care less, all i cared for in the moment was Young-il.

The creepy voice called out who was eliminated again, but i couldn’t focus on it, i tried to see if Young-il was out there.. he can’t die, what would i do without him?

The doors unlocked, i slowly opened it, my hands shaking. Dae-ho took my shoulders, he tried to help me calm down. But it didn‘t, it wasnt the same touch Young-il had.. it didnt feel right. We slowly walked to the platform.

I couldn’t spot him, my heart sinking, before i felt Dae-ho being pushed away from me. I got hugged from behind. I immediately recognized Young-il‘s strong arms around me. Gi-hun spoke up, „Young-il! You made it“. You could tell he was happy to see him too, but he just nodded and gave him a smile, before whispering into my eyes.

„I told you i will survive and protect you at all cost, Baby.“ This made something with me, he smirked to himself, i could sense that. He knows what he did to me. Letting go of me he talked to the others again. I just stood next to them, listening closely.

This game went on quite for some time now, and slowly i started to feel exhausted. I knew that as soon as we would be back at the dorm, i would take a big nap. This was the last round, the music was going on and for a moment everything felt good.

„The next number will be two,“ Young-il said, i looked up to him. „What do you mean?“ I asked, we were 5, what if one of us doesn’t find a partner? „We are 126 players left, there are 50 doors, when the number will be 2, it can only hold 100 people.“

It made sense, it would bring out a fight to whom will get a room, and for sure 26 of them won’t. „It makes sense, I think so too.“ Gi-hun agreed with him, „Me and Y/N will go together,“ Young-il said, taking my hands in his, our Fingers intertwined. It made me look down. My heart skipping a beat. „Jung-bae, go with Dae-ho.. I‘ll find someone.“ Gi-hun said, Jung-bae wanted to say something against it, but suddenly the platform stopped

„TWO“

Jung-bae couldn’t do anything and had to take Dae-ho with him Gi-hun went to search for a partner, and Young-il took me to a room. On the way there, a guy pushed me down and tried to get into the room me and Young-il chose. You could see the rage in his eyes. He took the guy by his collar, pushing him away. He took my hand and helped me up quickly. We made it into the room, 18 seconds left. I exhaled but stopped. We heard another guy in here, shaky breath.

„OUT!“ Young-il yelled angry, the guy shook his head. „I was here first!“ he shouted back, pressing himself into the corner. „I said, go. out.“ His eyes were sharp, his voice cold and loud.

„Push her out, Girls are weak anywa-” he couldn’t finish his sentence, before Young-il went behind him. He choked him, slowly sliding down the wall as he cut off his breathing way. The guy was struggling. But the most intimidating about this was the way he looked at me while he did so.

„Ten“

„Nine“

„Eight“

„Seven“

„Six“

„Five“

„Four“

„three“

Suddenly, Young-il turned his head, which let out a loud ‚CRACK‘ the door locked a second after he died. Young-il stood up, slowly walking to me, not braking the eye contact. He trapped me at the wall, his arms on each of my sides, keeping me from moving.

He pressed his lips sharp onto mine, i melted at the touch, but at the same time, i didn’t. Trembling beneath him. My hands wandered to his neck before i closed my eyes and eventually gave in, kissing him back. The kiss quickly turned into a tounge kiss, the Gunshots were completely ignored. He backed away, before moving to my neck, kissing it, biting on it, I let myself relax, whimpering at his touch. He let go, making my groan a little, he smirked to himself. His mouth went to my ear, he whispered into it, before biting my earlobe a little.

„You won’t tell anyone yeah? This will be our little secret, Darling.“

Okay i might make a second part out of this, because i‘m to lazy to write more at the moment, might even publish it tomorrow👀 stay tuned my loves!!! If you want to be tagged in the second part, comment below!

[theshrikeandcanary]

awwwwwww i love this sm

I can't get over the collaring bit- Price has to love Simon deep down or he wouldn't be bothered to collar the beast

and I'm imagining Simon almost purring at first with kitties mouth on him. He'd have that deep raspy purr that almost sounds like a dog growling (AND KITTY KNOWING PRICE WANTED TO COLLAR HIM IN ORDER TO POSITION SIMON) sorry back to the story- Simon would be blissed out. Only to see Price emerging with a thick leather collar. The sound he produces is half growl half purr as he's quickly approaching climax. Si must be battling the need to come down kitties throat with his blatant need to not be collared.

Would Price try to scruff him to make the wrestle easier? Or would that set back their already rocky relationship?

Either way I could see Simon tolerate the collar- if only for a little- seeing the way kitties eyes go wide. He's so handsome with a thick band showing he's owned, and in a way by kitty too.

Follow up to this post abt being Price’s specialest princess kitty who gets found by mountain lion!simon after you get lost in the rain.

Price fuckin’ hates Simon. This big, scarred up, anti-social beast, suddenly in his house, and you treat him like a teddy bear. And he fucking lets you.

Tracks dirt everywhere. Tracks blood all the way back to your bed cause he’s just trying to keep his mate fed while she’s got kittens on the way. Leaves half eaten carcasses on the property. Shoves his way into the henhouse from time to time when he thinks he can get away with it.

But he must admit. His precious little angel does look especially beautiful with a pregnant belly. Price had had a field day getting you all sorts of loose fitting, frilly dresses. It almost made up for the week-long tribulation that was trying to get a collar on Simon. You’d had to help by sucking Simon off to get him off guard (when he had to choose between cumming down your throat and dodging a collaring, the choice was obvious).

And Simon does keep unwanted guests off of the property. Coyotes, foxes, the deer that would destroy the vegetable patch— even the wolves that would scare his princess with their baying and howling once they’d caught your scent.

And you were so happy. Always waiting patiently at home for him to come in and settle so you could cuddle him and groom him (after a long hard day of raising hell). Begging for more cushions, bigger ones, so Simon could joint you in all your favorite resting spots.

Again, he just wishes there was less blood.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

@dr-reids-fidget-toy#omg I didn’t know that about comic bucky that’s rlly cool

Starting a new post because I have off-topic Thoughts. Comic!Bucky contains fascinating commentary on the Cold War, WWII, and the media representations thereof. MCU!Bucky is (by necessity) pretty watered down. In the Brubaker comics, Bucky isn't brainwashed, at least not in the classic Marvel sense. He's just this guy who believes in the absolute rightness of his country, and has been in combat to support the U.S. since age ~14... and then he gets blown up by a missile, loses his memory, and Department X tells him "his country" is the USSR. So now he's the Winter Soldier. Nothing else about his personality or his politics changes. The Winter Soldier we see in the Brubaker comics is definitely a villain — he kills indiscriminately, kidnaps civilians to get his way, murders Rick Jones out of petty spite. But his personality is basically the same from childhood.

This is Steve remembering Bucky as a kid during WWII:

Brubaker retcons Bucky's role, from "kid sidekick who rushes in first and gets kidnapped, needing Captain America to rescue him," to "kid agent who infiltrates bases first, so that Captain America can follow him." With the memory loss, Bucky goes from slitting throats and setting off bombs for Uncle Sam, to doing it for Mother Russia. He's always been as cold and as willing to kill witnesses as he is as the Winter Soldier. It just never made the news reals.

And that's the other half of his retconned role: being propaganda for other child soldiers (e.g. Toro) who join up in his wake. This is Bucky and Steve watching a Cap and Bucky recruitment newsreel:

As an adult, the real difference isn't that Bucky is Soviet now; it's that he doesn't have Steve holding his leash anymore. To be clear, comic Winter Soldier also isn't free to come and go as he pleases — he's kept in a freezer between missions, he's probably not paid, he's in Department X — but he also has far more agency within the latitude of his orders. He's not dead-eyed and tortured by guilt like we see in the MCU. He goes on side quests to kill other Buckies. He argues constantly with Aleksander Lukin (the comic equivalent of Pierce). He complains about the inconvenience of not just sniping Steve in the head to steal the Tesseract.

Brubaker's point, throughout the comic, is that we have been lied to about World War II being "noble" or "good" or the story of the U.S. saving the day. And that that lie is used to prop up everything from U2 spy planes built with 100x the budget for education, to the Patriot Act nullifying the Fourth Amendment. Because not only is "WWII was a noble war fought without atrocities" nationalistic bullshit, but "Soviets are fundamentally different from us" is too. Bucky's continuity of character reveals both at once. He's a walking Soviet superweapon. Why? Because he was a walking American superweapon first, starting before he was old enough to shave.

Anyway, I get why the MCU had to change his backstory. You have to a) remind the audience who Bucky is, b) show-don't-tell why Steve is sad Bucky is trying to kill him, c) get across the idea that Bucky doesn't want to kill Steve but feels he has to, d) use Bucky to develop Steve's character, and e) set up a way for Bucky to get un-brainwashed. All within the span of ~30 minutes this movie has for this plot, amidst all the other plots. MCU!Bucky plaintively asking Pierce who Steve was, only to get slapped in the face, is sort of like AniTV!Tom constantly pawing at his ear: it quickly gets across that this character isn't acting under his own volition, in a way that minimizes audience confusion.

Plus: it's a Hollywood movie. It wouldn't get funded if it was too critical of the U.S. military. Movies are always, by definition, more conservative than other media because of their need for funding. And the MCU makes a decent effort to incorporate at least some criticism of the U.S., having Zola be involved in Operation Paperclip and having him (while working for the U.S.) order Howard Stark's murder. But a computer ghost reciting dry facts about the CIA recruiting Nazis doesn't have the same gut punch as watching the "good guys" send the literal child to knife his fellow child soldiers during WWII would have had.

[crazycat010]

Watch where you're going idiot!

Hi! This is one of my first times posting and English is not my first language, but I hope you like it!

bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

IN WHICH: an unfortunate series of events leads to you befriending the infamous Bakugou Katsuki.

fluff, a teensy bit of angst, comical reader (could also be seen as Gender Neutral reader though there's talk about longish hair and only one reference to breasts)

word count: 1,993 words

To say you were mad was an understatement. Oh no, you were absolutely, utterly furious, and you were this close 🤏to showing your best friend, or what you at least thought Ibara Shiozaki was until this precise morning, what your quirk was capable of.

It was a seemingly normal Tuesday; as usual, you woke up five minutes before your alarm was supposed to go off, went on a morning run around campus and took a shower.

A gentle breeze had eased you through the half an hour run, putting your mind at ease and helping you relax even more than your routine usually did.

Coming back to your shared dorm, you had noticed something was off upon realizing your roommate and best friend Ibara was already up and going, dressing herself while suspiciously turning her back on you, when you always had to wake her up at last so you both could show up to class in time after the ordinary rush to whichever classroom you had been assigned to.

Shrugging it off, you quickly got undressed and into the small shower of your shared bathroom. Oblivious to your roommates prank, you didn’t realize, as you poured your shampoo in your left hand’s palm with your eyes closed, while humming along to a song that had particularly been stuck in your head, that said product’s color had drastically changed from a milky white to a deep fucsia.

It had been a total shocker to you, when, upon getting out of the shower and in front of the big rectangular mirror that stood inches above the sink, you saw your pitch black mid-back length straight hair, turned to a ridiculous pink color.

It’s not that you didn’t like pink, but nor did you love it, and it wasn’t in your Today’s Plans to get your fabulous healthy hair such a radical change in appearance.

With fiery eyes and filled with rage at inhuman levels, you dried your hair, realizing the tint wasn’t made to be washed out easily, and then put on your clean training suit, for today’s lesson was going to be the first one in which your class, 1st B, would have encountered the other section of heroes, 1st A and it mostly would’ve consisted in getting to know the others and only a couple of tests.

Right after locking your dorm, not fancying another prank from your classmates, you sped up the halls directed to the cafeteria, knowing exactly who the culprit was.

There started to be more and more students wandering off in the corridors. Nonetheless, all of those who even dared to look at you, backed away, terrorized and utterly terrified by your gaze and fuming state.

However, there was one of them who wouldn’t get easily scared, determined to put you back in place, yelling a: “Hey, watch where you’re going, idiot!” After you had so not-gracefully bumped into him and muttered through gritted teeth an unapologetic sorry, maintaining your pace the same as how you’d left the dorm.

Caught in your steps, you stopped moving, almost as a marble statue. Slowly, you turned your head to face the student who had also fixed his harsh gaze.

As you locked eyes, tension settled in the corridor and students started to watch cautiously but curiously your interaction, like you were two predators about to engage in a fight to earn a prey.

Your unmoving and irritated gaze met his with matching intensity and indignation, and for what felt minutes, you just stood there, analyzing each other and waiting for the other to make the first move.

You didn’t recognize him, but you were sure you had already seen him, perhaps in the halls.

He had spiked white hair and dark crimson eyes that you somehow felt you couldn’t glance away from. He was wearing the same suit as you, so he must’ve been one of the many hotheads from class 1A. Underneath the white and blue suit, you could easily take a look at his perfectly sculpted muscles.He didn’t exactly look like the kind of person you can forget ever meeting with.

Each word filled with rage and pausing after each of them, carefully evaluating what to say, you said: “What did you just say?”

Taking his time, he venomously spat back: “I said, watch where you’re going, idiot.”

You both stared at each other for what felt like ages, but were interrupted by a redhead with thin eyebrows and sharp features, much like the blondie, who chirped happily, unfazed by the tension between you two: “Hey Bakubro. Finally I found you! C’mon, we gotta make it to class in time for the morning assembly before meeting the kids from class 1B!”

Dragging him by the arm, the redhead got the blondie out of the sticky situation, tagging along those who I thought were the rest of they’re classmates.

Inside the cafeteria, the daily chaos made it hard for you to search your prankster, so you decided to grab one of the many pastries and head to your classroom, as you were already running late for your assembly.

In the classroom, you found all your classmates already seated while your homeroom teacher, Sekijiro Kan, was going through today’s events.

Apologising for being late, you headed to your usual seat in the back of the classroom. Thankfully, your friends had noticed not only your change in appearance, but also your switch of demeanor, and didn’t dare point  each of them out, scared for their own lives.

After Sekijiro finished listing what you were going to do and resorting to maintain an appropriate behavior, you all lined up and went outside to the track field, where the other class had already arrived.

While walking, you made sure to keep an eye on Ibara and eventually caught up with her. Feeling your presence, she offered a sly smile, readying herself for a scolding with the capital S.

“What the hell did you think you were doing!” You hissed at her.

“Geez, sorry! Calm down, I didn’t think you’d take it that bad.” She said in response.

“Didn’t think I’d take it THAT bad! Are you out of your freaking mind? You knew we had the meet up with class 1A today!” You spat back, gaining unwanted attention from those around you.

“I repeat, we are to maintain an adequate behavior and not make ourselves known in a negative way, am I right, miss Y/LN?” Scolded you your professor.

“I apologize  professor. I won’t be caught off guard again.” You pronounced in an assertive term.

“And miss Shiozaki?” Added the professor.

“Y-Yeah same.” Ibara was quick to tag along, facing the floor in a desperate attempt not to laugh at her devilish making.

Finally, you reached the other class and soon the professors started by introducing themselves. However, it was mostly your professor Sekijiro Kan who did the talking while Shota Aizawa kept nodding absent-mindedly.

After going through the day’s activities (again?! C’mon man, it was like the third time this morning, even the walls had understood what we were going to do!), the professors guided you through the training fields, making mixed teams of four that were going to compete against each other in the tests.

You were teamed up with your classmate Neito Monoma (thanks to Ibara’s luck you two hadn’t been teamed up together and you wouldn’t get the chance to strangle her once the professors were far away enough) and two guys from class 1B named Minoru Mineta and Denki kaminari.

You were actually happy to be with Monoma, other than being pretty handsome, he was one of the most intelligent and kind souls you had ever met and you often hung out with him whenever you weren’t with your usual group, consisting of Ibara Shiozaki also known as Vine, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu AKA Real Steel and Juno Honenuki AKA Mudman.

Even though he could be rather mocking, loud, and sarcastic with Class 1-A and provocative in battle, he was also able to keep calm at difficult times. All in all, he was one of your most reliable classmates and his Copy Quirk had turned out to be very useful in battle.

Although you were kinda sad you hadn’t ended up with another girl, this Denki, who had an electricity based Quirk as he had told you, seemed a pretty chill and easygoing dude.

Now the major problem was the other guy, Mineta. He was tiny, resembling a kid, but boy was he a perv! Like, goodness gracious, ever since you all had teamed up together he hadn’t stopped staring at your breasts making you feel rather annoyed and repulsed and getting on your nerves.

While your team decided which strategies you were going to use, you found yourself staring at a certain blondie. Having calmed down, you were starting to feel sorry for how you’d reacted that morning (nonetheless, he was still kind of an asshole. I mean, he’s the one who started it after all!) and morally obliged to apologize.

You had obviously kept concentrated throughout all the events, yet in the back of your mind a small voice kept remembering you you needed to apologize to a certain someone. So after you had completed the morning program and were headed to the cafeteria to have lunch (together?! 1st A and 1st B together, eating in peace?! Were your professors out of their flipping minds?!), you looked around and then quite literally ran after the blondie to catch up with him.

Seeing as he wasn’t talking to anybody in particular and had basically isolated himself from the rest of the group, you took that as a sign and started straight up talking to him before he could’ve even noticed your presence (to be honest, you were a small bit afraid he wouldn’t have wanted to listen to you and would’ve just gotten away without giving you the possibility or redeeming yourself).

“Heyy, soooo…I think we started off on the wrong foot…Name’s Y/N” You said, sticking out your hand to him as he turned to face you, his face blank and emotionless as ever.

He scoffed, unmoved by your apology yet not able to take his eyes off your figure, curious of the vibrant pink tint that marked your hair in a not-elegant but still attractive way.

“C’mon man, I’m trying to be nice!” You whined, dropping your shoulders in an overly dramatical and childish way, trying to get him to break character.

As he took another glance at you, you noticed how his frown had turned in an attempt to hide the growing smile that you were firm would adorn his masculine features in a sexily adorable way.

“Ha, I knew I’d be able to get a smile out of you, mister Grumpy” You said in a mocking but light-hearted way, throwing your arm over his shoulder while trying to lock eyes with him. He tried in vain to hide himself from you, unable to hide the smile that spread on his cheeks and scoffing in a friendly manner, playfully shoving you, to which you dramatically fell onto the ground, speaking with a hoarse tone to imitate those overly dramatical scenes from the movies Ibara made you watch over and over. “Tell m-my parents…” You gasped dramatically, pausing in between sentence: “T-Tell them I l-loved them” Closing your eyes and sticking out your tongue in a laughable attempt to play dead.

Soon enough, he sticked his hand out for you to grab, pulling you up with a fairly decent amount of strength and then sticking his hand out to actually shake yours for once.

“Name’s Bakugo, weirdo.” He said, locking yet again eyes with yours with a smirk on his face.

Oh how you knew it was going to be the start of a wonderful friendship…or maybe even more?…

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

Do you think I should make a part 2?

Love you guys! See you soon!😘

Written by crazycat010 © 2025 crazycat010

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Peeping on your neighbor DILF!Getou Suguru

Here I go again starting something new when my drafts are full of WIPs...

Consider this Getou's 35th bday gift 💋

[fanart by: @polariae on X (#needhim) / cw: peeping]

Everyone has guilty pleasures—secret indulgences they hide from prying eyes, vices they pretend don’t exist.

But no matter how satisfying they may be, how deeply they scratch that internal itch, reality always comes crashing down. And when it does, it cuts deep, jagged shards of shame slicing through delusion.

The worst realizations come after you’ve sunk too far, waded too deep into depravity, so numb to your own self-indulgence that you can’t even recognize it for what it is. Like the old tale of the frog in boiling water—oblivious to its slow, inevitable demise.

And right now? Being awake before even the birds have stirred, wedged between your thick curtains and the wall, peering through the narrow slit with bated breath?

That’s your boiling water.

You lift your arm carefully, tapping your smartwatch. The dim glow illuminates the numbers.

4:55 AM.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. Even the faintest intake of air feels like a risk, as if he might somehow sense your presence.

It’s happening.

Slowly, he stands from the black velvet club chair, folding his newspaper—the Times, maybe?—with meticulous precision before setting it on the bed. He stretches, arms lifting over his head, his body rolling fluidly as he shakes off the last remnants of sleep. A slow bounce on the balls of his feet. A lazy roll of his shoulders.

Then he moves toward the closet, flicking the light on.

You barely stifle a squeak.

Illuminated, his sleep-heavy eyes remain hooded, half-lidded with exhaustion. He crosses his arms over the hem of his faded gray sleep shirt and lifts it in one smooth motion. The fabric slides over his toned torso, revealing the defined cut of his V-line, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband. His flannel pants dip dangerously low on his hips.

Your mouth goes dry.

As he rifles through his wardrobe, his back muscles flex under the shifting light, honey-bronzed skin rippling as he moves. He pulls out a crisp, white button-up, holding it to the light. The subtle gleam of a barbell piercing peeks through his nipple.

You swallow—loudly.

The wet click of it makes you cringe in embarrassment, even though you’re entirely alone.

You sink down, sliding soundlessly against the wall until you’re curled into yourself, head in your hands.

I have got to get a grip.

𓂃۶ৎ

“You’ve got to get a grip.”

Across from you, Yu stares, wide-eyed and incredulous.

His big, brown eyes are filled with concern, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. He reaches across the table, placing a warm hand over your own, rubbing your knuckles in reassurance.

“I say this with the utmost love and care,” he begins, voice low and serious, “but you are genuinely starting to scare me.”

You tilt your head, amused despite yourself. Placing your other hand over his, you give him a saccharine smile.

“And I fear your love life is even scarier,” you quip, “considering you and Nanami are disgustingly smitten with each other but refuse to do anything about it.”

Yu groans, yanking his hand back as he slumps into his seat.

You’ve been working with Yu for five years now at a highly accredited education company, officially as tutors but often picking up shifts in the adjoining daycare. He’s been a constant source of fresh air in your life—unrelentingly optimistic, perpetually happy, and the only thing keeping you sane when bratty kids, back-talking teens, and overbearing parents strip away every ounce of your patience.

And for the past two years, a certain someone has been an added incentive to showing up.

Nanami Kento.

Tall, broad, devastatingly handsome. Blonde hair, sharp features, and an air of refined old money. He first enrolled his younger brother, Yuji, in tutoring classes two years ago, exasperated by the boy’s athletic prowess but academic struggles.

Nanami, ever the composed professional, is a bank analyst with little time to spare—especially for schoolwork. But despite his packed schedule, he always makes time to bring Yuji in himself. And, without fail, he always requests Yu as Yuji’s tutor.

Nanami never hovers, never interferes—but he stays. Every time. MacBook open, glasses perched low on his nose, working in the corner while his gaze flickers to Yuji…and, more often than not, lingers on Yu.

They’re not slick.

Yu, for all his confidence, is an absolute mess around Nanami. He stumbles over his words, turns an embarrassing shade of pink, and loses all train of thought. Meanwhile, Nanami remains perfectly composed—save for the occasional, barely-there smirk when Yu flusters himself into silence.

It’s infuriatingly adorable.

But despite their obvious mutual pining, neither of them has made a move. You’ve tried to nudge them along, but they’re both stubborn as hell. They have to get there on their own.

Maybe you should have a little chat with Yuji—

“Hey! Hey!”

Yu waves a hand wildly in front of your face, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I know that smirk! Stop scheming.” His expression darkens. “And focus—you wanted to talk about your situation, remember? I have, like, five minutes left on my break.”

Right.

You lean back, exhaling slowly. Recounting the sick, twisted ways you’ve gone from having a harmless crush on your thirty-five-year-old neighbor to full-on stalking him is…a lot.

So you clean up the details.

You leave out the part where you wake up at the crack of dawn just to watch him get dressed. Or how you happen to be outside every afternoon when his daughters get home from school, conveniently offering them sweets as if it’s just a coincidence.

Everyone has flaws. Yours just happen to feel entirely justified every time you’re blessed with the sight of Getou Suguru—all six feet of sculpted muscle, dressed in tailored suits and expensive watches, long hair pulled into a tight bun, sharp violet eyes glinting behind sleek glasses.

And if that wasn’t enough, the way he is with his daughters—that obliterates any remaining shred of reason.

On weekends, he’s outside your apartment complex in casual clothes, guiding them along the sidewalk on their little pink tricycles. He smiles at them, warm and genuine, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

He moved in a year ago.

And in eleven months, you’ve lost a lifetime’s worth of dignity and grace thirsting over the DILF next door.

Well—not next door, but close enough. Your balconies face each other.

You discovered this little fact a couple of weeks after he moved in.

It had been a casual meeting at first—one of those neighborly exchanges where introductions are made in passing. You were returning from work, tired but relieved to be home, and he had just finished enrolling his daughters in school. He had held the lobby door open for you, a simple courtesy, saving you from the trouble of buzzing yourself in.

You’d jogged a little to close the distance, not wanting to keep him waiting. As you passed through, you turned to thank him, fully prepared to run off—but he stopped you with a radiant smile.

“Hello, I haven’t had the pleasure of introducing myself yet.” He scratched the back of his neck, letting the door swing shut behind him. “We’re new to the building.”

Then, with a gesture toward the two girls at his side, he continued, “This one’s Nanako,”—the jumpy, golden-haired child practically vibrating with energy—“and this is Mimiko.” The brunette clung to his leg, wary but curious.

“They’re adorable,” you had told them warmly.

“Now, girls, what do we say to the nice lady?”

“Thank you, nice lady!” Nanako chirped.

Mimiko mumbled a soft, “Thanks.”

Getou chuckled, ruffling her hair before leaning down to press a kiss to her crown. “Don’t be shy, honey. It’s okay.”

Mimiko tightened her grip on his leg, holding onto him as though you might whisk her father away if she let go.

As he straightened, a sharp breeze carried the scent of musky sandalwood and lavender from him, teasing your senses in a way that felt almost intimate.

“They’re still a little frazzled from the move,” he admitted in a mock whisper, “Don’t tell, but some nights I’ve been sneaking them candy for dessert—except it’s just melatonin.”

You had giggled at his confession, and his lips had ticked upward at the sound.

“I’m Getou, by the way,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But if I’ll be seeing you often, feel free to call me Suguru—I’m not uptight.”

You’d introduced yourself, mentioning that you were native to the area and worked as a tutor, meaning you were well-versed in the local children’s events. As you spoke, he listened attentively, nodding along to every other word, his eye contact steady. You had to fight every intrusive thought about how distractingly attractive he was—how much you wanted to press your tongue to the line of his jaw, trace the length of his throat.

Not the time. Definitely not the time.

By the time numbers had been exchanged for “neighborly inquiries,” you’d realized you lived on the same floor.

“Well, would you look at that~” He had chuckled, amused by the coincidence.

You’d smiled, bid the girls farewell, and assured Getou he could reach out if he ever needed anything. But the moment you turned away—oh, God. You had to fight the urge to squeal, mouthing a silent oh my God to yourself as you hurried to your apartment, barely processing the fact that an incredibly sexy dad lived just a few doors down.

Then came the accidental discovery.

The first time you caught him dressing in front of his window had been pure chance.

You’d been up early—5 AM, thanks to your turn to let in the clean-up crew for your workplace’s monthly deep clean. Half-awake and desperate for coffee, you had shuffled into your kitchen, only to catch a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision.

And there he was.

Shirtless. Wet.

His long, damp hair fell in dark ribbons down his back, droplets clinging to his skin, catching the dim morning light. He was flipping through a newspaper, one hand resting on his chin, brow furrowed in thought. His serious expression made your brain short-circuit—sending it spiraling into dangerous territory.

A strict professor making you stay after class.

A mean dom forcing you into submission.

A strict boss calling you into his office, locking the door.

You had to physically shake the thoughts away, dragging your gaze back to your coffee like it was a lifeline.

Then he cracked his neck, flexed his fingers, and carefully laid a pair of black work pants across his bed, arranging his outfit with meticulous precision. That was when you realized—you had unintentionally learned his morning routine.

And you weren’t proud to admit that you had grown to love it.

Your favorite part? When he stood before the mirror, brushing out his hair.

He always looked so at peace during that ritual—like it was something grounding, something necessary. It was the last thing he did before spritzing on cologne and stepping out for the day.

Now, sitting across from Yu in the breakroom, you finally admit to your… situation.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Yu asks, frowning. “Or—God forbid—a wife?”

You wave him off. “No way. If he had a wife, she would’ve been mentioned. Even a girlfriend—I would’ve seen her by now.”

Yu cringes. “Right.”

He places both hands flat on the table, inhaling like he is about to deliver some sage wisdom. “You need to do what I do—just keep running into him, talk to him, wear him down until you two become close.”

You give him a look. “So I can be friend-zoned for a year? No, thanks.”

Yu turns up his nose. “So rude. Even when I try to help.” He pushes back his chair dramatically. “I’ll be on my way.”

He stomps off toward the door, only to pause, his bangs brushing against his lashes as he peeks back in.

“But text me later, okay?” he says with a smirk. “We’ll figure something out if we put our heads together.”

You huff a laugh. What a sweet guy. Even your obsessive behavior hasn’t scared him away.

The rest of your shift passes in a blur. You spend the final hour tutoring Sam—a regular who somehow always smells like cheese puffs and leaves everything he touches sticky. When his dad finally picks him up, you all but shove the sign-out sheet toward him, making a beeline for the bathroom to scrub your hands clean.

𓂃۶ৎ

A hot shower is calling your name as you skillfully back into your designated parking space, humming to yourself before stepping out of the car.

The moment your foot hits the pavement, the familiar sound of drunken laughter and hollering echoes through the garage. Of course. Your downstairs neighbors—wasted out of their minds. Again. On a Wednesday.

Rolling your eyes, you make your way toward the exit, only to find yourself in full view of the rowdy group perched on the hood of a sports car parked obnoxiously across multiple spaces. Among them is a guy you’ve seen before—arguing with his then-girlfriend at ungodly hours over god-knows-what. Spiky pink hair, gelled into stiff peaks, paired with a tight white tank top despite the night chill. You’ve never spoken to him, barely spared him a glance, but tonight, for whatever reason, he has something to prove.

“YO! HEY, YO!”

You ignore him, keeping your pace steady.

“Aye, I know you hear me! C’mere real quick!”

Your jaw tightens. You shoot him a glare but don’t stop, closing the distance to the door.

“Aww, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he drawls, clearly reveling in the attention of his friends. “That’s not very neighborly. I just gotta ask you a quick question.”

You exhale sharply, finally turning to face him and his little audience. “What the fuck do you want? You can ask from there.”

He scoffs, spitting onto the pavement. “Damn, no need to be a bitch about it.” He jerks his chin toward one of his friends. “My boy here thinks you look good, wanted to get them digits, but you ain’t even all that to be actin’ like this.”

A dry, humorless laugh escapes you as you prop a hand on your hip. “Funny, ‘cause from where I’m standing, you’re the one desperate for my attention. Screams ‘bitch’ to me—but go off.”

His friends snicker, their amusement only deepening his scowl. He swings his legs off the hood, standing up with an air of aggression. The moment he takes a step forward, your fingers slip into your bag, wrapping around the familiar cylinder of mace.

Six steps to the door.

His bloodshot eyes, the reek of weed clinging to his clothes—it sends your senses into high alert. If he lunges, you’ll spray him.

“Stuck-up bitch.”

A firm hand presses against the small of your back, guiding you away just as the tension peaks.

You startle, spinning with the mace raised—only to freeze when you find yourself looking up at Getou Suguru.

And he looks pissed.

Brows furrowed, lips pressed into a firm line, the sleeves of his button-up pushed to his elbows like he’s ready to handle this personally.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Sukuna?” His voice is low, rough, demanding.

Your grip on the mace loosens as you exhale, the warmth of Getou’s hand steady on your back. You’re not helpless, but dealing with scum like Sukuna? That’s the last thing you want after a long day.

Sukuna’s posture falters for half a second before he scoffs. “Relax, man. Just wanted to talk. No need for the hero act.”

“I’m pretty sure she would’ve handled you herself,” Getou counters coolly. “But I figured I’d remind you that you’re one misdemeanor away from that assault and battery charge becoming a felony. So watch yourself.”

Sukuna’s arrogance wavers. His jaw tightens as he glances at Getou, weighing his options before choosing the safer one—retreating back to his car.

“If I catch you pulling this shit again,” Getou continues, “I’ll personally ensure you get a speedy trial—as is your constitutional right.”

The group piles into the car in tense silence. As the engine roars to life, Getou pulls his hand away from your back like he’s just realized it’s there.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to—” He sighs, shaking his head. “It just pissed me off seeing him try that with you. You don’t deserve that.”

He smiles, but there’s a quiet sadness to it, as if he’s seen too much of this before.

“I don’t think you know this,” he adds, voice softer, “but I run a non-profit for domestic violence survivors. We’ve helped house a few of Sukuna’s former partners. Got them legal support, protection. He’s—” His jaw clenches. “He’s worse than he looks.”

You take in the weight of his words. On one hand, you’re grateful for his work, knowing how important it is. On the other, the thought of Sukuna being a repeat offender makes your stomach turn.

“Don’t apologize,” you tell him, offering a small, genuine smile. “I appreciate you stepping in. Macing him would’ve ruined my whole night—pepper spray’s a bitch to wash out.”

That earns a quiet chuckle from Getou, the tension easing.

“Sure would’ve been a nuisance,” he agrees.

As you walk toward the building together, you steal a glance at him—at the way the moonlight catches in his hair, reflecting off a few stray gray strands. His jawline is sharp in the dim glow, the curve of his cheekbone accentuated in a way that makes your heart stutter. You watch as a calloused finger brushes his bangs back, tucking them behind his ear.

Ever the gentleman, he holds the door open for you and walks you all the way to your apartment. At your door, he rests a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Be safe,” he says. “And if you ever feel unsafe, don’t hesitate to reach out. Okay?”

You nod, feigning composure, but he sees right through it.

He narrows his eyes slightly. “Not good enough. Promise me.”

You huff, rolling your eyes before holding up a pinky. “Alright, alright. I promise.”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as he hooks his pinky around yours, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he lets go.

“Good girl.”

The praise haunts you for the rest of the night, looping in your head like a broken record. You spend hours lying awake, spamming Yu with frantic, half-incoherent texts detailing every second of what just happened.

𓂃۶ৎ

The following week, you don’t see him—not in the hall, not in passing. And though you tell yourself you’re being ridiculous, the lack of interaction leaves you feeling… disappointed. You want to text him, but without a real reason, it feels weird. You’re just his neighbor, after all—and at least a decade younger than him.

Still, you catch glimpses of him in the mornings. His routine never changes, but you do notice something new—he’s started drinking tea with his morning newspaper.

You wonder what sparked the change.

Then, on Friday night, your phone buzzes with a notification. A text.

Getou Suguru Hello. This is Suguru, your neighbor. Got any eggs?

You stare at the screen, blinking. That is… certainly an approach.

You: I do! Need me to bring a couple over? I don’t mind.

Getou Suguru: Oh, thank god. Would you? You’re a lifesaver.

You: Yeah, it’s just eggs. I’ll be right over!

You toss your phone onto the counter, glancing down at your loungewear—a silk two-piece pajama set, your favorite. Soft to the touch, effortlessly comfortable. Deciding it’s appropriate enough given the hour, you slip on your slippers, grab the carton of eggs, and head for his door.

Getou’s apartment has a personalized doormat at the entrance, The Getou Family scripted in bold cursive. Cute. You knock lightly, mindful of any sleeping children. A few moments later, footsteps approach, and the door swings open.

And it’s… not what you expect.

Getou stands there, hand on the knob, dressed in a sleek black turtleneck and chocolate-brown cargos—an effortlessly clean-cut look if not for the pink, frilly “Kiss the Cook” apron haphazardly tied around his waist. His long hair is braided loosely over his shoulder, stray strands falling over his forehead, and he looks utterly defeated—his entire body dusted in flour, even in his hair.

You giggle before you can stop yourself.

“Finding humor in my misery, are we?”

You barely manage to stifle your laughter behind your hand as he steps aside, ushering you in.

“Maybe just a little.” You poke at the apron first, smirking. “Well, don’t you look adorable?”

He swats your hand away with a playful huff, taking the eggs from you and leading the way into the kitchen—which is immediately visible. And immediately disastrous.

Flour streaks the counters. Sugar coats one side of the island. Three bowls, filled with dough in various colors, sit among a chaotic spread of every imaginable baking utensil. The only thing not in complete disarray is the rest of the apartment—modern, sleek black decor, perfectly organized, with a wall full of adorable photos of the girls over the years.

You whistle, taking it all in. “My god… what did you do?”

Getou sighs, brushing off flour from his sleeve in a half-hearted attempt to clean himself.

“My buddy Gojo had the girls today. Took them to a science museum, then dinner, and spoiled them, so naturally, they will be too hyped to care about me when they get home.” He gestures vaguely to the mess. “Thought I’d win them back over with homemade cookies since they love sweets. As you can see, I’m not exactly a natural.”

You move to the island, flipping an overturned bag of flour upright, salvaging whatever hasn’t already been sacrificed to the countertop.

“Clearly.”

Getou grabs an egg and cracks it over a bowl of light caramel-colored dough.

“Hey, I can’t be good at everything.”

You squint at his movements, catching the inconsistency in his technique. “Still cocky, huh?”

You peer into the bowl. This is definitely his third attempt at the dough.

“Instead of making another batch, maybe try tasting this one first? Are you even following a recipe?”

He taps sugar-dusted fingers against his chin. “Not exactly. I was going off memory. My mom used to make cookies for me when I was little, but… I may have mixed up a few ingredients.”

Before he can stop you, you dip a finger into the dough and bring it to your mouth.

“Don’t do that!” He wags a flour-covered finger at you, scandalized. “There’s raw egg in there—you’ll get salmonella.”

You grin, unfazed. “It’s just a little taste. And I can tell you’re missing vanilla. The sweetness is off, and it’ll help bind the flavors together.”

His violet eyes widen slightly before lighting up in realization. “Oh, right! Of course! Let me add some!”

Watching him scramble around the kitchen, searching for the vanilla like a deer learning to walk, is nothing short of endearing.

Together, you tweak the recipe—adding a little cinnamon, a sprinkle of nutmeg, some roughly chopped pecans. He lifts a mixing spoon to your lips, and you taste again.

This time? Sweet, only a hint of saltiness, and the nutty pecans bring a rich depth to the dough.

“It’s perfect,” you declare. “We can roll it out now.”

You hadn’t exactly planned for your Friday night to be overtaken by this bumbling, flour-dusted dad, but somehow, you don’t mind. You take turns rolling and flattening the dough before he slides the tray into the oven. Already, you’ve started cleaning—scooping up flour piles, bagging ingredients, restoring order to the battlefield.

“You don’t need to do that,” Getou protests, frowning. “You’ve done enough. Sit down.”

You comply halfway, still gathering loose flour into the bin. He pours you a glass of water and begins wiping down his own mess.

“Where’d you learn how to bake?”

“I wouldn’t call myself a baker,” you say, shrugging. “But working with kids, having treats around helps as a motivator. So I picked up a few simple recipes.”

He nods, impressed, running a damp rag over his flour-streaked shirt. His glasses have slipped down his nose, the lenses smudged from dirty hands.

“Suguru,” you say, deadpan, “go clean yourself up. I’ll finish here.”

He grimaces at the kitchen’s state, then exhales in surrender. “You’re a saint. I’d hate for the girls to see this mess when I’m always nagging them to keep their rooms spotless.” He presses a thumb to his brow. “Turns out, I’m quite the hypocrite.”

You methodically put the kitchen back in order, enjoying the gradual return to cleanliness. By the time Getou re-emerges, the only mess left is on his apron. His hair is pulled up in a loose bun, and he shoots you a wink.

“Right on time.”

As if on cue, the oven alarm dings. He pulls the tray out, setting it on the stove. The scent of buttery, warm sweetness fills the air. You inhale deeply, taking a seat at the barstool beside the counter.

Getou leans down, elbows propped against the surface, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Well, wouldn’t you say we make a per—”

“DADDY!!”

The door slams open, and Nanako barrels inside, launching herself at Getou’s waist.

“Daddy! Daddy! Guess what Satoru got us?!”

Laughing, he lifts her up, ruffling her hair as she clings to his neck. Gojo enters right behind, overloaded with shopping bags, white hair slightly tousled, Cartier shades barely hiding his mischievous blue eyes. Mimiko shuffles in, latched onto his pant leg.

Gojo smirks. “Took them on an all-you-can-grab shopping spree. Fun, right?” He inhales, pausing. “Mm, something smells good—wait. Suguru. Did you actually—” His gaze lands on you, and his smirk sharpens. “Well, well. Who’s this?”

You quickly stand, waving your hands. “Just a neighbor! Suguru needed eggs, and, well…” You gesture vaguely toward the cookies. “I took pity on his baking skills.”

Gojo snorts. “Little did you know, you probably just saved this entire building from being burned down.”

Getou shoves his shoulder. Gojo nearly drops a bag, grinning.

“Hey girls,” he calls, heading down the hall. “Make sure to thank your dad for wearing the special apron I got him! And don’t forget—no kiss, no cookie!”

Nanako gasps, eyes wide. “Oh! Before you go—you have to give Daddy a kiss too! Or no cookie!”

Mimiko nods solemnly. “No kiss, no cookie. Right, Daddy? Or were you lying?”

You laugh at Getou’s panicked expression.

With exaggerated effort, you stretch onto your toes, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the edge of his jaw.

“There. No lies.”

You grab your cookie and eggs, heading for the door. “Thanks for the treat! Have a good night, guys!”

As you step out, you catch one last glimpse—Getou, frozen, cheeks tinged pink, his jaw still faintly glossed from your kiss.

Munching on your cookie, you grin.

Bless those kids.

𓂃۶ৎ

The next morning, you wake up lazily, blissfully, embarrassingly late—somewhere around noon. A rare luxury. You stretch across your bed, basking in the slow start to the day before slipping into an easy, indulgent routine.

A long, hot shower.

A hearty, homemade brunch.

A carefully curated R&B playlist humming in the background.

You take your time with the little things—styling your hair, finally trying that shower steamer you’ve been saving, relishing a morning that’s just for you. It’s been a while since you’ve allowed yourself to unwind like this, especially since you’ve just started refraining from peeking in on the DILF next door.

Not that you’ve been thinking about him. Not at all.

The sun is bright today, the perfect excuse to go for a walk. Maybe you’ll drop by Yu’s place—figure out how your night will unfold from there. Something lively, hopefully.

Locking up, you head downstairs, offering nods to other tenants as you step outside. And then—

Giggling. Light, carefree, unmistakable.

You don’t even need to look to know who it is.

“Daddy, look! It’s the Cookie Lady!”

“Hi, Cookie Lady!”

You exhale, shaking your head. You vividly remember introducing yourself properly, but kids? Selective memory at its finest.

Sure enough, Nanako and Mimiko are on their pink tricycles, zooming across the pavement while Getou lingers nearby, guiding them like a watchful shadow.

You wave at the girls first, playing along. “Wow, you two are going so fast! Don’t run me over!”

They giggle, swerving dramatically around you as you pretend to stumble back. Behind them, Getou smiles—warm, effortless, like the sun overhead.

You move closer, eyes flicking over him instinctively.

Baggy denim. A beige sweater. A classic dad fit.

Only… the sweater’s losing a battle against the curve of his bicep, the fabric stretching just a little too tightly over muscle. And his arms—the shape of them, the way the fleece clings to his forearms—

You look away fast. Which is no reprieve because now you’re staring into his eyes—deep purple, sunlit flecks of magenta making them shimmer.

His lashes are obnoxiously thick. Prettier than yours, even with volumizing mascara.

Unfair.

“Any disasters for me to clean up today?” you tease, breaking eye contact.

His chuckle is low, warm, easy. His chest shakes lightly. “Not today. Yet. But can I keep you on call just in case?”

You shrug. “I’m around. And honestly? I could never say no to someone with such adorable little girls.”

Getou hums, eyes drifting toward his daughters, who are now engaged in a very serious race down the sidewalk—little hands swatting at each other as they try to throw the other off course.

“Adorable, yes. But don’t let them fool you.” He sighs. “They’re little devils in disguise.”

You laugh. “That’s just the age. They’re curious about everything. Had a kid at work raid my purse once during a session. Looked away for two seconds, and when I turned back, he was wearing a menstrual pad like a hat.”

Getou snorts. Catches himself. Coughs into his fist. “You’re lying.”

“I wish.”

His laughter fades into something softer. Thoughtful. His brows knit slightly.

“…I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but hearing stuff like that—feminine products, girl things—I get anxious. It’s hard, raising two girls alone.”

Your chest tightens at the look on his face. The quiet weight of it.

Without thinking, you reach for his hand.

“I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but I’ve worked with kids for years,” you say gently. “And I can spot a good parent a mile away. Even with our limited interactions, Suguru, you are one of the most doting fathers I’ve ever met.”

His fingers tighten around yours. Then his other hand clasps over the top, warm, grounding.

“I appreciate that,” he murmurs. “You’re pretty wise for your age.”

You scoff. “Of course. Women mature years faster than men. Be careful—your girls might surpass you before you know it.”

And then—

A piercing shriek cuts through the air.

“D-Daddy! T-The cat scratched me!”

Both of you snap to attention.

Mimiko is curled up on her bike, terrified, while Nanako sits on the pavement beside her toppled tricycle, clutching her arm. Across from her, a fat black cat hisses, back arched.

Getou is already moving. He scoops Nanako into his arms just as the cat lets out a low, guttural growl. You think you see it pounce, but it’s all a blur. You barely register Getou kicking at the ground near it before you swoop in, lifting Mimiko onto your hip and retreating toward the apartment.

By the time you make it inside, the girls’ tear-streaked faces are devastating.

Getou fumbles with his keys, cursing under his breath.

Nanako—the little mimic—parrots him perfectly.

“Shit, fuck!”

“Shi—crap!” he corrects quickly. “No, no, sweetie, Daddy said a bad word. I was just scared you were hurt.”

Inside, Getou heads straight to the bathroom, setting Nanako on the closed toilet lid while you settle Mimiko on the sink. He wets a rag, voice gentle, soothing.

“Can I see your arm, Nana?”

She nods, sniffling. Brave. Mimiko leans forward, eyes wide as she watches her sister.

Getou is careful. Tender hands. Steady voice. He dabs at the scratch, applies ointment, murmurs reassurances as Nanako flinches. A patient, loving father.

And God help you, but it makes him even more attractive.

Once the bandage is in place, Nanako puffs up proudly.

“See, Mimi? I’m too strong for that old cat!”

Getou lifts her up, but as he does, you notice—his sweater has a tear along the back. The fabric darker, wet.

Blood.

“Hey girls,” you say gently. “Why don’t you go play? I’ll help your dad clean up. You were both so brave.”

They perk up instantly, rushing out with another fit of giggles.

Getou starts to wave you off. “I’m fine, don’t—”

“Suguru,” you deadpan. “The cat sliced through your shirt. Let me clean it up.”

He sighs but relents, settling on the toilet lid.

“How do you keep ending up rescuing me?” he muses. “I thought we had a back-and-forth thing going on.”

You snort, swatting his arm before carefully lifting his shirt, rolling it up so he can hold it in place and inspect the scratch. It’s deep—deeper than you’d expect—so the cat must have been a stray with nails sharp enough to cut like that. Skimming your fingers over the wound, you feel Getou’s breath hitch. You murmur a quiet apology before rewetting the rag and dabbing at the injury to clean it properly.

You’ve seen Getou’s bare back more times than you’d like to admit, but up close like this? It’s a whole other story. And—selfishly—you envy the cat for being the one to leave marks on him instead of you.

His broad shoulders shift under your touch, deltoids flexing with every small wince. His spine curves smoothly, leading to two faint indentations at the small of his back. Back dimples.

You suppress the ridiculous urge to trace them with your fingers.

Instead, you focus on the task at hand—reapplying the ointment before resting your hands lightly on his shoulders.

“I think I’m done,” you say, voice steady despite the very unsteady state of your thoughts. “Your scratches are deeper, though, so I wouldn’t bandage them up just yet. They need to breathe so the skin can heal properly.”

Getou hums, the vibrations buzzing through your palms.

“In that case, I’ll just take this off.” He grips the fabric at the back of his collar, crossing his arms as he pulls the shirt over his head in one smooth motion—something you’ve seen him do a million times before.

But somehow, this time feels entirely different.

And suddenly, you’re questioning whether today is the best day of your life—or the worst, because temptation is sitting right in front of you, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.

You poke lightly at the scratch, half out of curiosity, half as an excuse to let your eyes wander. A few scars, pink and raised, wrap around from his ribs. A couple of small, cute moles sit just below his nape.

“—tter.”

You blink. Wait. He was talking?

“Hm?”

Getou chuckles, low and amused. “I said, poking at it like that isn’t gonna help.” His lips curve into something teasing. “Be a sweetheart and kiss it better for me?”

His deep voice lilts, gentle but dripping in lazy, playful seduction.

Heat floods through you instantly.

But you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.

Steeling yourself, you swallow down the butterflies flapping violently in your chest and school your expression into something cool, composed.

“I don’t think that’s how healing works,” you muse, smoothing your fingers over his warm shoulder. “But if you insist…”

You lean in, lips parting as you move closer—so close that you can feel his warmth against your mouth. But just as you’re about to press the kiss to his skin, you pause. Then, with deliberate slowness, you pull back, kiss your own palm, and press it firmly against his wound instead.

“I think that’s the best I can do, Suguru,” you say, feigning innocence. “Wouldn’t want to get antibiotics all over my lips.”

He blinks, momentarily caught off guard, before huffing out a laugh.

“Clever.”

Then, before you can react, he shifts—adjusting his position so that you’re kneeling between his legs. His arms rest lazily over his thighs, dark eyes watching you with soft amusement.

He pouts.

Pouts.

Which, despite being a fully grown man, still looks unreasonably cute on his annoyingly handsome face.

“Guess we’ll have to make do,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Right here is also acceptable.”

He puckers his lips dramatically, raising a brow, but he doesn’t move closer. Just waits. Daring you.

So that’s how he wants to play it.

Your hands slide up to rest lightly on his knees, and you lean in—slow, deliberate. Your noses brush, and you let your breath fan against his lips, lingering.

“I’ll make it all better,” you murmur.

Then, finally, you press your lips to his—soft, warm, deliberate.

His lips are plush, moving against yours in a slow, languid rhythm. One of his hands lifts to cup your cheek, thumb grazing your jaw, keeping you there just a moment longer before you pull back.

But he doesn’t let go.

“It still hurts,” he says, voice lower, gaze heavier. “Try again.”

You let out a breathless laugh but comply, leaning in again. This time, he meets you halfway, mouth parting slightly as his tongue just barely brushes against your bottom lip. You sigh into him, fingers instinctively threading into his hair—his stupidly soft, midnight-black hair. The loose bun falls apart easily, strands tumbling over his shoulders.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are dark, half-lidded, hungry.

“Again,” he breathes.

But just as he leans in to kiss you—

“Why are you kissing Daddy?”

The two of you jolt apart like you’d been electrocuted.

Your head whips to the side, heart lurching.

Nanako stands in the doorway, arms crossed, staring point-blank at the two of you with the unimpressed authority of a child who has just caught an adult doing something stupid.

Mimiko peeks out from behind her, brows furrowed in confusion.

Getou fumbles for an excuse, visibly panicking, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Kiss the Cook?”

Nanako squints. “But Daddy, there’s no cookies.”

𓂃۶ৎ [Tentative taglist: @mentallyillcore]