#this isn’t out of any personal experience

[aetherraeys]

visual learner

poly!marauder x inexperienced!reader ⊹ 5.1k

for this request!

cw ⟢ suggestive, first kisses, nervous!reader, tension, teasing, slightly domestic, newly established relationship, lots of kissing!

being a late-bloomer was never really an issue for you, until you're faced with figuring out how to go about kissing not just one boy, but three.

a/n: yes this is 5000 words of kissing and what? not proofread

If you were to think back, it honestly never bothered you much, you’d come to terms with it quite well—you were a late bloomer.

Sure, it meant that you didn’t have the exact same experiences as most of your peers when growing up, making those late nights in the dorms when the voices of all your friends danced around the room, feet kicking giddily as they shared which boy they’d gone to Hogsmead with that weekend. Or when they detailed the innocent lingering touches and fleeting eye contact they’d made with their crush—in person demonstrations and all. Of course, those nights were fun, playful girls nights, but it more listening than reenacting for you.

Even as you progressed further, graduating and starting univerisity, it didn’t bug you like your friends had assumed it would—’it’ being your lack of experience.

And it wasn’t that you were undesirable, far from it, opportunity isn’t an issue—you just weren’t in a rush. It also didn’t make you any more eager to speed things along after hearing countless disappointing and awkward recounts of your friends experiences.

Quite frankly, it just wasn’t the be-all and end-all of your youth, you had plenty of other things to worry about, plenty of other things that kept your mind comfortably occupied. And you were still young, there was still time for you to play catch-up, if and when you decided you wanted to.

The thing is, you were under the impression had a say in it in the first place—when in reality, the universe had other plans for you.

And those plans?

As it turned out, took form in the shape of three boys.

You’d thought they were a bit strange at orientation, their dynamic an interesting sight to say the least. But it wasn’t very long before you were sucked into their orbit, well and truly in the thick of it—completely out of your depth.

Because you’d yet to have a boyfriend, let alone three, but alas—you found yourself unable to deny them.

Falling into place with them relatively seemlessly, although the boys had been dating long before you came into the picture and have known each other longer, that wasn’t why you kept finding yourself picking at the skin around your nails, knawing at the flesh on the inside of your mouth, frequently lost in deep thought.

Granted, most of this was fairly new.

Welcomed, wanted, loved—you should be perfectly content right now, but there was small looming inkling of something in the back of your mind every time you saw them.

They were so comfortable together, in complete and almost constant harmony with each other—and it was a sight to behold, perfect and cozy as they lounged around Sirius’ thankfully large flat.

Both him and James lying on one end of the settee, tangled together in an obsure pile of limbs. Sirius had his hands underneath James’ shirt—baring the bottom of his stomach and pretty brown happy trail out in the open, fingers tracing soft and small patterns onto his skin. James’ hand carding and threading through his curls while mindlessly scrolling on his phone, occassional content hums leaving his mouth. Remus—he was sat on the floor resting his back against the sofa, pressed against James’ leg, head leaning on his knee, book in hand.

The epitome of domesticity.

All so very intune with each other, and then there was you.

Sat at the other end of the couch, just over an arms length away from them, scrunched into the corner covered in a blanket—trying to reach the word count for a project and failing miserably to focus on the screen in front of you.

It’s simple, you could go, scoot over and join them in their comfortable bliss, but it seemed just that bit too hard—where would you start?

Until now you never considered being inexperienced a bad thing, but you couldn’t help but wonder how if just a bit of knowhow would’ve make you less shy to join.

Navigating the mass of bodies should really be at the bottom of your to-do list, so taking a deep breath, you force your attention to the painstakingly boring work on your lap, once again starting to type. You’d built up a good rhythm, the words flowing easier as the time went by, and even though your legs had gone numb a while ago, it seemed like a good idea to ride the wave of concentration while you still had it.

So much so that you didn’t notice the shuffling sounds of movement going on a meer meter away. James had made his way up and off the couch, padding into the kitchen, switching on the radio upon entry—a telltale sign he’d about to start cooking.

The space James had left on couch was still hot from his residual heat when, on cue, Sirius reach his hand over to Remus’ shoulder, pouting dramatically, patting the still-warm space on the couch. “You’re not coming up?”

Remus, his neck tilted back slightly to look at Sirius, exhaled through his nose. He hesitated for half a second before shifting to stand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered, pushing himself up.

As he moved past you, his fingertips brushed against your leg—so lightly, so fleetingly that you barely registered the touch, too engrossed in your project to notice. If you had noticed, you might’ve seen the way he glanced at you, how his gaze lingered for just a beat longer than necessary.

By the time he plopped down onto the couch, Sirius wasted no time crawling onto him, sprawling across his lap like a cat seeking warmth. Remus just huffed out a light chuckle as Sirius melted against him, pressing his face into his shoulder and humming contentedly. Instinctively, Remus’ hand came up to his hair, fingers tangling in soft curls, stroking without thought.

But even as he did, his eyes flickered back to you—quick, searching glances that went unnoticed. He can imagine it to be overwhelming, entering an already established relationship—still so many things unspoken, still so much to learn. And Remus ever the watcher, had noticed how your little habits—your tendencies to take up as little space as possible, shrinking slightly under the pressure of intimacy.

It’s not that you’re afraid of it—affection, intimacy—it was that you were just genuinely clueless, there’s not exactly a manual on how to do all; something that they already do so well, so intuitively between themselves.

It made you nervous is all, unable to imagine how awkward it would be if you’d done the wrong thing, put yourself in the wrong place—the room for mistakes seemed endless.

Still, Remus wasn’t going to push, or pry. Not until he was sure, sure that the way your fingers twitch by your side was with the desire to join, sure that your not so discrete hesitant glances were of a longing nature.

All his thoughts were about you, that was until Sirius distracted him in the best way he knew how.

Soft, light kisses pressed against his collarbone, trailing up to his neck, his jaw. His lips warm delicately working his way up until he was scattering pecks across Remus’ face—his nose, the tops of his freckled cheekbones, his temple—Remus was still slightly spying on you despite Sirius’ playful assault.

And, of course just moments before this your concentration had finally faltered, the smell of whatever James was cooking breaking your focus ever so slightly.

His eyes flicked toward where you sat—shoulders hunched ever so slightly forward, brows furrowed in that way they always did when you were deep in concentration. He wondered if you even realized the way you bit at your lip, the way your fingers twitched ever so slightly like they wanted to fidget, to reach out.

Sirius barely registered the amused hum from him before the next kiss landed, this time firmer against the corner of his mouth. Then another—this one lingering, coaxing, before Sirius finally pressed their lips together properly, letting it stretch just long enough for Remus to forget what he was doing.

You blinked, taking in the scene, your eyes widening slightly before flitting away, your fingers pausing over your keyboard. Lips pursing together slightly before your teeth peaked out and took hold of the corner of your mouth.

Sirius felt the way the corners of Remus’ lips spread into a smirk before he pulled away from him, just long enough to whispered to him, breath tickling the shell of his ear, “Watch her,”

Pulling them both onto their side, stealing small looks in your direction as he kissed Remus again—this time deeper, more obnoxious, more deliberate—sighs and hums of contentment bouncing between them.

Naturally, your eyes drifted to the source of the noise, body stilling as though unsure whether to look away or keep watching.

They found it quite cute, the way you eyes darted around the room frantically, trying hard to not stare despite being helplessly drawn to look at the cause of sounds. Teeth mercilessly taking refuge in your cheek, forcing your lips in to a pout that bordered bashful.

Curious thing, you were.

Satisfied with the effect, he exhaled a quiet laugh against Sirius’ lips and decided to stop tormenting you—for now. With a final squeeze to Sirius’ waist, Remus stood, making his way over towering tall over you and, without hesitation, shut your laptop with a soft click.

Whipping your head to find him, brows arched up, a light smirk twitching at his lips as he looked down at you—gaze so intense you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at whatever was causing the sofa to dip beside you.

Only breaking when you felt his hot breath skim along the edge of your earlobe—spine immediately becoming taut, skin prickling down the back of your neck. Sirius was so close and you didn’t need to look at him to know he had a mischievous smirk playing on his lips—“I think you’ve worked hard enough, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from them both, of the weight of their gazes—teasing, expectant, knowing. You weren’t completely unfamilar with their touch, James loved to press obnoxious wet kisses on your cheeks. Remus was also very well versed in the language of forehead kisses and hand holding—Sirius had even gone as far to occassionally sneak dangerous little pecks onto the thin skin behind your ear when you cuddled.

Alert, and flickering panicked looks between them, the tips of your ears felt hot as you stammered out the words, “uh—everything okay?”

Your hands were in your lap clasped together tightly—thumb unconsciously picking at the skin around your nails when Sirius came impossibly closer to you, a small huffed chuckle leaving as he neared. Fingertips brushing a few stray hairs behind your ears, voice low and smooth— “Mmmm, everything’s fine—Moony’s just got a question,”

He could feel the slight shudder that ran through your body, gaze shifting to Remus, hands stuffed into his pockets, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leaned down over you—very clearly entertained by your reactions. His eyes darted around your face, scanning, observing your wide-eyed expression, how you sunk into the soft cushion, trying to put space between you.

The corner of his lips quirked up into a crooked smile, tilting his head as he asked;

“Would you like one?”

The warmth of Sirius’ fingertips trailing light ghostly touches down the side of your neck was so distracting, making your mouth painfully dry, air catching in your throat as your opened and closed your lips repeatedly. Wracking your brain for a response, words, anything—but it felt annoyingly blank, sucking in a shaky breath, your words came out pinched and meek—breathy on the exhale.

Sirius snickered under his breath, barely containing his delight at your reaction, and Remus exhaled a soft chuckle of his own.

“One what?”

Even if you tried to push yourself any further into the couch, practically willing yourself to become one with the fabric—anything to escape this awful flipping feeling at the pits of your stomach—you couldn’t. And it only got worse when Remus leaned in further, precariously close, the tip of his nose just barely grazing the skin of your cheekbones, Sirius could see the way your shoulders inched up and up, closer to your ears as your virtually shrunk into yourself.

Remus’ voice was rough and teasing, making the heat that resided in the tips of your ear spread invasively under the skin of your cheeks. “I saw you—it’s okay to be curious, my love, ” He took his hands from his pockets and brought one to the arm of the sofa, the other resting on the ball of Sirius’ knee, that was flush against yours. He leaned back as he continued, capturing your gaze, “You don’t have to be so shy about it.”

His words were low, steady, laced with that quiet knowing that made your stomach tighten. He was close—too close, and Sirius wasn’t any better, his fingertips still ghosting along your jaw, trailing up toward your ear, his shoulders brushing against yours.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe properly, heat blooming in your chest—radiating outwards, the close proximity, it all just had your head feeling rattled. “I—” You started, but the words immediately died in your throat, and Sirius huffed dramatically, shifting even nearer.

“C’mon, love, we won’t bite.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Unless you want us to.”

Your inhale was sharp, and Sirius grinned, practically preening at your reaction.

But Remus—Remus remained still, observing, reading for any flicker of hesitation, every small tell you didn’t even realize you were giving away. He tilted his head slightly, watching the way your hands curled into your lap, the way your breath hitched when Sirius’ fingers traced your pulse.

And then, his voice dropped even lower, softer—”So would you like one?” The back of his fingers came lightly over the curve of your jaw, lips brushing the bottom of your earlobes when he finally whispered,

“A kiss.”

Your stomach flipped violently, breath hitching and as a light shudder passed over your body—Remus must have noticed, because he smiled—soft and knowing, tilting his head slightly, giving you space, waiting. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding—just offering.

And somehow, that was even more overwhelming.

Lips parted slightly, words failing you completely, barely forcing out the start of a sentence, “B—” When his voice rang just behind you, dripping with amusement; “Have I walked into an ambush?” You hadn’t even noticed James entering the room.

But that was exactly how you felt, ambushed—trapped like a lamb in the midst of a group of lions, chest skipping out of its rhythmic rise and fall when James’ hand slid gently over your shoulder, your lips were still parted, holding the remains of your unfinished sentence. Sirius spoke, turning his head to look at James, smirk taking on a wolfish quality—”Just seeing if our girl would like a kiss,” As the last word left his lips, he was facing you again, head tilting to fit into the dip of your neck, lips almost gliding over the skin.

No where to run, the combined weight of their gaze made you awfully aware of your racing heartbeat, sounding loud between your ears, riccocheting off the empty space in your brain—only able to blink-up at Remus, mouth agape.

Sirius made an amused little noise in the back of his throat. “She’s thinking too hard again,” he murmured, his fingertips moving from their place on your collarbone, to travel down the curve of your skin—fighting every urge in your body to not arch away from his touch. His palm stopped and rest in the small of your back, hot and anchoring.

“Darling, it’s a yes or no question.” The words were still soft, still pressure-less, leaving you all the room in the world to stop this.

Your fingers twitched slightly, curling into the fabric of your sweater, throat suddenly unbearably dry—still completely entrapped under Remus’ watchful eye.

“I’ve never—” You swallowed. “I don’t know how.”

It was more breath than words, was barely a whisper, almost inaudible, but they all heard it.

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose, amused, James’ palm soothed comfortingly over you shoulder, while Remus’ smile softened further, something impossibly tender flashing across his face.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, voice quiet, patient. His hand lifted slightly, fingers hovering near your cheek but barely touching, waiting for any sign, any indication from you. “I could show you.”

Sirius hummed lightly beside you, clearly pleased with where this was going. “Mmm, yeah, Moons is an excellent teacher.”

Your gaze flickered between them, caught between the heat of Sirius’ mischief and the warmth of Remus’ patience, the quiet promise in his eyes.

Your heart was pounding.

Opening your mouth, but nothing came out, your throat tight—only able to nod shyly. Sirius took pity on you, grinning as he shifted back and patted his lap invitingly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he purred. “Front row seat for the lesson.”

You blinked at him, completely dumbfounded,

“What?”

Remus, ever patient, gave Sirius a look, but there was amusement there, too. “We’ll give you a demonstration.”

Sirius patted his thigh again, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, love, don’t be shy.”

You hesitated for a long moment, but Sirius just raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly, his fingers tapping against his leg. James had already made his way around the sofa, and looked just entirely too pleased at the idea.

Eventually, you sighed, heat creeping along the back of your neck as you shuffled over, hesitantly perching yourself on Sirius’ lap. His arms immediately wound around your waist, back flush against his chest, keeping you snug against him as he leaned in, breath tickling your ear.

Remus huffed out a quiet laugh, already reaching for James' collar, tugging him forward until their lips met in an easy, practiced rhythm. Practically melting into each others touch.

It was undemanding, natural. And unconsciously, your eyes darted away from the scene, flickering down onto your hands that still endlessly fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. But, against your luck, Sirius caught you.

“No no no, keep looking,” His voice was gentle, no traces of reprimand, he could feel stiff you were—breath shallow, shoulders tense. Pulling you in further against him, hand moving from your waist to settle on the round of your thighs—thumb stroking in a soothing pattern. Along with the way his voice rumbled of his voice in chest against your back and the velvety hum of his words, “Relax, love,” purged some of the nervous tension that had settled in your bones away.

It wasn’t just that they were kissing—it was how. The effortless way James’ hands slid into Remus’ hair, the way Remus exhaled softly into it, melting just a bit. The way their noses brushed, the way Remus tilted his head slightly to deepen it, slow and unhurried, languid in a way that sent something strange and warm curling in your stomach.

It was so fluid, second-nature.

James made a quiet noise in the back of his throat when Remus bit at his bottom lip, and Sirius hummed behind you.

“See that?” he murmured against your ear. “Slow, but firm. It’s not a race, love. It’s about feeling it, letting it happen.”

Your breath was shallow, completely entranced, and James—who had definitely caught the way your fingers curled against Sirius’ hands your thighs—broke the kiss just long enough to grin at you.

“You taking notes, sweetheart?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Sirius chuckled, chin propped on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Prongs, I think she’s getting the idea.”

Your entire body was on fire.

And he could feel it, the heat radiating off your body against his, trying not fidget in his lap, and he didn’t help your case. Opting to torture you more with his low teasing cadance and lips dangerously close to your pulse, whispering; “Think you’re ready to try?”

You swallowed thickly, pulse hammering in your throat. Ready to try? That was the question, wasn’t it?

Because in theory, you knew what kissing was supposed to be. You’d seen it a thousand times—in movies, in books, in passing glances stolen between strangers. But knowing wasn’t feeling, and feeling was something else entirely.

Especially when three sets of eyes were locked onto you, waiting.

You wet your lips unconsciously, and Sirius made a pleased little sound behind you, his hands settling more firmly, squeezing lightly against your thighs. “That’s a good start,” he murmured. “Mmm, maybe she’s a natural, Moons.”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head slightly to catch Remus’ expression. He was still watching you, his gaze steady, unreadable. You searched for impatience there, for amusement, for any sign of frustration—but there was none. Only quiet, open curiosity, waiting for you to make the call.

Inhaling deeply though your nose, a light wave of hesitance flickering through you.

“I…” You trailed off, glancing over at James, who had since leaned back against the couch, all easy confidence, his head tilting slightly to the side. “With…who?”

The second the words left your mouth, Sirius laughed, delighted.

“Oh, love,” he purred, adjusting his wide legged position even wider, causing your hips to fall further into his middle—sinking into his touch. “That’s the best part.”

James smirked at that, hazel eyes flashing. “Mmm, guess it’s only fair we let you pick,” he mused. “We wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Liar.

You didn’t believe that for a second, not when Sirius was grinning like the cat that got the cream, and certainly not when Remus had the nerve to sit beside James, looking at you like he was already in your head, reading your thoughts before you could even think them.

Your heart was racing so fast you were surprised they couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to—you did. But what if you messed it up? What if you got the angle wrong, or forgot to breathe, or—

“Darling.” Remus’ voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, quiet but firm. You snapped your gaze to him automatically, fingers twitching, picking at the jean fabric of by Sirius’ hands. “There’s nothing to get wrong.”

You barely had time to react before he leaned in—slow, deliberate—just close enough that the warmth of him made your breath stutter.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

You hesitated, but after a beat, you did.

The next thing you felt was the feather-light brush of his lips against your cheek—not quite a kiss, not really, just the barest ghost of contact. Lips parting, letting a shallow hitching breath pass.

“There,” he murmured. “Easy, isn’t it?”

His lips brushed another kiss over the curve of your jaw, still unbearably gentle, giving you time, giving you space. You inhale shakily, body still burning against Sirius, Remus just hummed, trailing the kisses just slightly lower. There was barely any time for you to respond before he finally—finally—pressed his lips against yours

It was so much softer than you’d expected, warm and welcoming. Not demanding, not urgent—just there, patient, waiting for you to catch up.

Your stomach flipped, and Sirius hummed his approval against your ear, his hands rubbing absent, slow circles into your sides. James, let out a quiet exhale, watching intently from beside Remus—hands twitching almost in efforts to stay put.

Trying your best to stay out of your head, focus on the kiss but not too hard, pace yourself, enjoy the moment—your hands curling into themselves at your sides. But when Remus hummed, a small pleased sound into the kiss, the tension building in you slipped away. Further and further into the back of your mind.

He kissed you like it was the easiest thing in the world, like he wanted to be kissing you, and your brain was getting more mushy as the contact continued. Your hands twitched again, and this time, you actually moved, leaning slightly into the kiss—one of them hesitantly lifting to rest against the front of his shirt.

Sirius, sensing the change immediately, grinned, chin still propped on your shoulder.

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

James hummed in agreement, eyes dark with interest. “Looks like she’s a fast learner.”

Remus, still entirely too composed, simply smiled into the kiss, his hands finally moving to cradle your jaw, holding you there as he deepened it just slightly.

By the time he pulled back, you were breathless, cheeks flushed—lips wet and reddened.

James, evidently unable to contain himself, turned your chin slightly toward him, eyes practically shining with mischief.

“My turn.”

His lips were on yours, and if Remus was patient and careful, James was the opposite.

Kissing you like he was playing—feverish and teasing, like he knew exactly how new it was for you, how you were still unsure, and he was more than content in exploring.

Initially he let you take the lead, barely pressing into you, lips moving slowly, teasingly, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your jaw as if coaxing you forward. But as he leaned further into you, hands planting themselves firmly on your thighs—parting his lips against yours.

You were vaguely aware of the sound of Sirius humming in approval somewhere behind you, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as James’ tongue flicked playfully against your bottom lip. Your breath caught in your throat, and he grinned against your mouth, clearly pleased with your reaction.

James littered more kisses onto your skin, starting at the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, bringing the exposed skin of your collarbone gently between his lips—nipping and sucking softly. Earning him a breathy whimper, exhaling “Jamie,” as you craned your neck into him more, hands jumping to find purchase on his arms.

Remus’ hand inched up James’ spine, almost as a reminder that said, don’t be greedy. Withdrawing, he allowed the other a better look at your expression—half lidded, satified hums leaving your still kiss-flushed lips, unbareably pretty.

Sirius let out a low, appreciative whistle behind you, a low “Damn,” passing into the air, breath skimming over the back of your neck.

“Ready for round two?”

You hadn’t had time to come back down into the room fully before Sirius’ hands came down to your hips—the words barely proccessing in your mind as you spun on his lap. Positioning you so your legs split across his thighs. His hands settled on your waist, warm and steady, fingers splayed just under the hem of your shirt, grounding you.

Sirius was still watching you, that signature smirk playing at his lips, but there was something softer in his expression now—something reassuring, like he was making sure you weren’t too overwhelmed.

But how could you not be?

You could still feel the lingering warmth of Remus’ kiss on your lips, still taste James’ breath against yours. And now planted on Sirius’ lap, he was moving closer, eyes flicking over your face, searching for hesitation.

You didn’t even realize you’d clenched your hands into nervous fists until Sirius made a small noise of amusement and pried one open, lacing his fingers through yours. “Breath, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. “You’re in good hands.”

Unlike Remus’ patience or James’ teasing, Sirius kissed you like he was yearning.

its like a torch had been lit, your body was set even further ablaze when Sirius pressed his lips firmly against yours, immediately tightening his hold on your waist. Pads of his fingers grasping almost desperately onto the flesh trying to pull you closer than you already were—shifting his hips upwards into you. Your voice trembled in your throat, failing to make it to your lips as muffled moan threatened to leave you. Hands coming up to his neck, fingers threading and tugging at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fucking hell, you two,” sounded from beside you, but it felt so far away, dulled by the thumping echo of your pulse in your ears and the soft hums and mewls leaving the both of you.

He kissed like he meant it, like he wanted you to feel all of it, tongue just barely teasing against the seam of your lips, making you gasp out a whine. He took full advantage of the sound, his hands squeezing at your curve of your hips before he pulled back just enough to grin against your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The words sent a sharp jolt of heat down your spine, it had you arching into him against you will, rocking involuntarily into him, and Sirius let out a delighted little laugh. Head falling into the crook of his neck, slightly embarrassed by the reactions he so easily compelled from you.

“Ohh, Pads,” James drawled, chin resting on his shoulder, breath warm against his ear. “You’re gonna break her.”

Sirius hummed, utterly unbothered. “Dunno, Jamie—” his lips ghosted against your neck again, just barely touching, a tease, “—she seems to be holding up just fine.”

You weren’t.

Your thoughts were scrambled, body thrumming, your hands clutching onto Sirius as if he were the only thing tethering you to the earth.

And when you brought your head out of its hiding spot, Remus’ could barely contain the laugh that bubbled in his chest, musing with a tilting his head. “Mmm, think she likes it.” Your parted lips, chest heaving trying to catch your breath—pupils blown and hazy expression Remus was more than convinced you liked it.

Sirius, still curled up comfortably beneath you, pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Yeah, sweetheart?” His voice was teasing, syrupy sweet, lips dragging up to your jaw, inching up to the corners of your mouth—almost kisses—then trailing back away. And you could only melt into them, breathless and dizzy and completely, utterly lost in it all.

“Should we stop, or do you wanna keep learning?”

this is my first time writing poly! so pls be kind x

[mocchiixxx]

Twice the Trouble, Twice the Love

(Vernon X Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Established Relationship

Summary: Dating you is like having a second Sungkwan in his life—loud, dramatic, and endlessly entertaining. Vernon wouldn’t have it any other way.

Vernon always knew dating you would be an experience.

But he didn’t realize he had basically signed up for double the Sungkwan energy until he caught you both arguing over which shade of pink is the superior pink.

"You cannot tell me that pastel pink isn’t elite!" you exclaim, hands dramatically thrown in the air.

Sungkwan scoffs, crossing his arms. (Cue the bombastic sassy side eye of him) "Bold of you to assume hot pink doesn’t carry the entire fashion industry on its back!"

Vernon, sitting between you two, sighs. "Again with the pink debate?"

You and Sungkwan both turn to him with the same exact look of betrayal.

“Hansolie, this is important,” you say seriously.

“Yeah, Vernon,” Sungkwan adds, nodding. “Pick a side.”

Vernon blinks. “...I refuse.”

"TRAITOR!" you both yell at the same time.

Vernon groans, rubbing his temples. He should’ve seen this coming. The two of you are basically one chaotic brain cell split into two people.

It was already bad enough when just Sungkwan would drag him into random debates about things like which bread brand is superior (spoiler: he does not care). But ever since you came into the picture?

His life has become twice the dramatic sighs, twice the debates, and twice the exaggerated reactions to literally everything.

And yet, Vernon finds himself grinning at the chaos.

Because despite all of it, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

—

Later that night, after Sungkwan leaves muttering about how 'Vernon's loyalty is questionable', you flop onto Vernon’s lap, stretching like a cat.

He quirks a brow. “Comfortable?”

“Very,” you hum, resting your head against his shoulder. “Your lap privileges have been granted.”

“Oh wow. I’m honored,” he deadpans, making you giggle.

Vernon wraps an arm around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head. You’re warm against him, the scent of your shampoo filling his senses, and for a moment, he just lets himself be.

It’s funny. Your personality is the complete opposite of his—you’re loud, dramatic, and never afraid to speak your mind. But somehow, it fits.

Because while you’re busy bringing the chaos, Vernon is there to ground it.

“You love me, right?” you murmur, tracing patterns on his sweater.

Vernon chuckles, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze. “Obviously.”

“Like, a lot?”

“A ridiculous amount,” he confirms.

You grin, leaning closer. “Damn. You’re down bad for me.”

Vernon groans, flopping back against the couch. “Unfortunately.”

You burst out laughing, and the sound is his favorite thing in the world.

And as he pulls you in closer, Vernon realizes—no matter how chaotic you are, he’s hopelessly, completely, and unapologetically in love with you.

Even if it means dealing with double the Sungkwan energy for the rest of his life.

And honestly?

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

[pomegranate-theater]

ꕥ a flower yet to bloom. kamisato ayato.

Summary: Being a good writer isn’t the only thing that a person needs in order to become a successful author. Finding patronage to promote your work has been a struggle for you for a while now, until your secret admirer finds his way into your life. When he does, neither of you wants to stop the exciting exchange that would soon begin.

contents: fem reader / dub-con / yandere / manipulative and obsessive Ayato / unhealthy dynamic / reader and ayato match each other’s desires and just edge each other over the letters for months / depictions of slight gore / masturbation / mentions of infertility and pregnancy / virginity loss / hair pulling / mentions of vomiting / oral male and fem receiving / corruption kink / biting / spanking. not suitable for minors. Word count: 20.4k.

Notes: I don’t know how many people still actively enjoy Ayato enough to want to read 20k long oneshot with him in it, but he’s still in my heart so I wrote this okay 😔 I hope at least one Ayato main will get to enjoy — then my mission will be fulfilled already.

“No mail addressed to you,” Yae Miko announced, and hearing about yet another failure made you bite your lip from frustration and anxiety. After she’s recruited you to be one writers under her wing, you’ve foolishly assumed that this itself would already mean something — surely, the fact that your work was published under her editing house should speak for itself, if your story had to be one of the best if chosen among many given to her options. Sponsors helping you to promote your book, richer people with a tradition of patronage for artists, the intention partially to flaunt their wealth and intellectual superiority by painting themselves as so cultured — shouldn’t they be here already? All the hope and desperation to chase your dreams has turned you blind against your own naivety.

“But… I don’t understand. You say that my story is really well written, even if it ended up being out of the sphere of what you typically sell, and yet… no one wants to adopt it?” Your patience was becoming thin. You’ve been working on your psychological horror light novel for a while, and you couldn’t even sell it at all if you had no one to promote it — the foundation of any successful book — with you ironically becoming like a character straight out of your light novel. At the same time, the editor-in-chief’s refusal to give you any more details led you to believe she was hiding something from you; so typical of her but more and more maddening towards people left in the dark about her plans, especially when your books were gathering dust on shelves of bookstores.

She would never make it easy for you or her other subordinates, so could only refuse to do all the work for you — she was here to publish and advise, therefore, any further expansion of horizons was left on your shoulders, you at that burdened with additional expectation of proving your own worth to her.

“That is the struggle authors sometimes have to face… but do not fret, I won’t abandon you so easily, as you probably worry as such. You’re such an impatient little thing,” she waved her hand at you, as if deeming your concerns as silly; she not yet anxious like you were. She was patient, and had an abundance of experience in publishing to be assured in her self-confidence about where she can lead you.

“In fact…” she teased, her face now closer to yours, and placed her folded fan onto your chin to have it lifted. “I want you to come with me to the upcoming festival. You might meet some interesting people here… People that also are fans of something else than isekai genre that’s been selling so well lately…”

The close proximity made you feel nervous, you a prey caught by the fox in her own office, but her words peaked your interest. “Are you saying this might be my chance?”

“Exactly, my dear,” she smiled. “In fact, if it's organized by the Yashiro Commission, it's sure to be big, and could potentially attract some promising players...”

The hope has blossomed in your chest again.

You couldn’t breathe.

When Lady Miko has mentioned you going to the festival, you of course have anticipated prerequisite for a proper dress-code; however, you didn’t expect this level of formal, as if you were going to meet the Commissioner himself.

Layers and layers, only to be finished with a thickest layer of kimono plush with pattern, with obi and obijime tied too viscously for you to breathe or move properly— you doubted you’d be able to eat much either. Hair up only in a proper way and propped with a hairpin, a slight makeup to make you look fresh and match the current spring, and shoes on platforms so thick and hard you could take only smallest of the steps.

You couldn’t deny you looked lovely, but the idea of possibly tripping over in front of everyone has got you downplay that impression…

As Miko joined the room to check the progress on her little writer being styled by multiple women shifting and at tugging her, she smiled to herself. “Well, look at you. There’s no way you’ll go unnoticed looking all ladylike like this.”

“I hope you mean this as a good thing, Lady Miko,” you sighed.

“Oh, yes. Some sponsor must finally notice you… Remember - don’t brag about your book. Don’t say how great it is. Instead, answer only their questions, no unsolicited blabbering. Joke around a little too, smile, they’ll be nicely surprised someone writing something so gloomy is still a happy person… as if that’s how it ever works,” she ordered curtly, and you nodded. You couldn’t lie you wished you could be heard out about your own story, but oversharing would make others tired… and you needed to be a joyful and charming presence to finally capture someone’s attention.

The festival was not much different from previous occasions that happened in Inazuma numerous times — grand, traditional, with lots of food and entertainment, paper lanterns swayed by the wind everywhere, and people dressed so handsomely you wouldn’t recognize them if you originally knew them.

This time, there was an extra space where books were sold to promote their authors’ work, with the mentioned group appearing here to discuss their own writing with readers.

Yae Miko was quick to lead you to the area, your hand in hers, not having given you any time to have fun — that was reserved only for after your hard work.

“You know…” she leaned to whisper into your ear. “I’ve heard the Yashiro Commissioner will be here too.” Hearing that, you froze in your spot, the sudden anxiety creeping up your spine. That sly, awful woman has been hiding something like this until now?!

“Why didn’t you tell me be-” her hand clamped your mouth. “Now, now. Calm down. I had to hide it from you as I know you’d be too stressed out when waiting for today; therefore, too

highly strung to get herself properly prepared.”

You realized she was right about the wait would have been dragged for you in paranoia instead of in focus on your main goal. You had a chance to be truly in fear only just now — what if that Kamisato man talks to you? Would he even find your work attractive?

“Fine,” you said muffled through her hand, and she let you go. “Good girl,” she praised with a tease.

As she led you closer to the beautifully decorated area, you saw a man that while you’ve never seen before, your mind preceded to have a good feeling it’s him. Blue hair standing out among crowds of brown and black, dressed in most expensive kimono and haori you could find around, his posture so perfect as he—

Read your book?

You were pretty sure it was your novel in his hands, and no one else’s — black cover, with faded red flowers, giving the feeling as dark as the story. When looking at his handsome features, you tried to spot any signs of pleasure or displeasure that could betray his judgement; but unfortunately, he didn’t revealing anything that could soothe your insecurities.

Truly a politician.

“Is that him?” you whispered to Miko.

“Yes, so be respectful, but also don’t talk too much - he hates small talk.” A man who hates small talk… a man of business and a man pragmatic, you assumed. This might work out well for you, if you manage to be straightforward with him and don’t beat around the bush about what you want — as long as you remain demure and respectful; not selfish and self-absorbed.

When said man turned to look at two women arriving, he eyed you up and down — not in a lustful of harsh manner, but simply scrutinizing. You were already so nervous, and thought he made you too self-conscious for your business plan to work with him.

Looking at the open book in his hands, you tried to gauge which page he currently was on, what words he possibly could have read…

Halting in front him, you were greeted with a polite smile, that surprisingly reached his violet eyes. You weren’t a master of manipulation, but that had to mean something, right?

“Lady Yae, it’s good to see you again. And the lady next to you…” he trailed off, giving you a moment to acknowledge your incongruous presence. “I’m sure we haven’t met yet, have we?” he spoke to you, almost teasingly at the fluster he noticed in you, with just one glance enough to prove his skills at reading people. Gods, was he handsome, yet giving you some odd, off feeling as if you stepped in front of a man ready to discover all of your secrets to later either sell them or use to his own benefit.

“No, we have not, Commissioner Kamisato,” you said respectfully, trying to hide your nervousness — but only instinctively, if your opponent already knew all he needed to know.

“We might have not, but it appears you still recognize me. In any case, allow me to introduce myself formally - I’m Kamisato Ayato, head of Kamisato clan and Commissioner of Yashiro Commission.”

You were given a surprise in a form of the extend of his hand for you to shake, when you had expected typical Inazuman etiquette. Perhaps things were changing, with you having heard rumours of him expanding his connections outside of Inazuma. Still, with the status difference, you felt undeserving to touch a bare hand of his. Yet, having no choice, you grabbed his hand, all smooth and big, even prettier, which he shook yours with.

“My, do you have such a strong grip, or are you that nervous?” he said with slight amusement, and you, startled by the possibility of squeezing too hard and hurting a hand worth millions of mora, released it. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s okay. I was just teasing.” He smiled and turned to look at your superior — both of them making you feel so small and insignificant. You were used to Lady Miko’s presence, but now being in front of two important figures… who even were you? Oh no, if he hated that book too-

“Thank you for bringing her here. I couldn’t help but anticipate meeting an author of my favorite literature.”

Did you hear that right?

Perhaps you did, as the fox lady laughed at your perplexed expression and patted a shoulder of you, such a dumb woman unable to believe this man could be a fan of her books. Sure, she had some amount of fans, but him…

“Oh, she doesn't need to be asked twice to come here. She’d be eager to meet any of her fans, always so hardworking she is. Right, dear?” she spoke to you, and you shook yourself off of your stupor to answer. “Y-yes, I’m always happy to connect with my readers,” you chuckled nervously, feeling as if the descripton made you more of an exited child, looking at Ayato who now seemed rather curious. Maybe you really didn’t so bad, if he, someone for sure educated and familiar with poetry and other types of written art as an ‘aristocratic child’, would describe your writing as his favorite.

Unfortunately, such kind words also aroused another dilemma for you — if your work could be described as good, why was there no one to patron it? Was your writing so niche?

“I’m glad to hear that. You can tell when a writer is passionate, and not a one thinking in commercial terms.” You were praised once again, and that already fed you full for today. Seriously, just one compliment from a man like Ayato would be something to worship by many.

It was your sign to take advantage of the opportunity — if not him, then who else will take care of you?

You cleared your throat, your smile widening as you finally felt at some ease, your confidence motivated by his kind words. “I noticed you readng my novel just now, but if you already like my stories, were you rereading some part?”

His eyes twinkled with intrigue. “That’s an astute observation. I was indeed, returning to one of my favorite scenes. A scene where the main character finally decides to face her opponent, only to realize the shocking truth.”

Your mind browsed through the memories of you meticulously coming up with the plot, looking for the discussed scene, and you finally remembered:

“He didn’t want her to consider him human. Human would imply that she and he were equal beings — no matter the status and social ladders, structures and politics she and him would be human all through— and he was above her and humanity. He was above her love, he was above her fear, he was above her anger.

“Do not seek out a human in me. I am not one you should pity nor excuse; and I’m not one who’d seek your forgiveness.”

“I would never see you as one!” she answered angrily, disgusted by the depravity of his human characteristics she’s finally spotted.

“Oh, then why are you seeking out answers? It’s all ‘why, why, why would you do this, you, a human like me’, isn’t it? You try to explain why a human would do this, but there is no answer because I am not a human.”

He approached her, grabbing a knife from her hand — she hasn’t stabbed him, just as anticipated when he knew she didn’t truly hate him. “Do not rationalize me, dear,” he muttered and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. “Or you’ll see yourself in me.”

“I’m nothing like you, you monster—” she said and sniffled, looking at him with rage that only made him hungry for her.

“If you and I weren’t so similar, you would have long informed right people about my crimes. Yet here you are, asking me ‘why’ instead. You weren’t scared of me, you weren’t angry at me, you were curious… and if there’s anyone you were scared of, it was you.”

She looks at him with panic, the confusion clouding her mind in a way that she had a crisis about her own person — she couldn’t bring herself to feel too much angst towards him — it was only pride provoked by his lies.”

“Oh, yes, her starting to get worried she might be under her lover’s influence...” you pointed out, making Ayato smile more.

“Yes. It was such an interesting concept, to write about one questioning their identity, with them not knowing if they’ve always been like this, darker, or simply susceptible to being corrupted…” he mused, as if to himself, before he shook himself off of this small ramble. “Pardon me, it perhaps could have sounded weird.” He didn’t sound embarrassed at all though, his words a mere formality, but you wouldn’t want him to be ashamed anyway.

You, perhaps, were in love with this man already. Not only was he a fan of your writing darker than a typical novel from your publisher, he also understood you and your work. He shared your tastes. You could have only wondered how long he’s been reading your work for. Screw the chilling feeling his fascination with horror has given you.

“No!” you protested, wanting to reassure him. You didn’t even notice when Yae has left you two alone to your own devices, assuming you’re fine on your own now. “I’m actually happy you’re mentioning this, Lord Kamisato. It is indeed interesting. People oftentimes are so confused about their own identity, and finding out they could have been worse than they or society wanted them to be, is very likely to give them a frighten… but perhaps, also could liberate them, if they no longer have to suppress their tendencies.”

Ayato weighed your word, looking at you as if you passed some sort of unspoken test. “You’re right, my dear writer. People oftentimes paint themselves as polite, especially in Inazuma, but who knows what’s behind the mask…” the mystery of his voice would catch you off guard further, if your stomach didn’t twist in excitement.

He then decided to bring up another topic. “Lady Yae has filled me in on the subject of you searching for patronage, having mentioned you’ve been finding it impossible to find a patron to sponsor your work.”

Your giddy humor died when you were reminded of this unfortunate truth. You didn’t want to scare him away with your implied by rejections unappealing reputation. “Y-yes. Maybe not everyone is into these sort of stories…”

“Maybe. It is not an everyday choice for sure. But, this genre being less popular can actually be a good thing if you know how to take advantage of the fact,” he proposed. “Unique can be as interesting as it can be weird.”

“Trust me, Lord Kamisato, I’ve tried to paint my work as innovative… but everyone wants isekai novels or romance or drama… which is fine too, of course, it’s their right to like these and every type is good… I just don’t fit into the general public.”

“Is that what you think?” he raised his brow. “I think the gist lies in a matter of targeting a specific group, that can’t be drawn in the conventional way. You need to create a vision of  your story as something forbidden, that they cannot help but need to seek out for themselves to unravel and judge if it’s this controversial,” his voice lowered, making you anticipate something unknown and unreachable. “Don’t you think?”

He was right, you realized. He himself was an embodiment of wanting inspiring the chase for danger and mystery — Ayato was a forbidden fruit to you, someone so secretive and charming you thought you’d burn if get too close, before the old layers of you would fall into dust and you’d be reshaped to his own liking.

“Y-yes. But still, I cannot move forward without patronage…” you pointed out, and clutched your chest that couldn’t be at peace within his presence. “I’m only one person, your lordship. Lady Miko is mostly here to publish my story, not much advertisize as it's my responsibility.”

“Well, that cannot be avoided,” he sighed and took a look around, the big crowds passing by, occasionally stealing a glance at him being in the public for once. “Let’s go somewhere more quiet, so we can… discuss a few things, if you may.”

Your eyes widened, wondering if that was it — the deal you've been yearning for falling into your hands. The idea of being alone with him made you nervous — a man as if the head of Inazuma himself — but you couldn’t take this chance for granted.

“Of course,” you were further enchanted when he offered you his arm to hold onto — a gesture probably just gentlemanly, if not still enough to make you swoon over someone like him letting you near him. Only a small group of women, at least of your status, had this opportunity to not just touch but see Kamisato Ayato — a figure known for not appearing in public, as if luxurating in pulling the strings from behind the curtain.

As you grabbed onto his arm, the sleeve of your kimono against his haori’s, you felt a spark of electricity; trying to not lean too hard onto him in case you appear eager.

Outside of the festival, you found yourself standing behind one of the buildings, no soul in sight making you rather nervous. Not that you believed him to be capable of hurting you, especially if Yae Miko entrusted you into his hands (and she was the one with a good judgement, supposedly), but it was hard to avoid the feeling in front of someone who for sure couldn’t be innocent and keep his position simultaneously— you knew a thing or two about politics after having studied it for plot purposes in the past, yet it was a logical assumption too.

“I’ll let you know, I’ve been a fan of your writing for a while,” his voice was cordial. “It’s a shame I couldn’t have an opportunity to meet personally with you earlier, but, I’m afraid work is my only wife.”

His words made you chuckle, and you reassured him, feeling so happy about him enjoying you… or rather, your work. It was unreal. “That’s understandable. I’m glad my work was satisfactory to you, commissioner.”

“Oh, it’s not about satisfaction,” he corrected. “It’s about how immersive the experience is. I could imagine myself in character’s shoes, and I am fond of how you focus more on feelings than technicalities. Even when the character was being murdered, it wasn’t about how gruesome the scene was, but about how cruel…”

The words would have startled someone not familiar with your creation, but you only were drawn in by his delineation. Fascinated by Ayato, wanting to dive deeper into his mind and observe why he was a connoisseur of horror.

“Yes…” your voice became intimate, as if you two were sharing a secret, and you knew you got his attention when his eyes darkened. “I don’t want my characters to be just animalistic. I want them to express themselves through their darkness, to be confused and then enlightened they no longer have any inhibitions left, and to look for themselves in others so they see themselves everywhere to never forget about their own nature.”

You melted further when he placed his hand on your shoulder. Talking about this book wasn’t like conversation… it was a flirty dance, so dirty and erotic if you two get too close. “Exactly. No one is simple, and we all are complex creations… oftentimes with hidden and unspoken desires. Hence why I’m interested in becoming your patron. The Yashiro Commision is responsible for culture life in Inazuma, when there’s no good or bad in what someone considers art, but I’m also interested in your stories through my own person.”

You were trembling, genuinely, when hearing his words. Someone like him was truly giving you a chance, and your elation wasn’t much about his status but the understanding; though the fact you finally secured your place was as important.

The wait you were forced through became worth of its struggle it has put you through, if you landed a deal much better than what you’d have upon your haste choice and grab at the first willing soul. Maybe gods were protecting you — if you were to have offers before, taking them too soon would deprive you of the best one.

Oh, you were going to the shrine later. You needed to give your gratitude to your archon.

“I’m… I’d be honored to represent you, Lord Kamisato. I wouldn’t dare to disappoint you,” you said, your voice serious and motivated.

Ayato patted your shoulder and removed his hand, the fingertips subtly gliding down to inspire more excitement without being accused of too ahead of themselves. “As expected. Lady Guuji was right when telling me you’re worth my time.”

He looked at the watch on his wrist. “Speaking of time, I’ll make sure to pass any necessary details onto her, and you could send me a letter with your response. I’m not being exempt, but pulled away from you by my duties…”

Him eager to go saddened you, not expecting him to come here, chat a little, drop a bomb and leave; but you brushed it off as quickly as you remembered he must be a man this simple in the matter, straight to the point and not able to afford time waste, that this could be excused.

“Ah, of course… I wouldn’t want to hold you back. I’m very grateful for this opportunity, and I’ll make sure to give you an appropriate answer.”

With a last charming smile on his face, he was gone.

It was a few days later that you had a chance to sit down with Yae Miko, in order to discuss terms of your contract, with her a messenger in Ayato’s name.

“You must be well aware how special a chance like this is. If not…” she said, her voice playful, “…even more exciting, judging by your expression.”

The culprit was exposed when you could barely sit still, the pillow under you shifting with your squirms. “I’m just happy. To me, receiving an opportunity like this is one thing, Lord Ayato being so… consumed by my work is another. He really understands it...” you daydreamed.

“A praise bigger than anything to a writer, huh?” she teased. “But now, me must focus on business, first and foremost. You can’t make a living off of praises.”

You adjusted your position under her words, “Yes, of course.”

“Good. I’ll skim through the terms, and you can read them at your own pace afterwards.”

“First term… ah, some NDA about how you’re not allowed to speak of your terms with others, I’m sure you get that…” she said, bored already. “Then… you and your copyrights will be under the protection of the commission, and in case of defamation you’ll get legal protection…”

“Really?” you were surprised you could get so much, other than just being promoted.

“Yeah, it’s a bare minimum nowadays. Anyway… another rule is that you notify Lord Ayato about any changes or concerns that should arise… obviously.”

She gave you a few more highlights, and left you alone with documents to read on your own. What she said verified with what’s written, was just simplified; however, she didn’t mention one, specific point — Ayato excepts you to send him your drafts of work, regularly, but only unedited and raw ones. The only thing he wanted in return, that it felt too altruistic and not fair — was your work that worthy? Were you representing him enough?

The request for the raw version of your work got you wondering if he was trying to take a peak inside your mind; unfiltered and un-brutalized by editing. You didn’t expect such requirement, feeling vulnerable at the idea of giving him your unpolished works…

Most patrons weren’t so involved, focused on the outlet and impact published works bring, and here he was, being actually interested in you and your work. Among that, the excitement dug itself into your heart at the prospect of exchanging words with your admirer — you were being heard out, understood, and then allowed to share your deepest fantasies with someone like him.

You ended up signing the contract, and sent him a letter with your response, envelope filled to the brim with a few pages of your messy drafts signaling the beginning of your new lettering journey.

When Ayato has received your letter, he smiled and lifted the tiredness off of his face, the satisfaction making him sigh and fondle the paper of the pages. You were a smart woman to agree to his terms, and right where you should be.

His fingers traced your signature on the contract, made to be as neat as possible despite your drafts written messily as a contradiction — exposing your fake aesthetic. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind your lack of talent for calligraphy — while he hated disorder, the crooked lines were a testimony of your mind always being busy, perhaps you so excited and voracious in your thoughts you were too inexorable to wait with writing down the newfound ideas.

He picked up the first page, reading the contents. After a few more pages, he got to the part that made him stop to let himself soak the words properly, and qualify their meaning.

“A man so cruel and cold, ironically, had a heart biggest of them all. A heart unattainable by any woman, one you couldn’t crack or defrost; but a heart so fragile he didn’t let anything or anyone too close to touching him. You couldn’t make him fall in love, you couldn’t make him care, but he was most human as he knew the value of his vulnerability he protected. He’s ruined himself so no one could ruin him.”

His hands trembled as he held the page close to his face. He understood the meaning of your passage well — someone’s heart being so breakable they had no choice but to be distant so no one could shatter it. Close enough to use you, but not close enough to become yours — that’s who he was. He had too much to lose, and too little to gain when choosing to bare himself with someone.

He wanted more of your golden mind.

When you were told to keep sending drafts to Ayato, you’ve never anticipated any response, with him meant to only receive as your given price for his support. You assumed he’d be too busy to casually send letters to you back and forth, but you were gifted a correspondence from him.

The response you got was most surprising:

“I’ve read each of your drafts and you shouldn’t be any insecure about your work-I think it’s excellent even in a form a raw draft. You’ve given me quite many of new perspectives, and each read is like diving into another position where things aren’t so black and white; nor are they as predictable as things around me, it's good to have a mental excersise in guessing. My housekeeper had to scold me back into work, as I was that engaged with your work.

I will gladly receive more of your pages, and you can hold me accountable for more reviews from my side in the future.

With all due respect,

Kamisato Ayato.”

The invitation to stay in touch with him, through letters as an experience plentiful of intimate in comparison to seeing each other in the crowds, so intense, so… special, as it was about just you two. No one else knew of what you said to each other, what you’re thinking about, and it was you he picked to be his confidant — you haven’t heard about him sponsoring any other writers yet.

How much you wished you could see his face when he's reading your letters.

As many weeks have passed, your work has became successful in terms of sales. Yashiro Commission’s influence really helped you in becoming recognizable, and the organization has been advertising the work as limited and reserved to most of mysterious and whimsical people whether they were them or not — enough for people to get interested in something they’ve always wanted to try but didn’t have a chance to.

As much as it was your biggest accomplishment, somehow, you've been founding yourself to be more happy about another thing — your ongoing exchange with Ayato. You received a letter a week and sent a letter a week, and each was becoming more and more intense it felt like a taboo and sex over words; with you two challenging each other back and forth. The introspection he’s been forcing you through led you to have concerning realizations about yourself.

The experience got you breathy every letter — you weren’t much experienced with men despite your age, due to the complicated nature of your person. You worked on terms different than wanting fluffy romances or clingy behavior; or devoting your time entirely to someone you had nothing for yourself left, or to take. You wanted an encounter much deeper, much more intimate, and utterly debilitating where you both get to the bottom of your minds and stimulate each other intellectually; unprovoked and shameless in your darkness. Ayato was providing plentiful of that desired excitement. The thoughts he implanted in your mind were amorphous, not making a bigger sense, yet, but causing a lot of lust in your body.

Should the letters ever get exposed… gods, your name would be ruined, his damaged, but you had faith in his ability to keep the affair secret. You needed more, not circumspect anymore anyway.

So when one more letter came:

“Sometimes I wonder what else is there to you, if you write about such things but not reveal yourself too much. Are you ashamed of your own desires? Are you scared of showing your true self? Are you so awful that you’re scared once you accept it, there’s no return?

I find such concerns to be trivial, if I myself am no better. Everyone has a tableau of unholy to them; it’s only a matter of not being afraid of showing nor accepting it.

Don’t you dream of that sometimes? To find a solace in your own being?

I hope my words don’t scare you too much… we’re only humans, after all.”

You thought you were going insane. Your body was so hot, the blood flushing your skin from the inside, and you couldn’t breathe.

Suffocating, falling, you had to remove your own clothes. As you seated yourself in front of the mirror, the body exposed to its bare nature you saw your wetness under the lamp, the fingerstrokes got you imaging its him doing that to your.

The mind indulged by repeating the unspoken words, imagining he’s the one saying them, his tone low and velvet, inviting you to become as messed up as him. You couldn’t look away from your own face in the reflection — there was no shame, but the lust for being deprived and debauchered, assuming it’s him telling you to accept yourself.

As you came, you didn’t utter his name, afraid of winds hearing it — it was only between you and Ayato.

The dive into your naughty relationship was worsened when you’ve received an invitation from him. Not to just any place — Komore Teahouse, a place of visit only for people approved by Kamisato clan. You really have earned your place, the thought enough to make you feel like a noble yourself for a moment.

When you have arrived at the appointed hour and tried to slide the shoji door open, you were worried as it was unmoving, locked and keeping you away from your partner in crime. Did you go to a wrong adress? Was Ayato late? Did he stand you up—

Then, a door opened, him standing in front of you with an innocent smile. The flustered you couldn’t notice the mischievous sparkle in his eyes of delight by your embarrassment. “The door opens from the inside only. The main entrance is not this one, but merely a decoration.”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to tug on the door…” you said with shyness.

“No, it’s alright. You couldn’t have known, and the place is more complicated than usual teahouse.”

“You’re right.” It must have been for safety measures.

You entered the teahouse, the interiro simple but deliberately designed to be in its greatest and most eloquent quality. No one was here, to your surprise. The intimacy followed you two everywhere, it’d seem, and the dirty part of your mind thought of what you two could be doing alone if choose to, especially after your occurred touches towards yourself. Would he find you disgusting if he was to know you masturbate to his letters, or would he encourage you further? Could he…

Be doing the same?

Your thoughts were shook away when his voice called out to you. “Are you feeling alright? You appear to be lost in thought.”

You looked at him with a small panic, given a reminder you pleasured yourself to a real man; one standing here. “A-ah, yes, I was just… taking in the place. It’s beautiful.”

He nodded, though his eyes glanced at you with knowledge — you felt chill at the idea of him having cracked you, and knowing what you thought. There was no further question or judgement, however.

The low to the floor level table was already prepared with a tea set on it, and Ayato grabbed your hand. “Allow me,” he said, before he helped you to lower yourself to the pillow on the floor. Sadly, his hand was gloved unlike the first-time-contact; yet the disappointment was made up to you with his grip feeling tighter — as if he couldn’t help himself either.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table, he poured you tea, you first, then for himself; a custom only proper.

“Thank you,” you muttered and put your cup to your lips, trying to not press too much to and risk leaving your lipstick on it. Even if the dish could be washed, you’d feel disrespectful by staining the expensive and well-crafted clay. Sadly, some still got onto the cup.

Ayato either didn’t notice or care, as he distracted you with a conversation. “You must be wondering why I have invited you here.”

“Yes… is this for a business purpose?” you asked curiously, not expecting more from a man who’s time was valuable and limited.

“Would you believe if I’ve told you the meeting is nothing but personal?”

Your mouth parted in surprise, and he laughed. “Don’t be so surprised. We get quite along over all the letters, don’t we?”

“Yes, but…” He was right, but you still saw yourself as more of a distraction for him than a person to become friends, or whatever it is that he’s been craving to have with you. You didn’t think of your train of thoughts as painting yourself to be insecure, but more in terms of rational, considering the gap between you two. You still were a regular citizen, and he — a man like others of his kind who usually didn’t step outside of their circle. And if they did (to find beautiful women) their intentions were not innocent if it was about using them.

“No buts with me. I am not a man who lies or plays when it comes to who I choose to surround myself with. And trust me…” he leaned over the table, the proximity getting you breathless, the air so condensed with lust it squeezed your lungs too, and he grabbed your hand, “… my interest in someone is a privilege that only few can gain.”

Your heart raced, and when his fingers traced your hand, you were sure he was palpating your pulse; satisfying himself with a knowledge of your neediness and captivation. You hoped his muscle raced too, because despite his composed expression, his hand was tense and overly warm.

He was offering you his hand, willingly, not as politeness but a measure to be even closer and intimate with you.

“I am not on your level, Lord Kamisato, but I can say the same for myself. There’s not many people that interest me. I want… more.”

He nodded, as if understanding you. “Yes… finding people with similar desires, priorities, interests, if they’re more complex or unconventional, can sometimes prove difficult, and… please call me Lord Ayato. My last name feels too formal.”

You still were expected to use his title, but it was one step closer to his first name, a reward you felt honored by.

“I agree… Lord Ayato.” You couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or truth with how small the shift in his hand felt, but your senses caught onto vibrations, as if caused by his name on your tongue getting him dizzy.

“Good girl. Now, please, tell me about your newest ideas.”

When you left the teahouse, you were pent up again. Years of unleashed desires, now being stimulated and acknowledged by someone so good at strokingthem, you had to run home to relieve yourself.

Ayato, Ayato, Ayato, his hand, his voice, his eyes, more of Ayato — that was the only thing on your mind as you fingered yourself. You begged him in your mind, letting him hold you from behind as he had you bent over his desk to be spanked and ruined.

You wondered how angry he’d be if you sent him another letter, where this time, you explain it to him what you did to yourself... and demand what he should to you.

After your departure, Ayato hasn’t left yet, despite the stress of work in the back of his mind yelling at him to stop being lazy and return to his duty. Unbeknownst to you, he was focused on the teacup in his hand, swirling it in his hand. Not his cup in terms of who drank from it, but the one you left behind. It had your lipstick on, and he was careful to not smudge it away.

Your lips touched the rim of it, and the fact got him hard, as he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you — not suddenly, but only after he had put you on your knees to reveal every of your fantasies, and make you beg for hours until you’re absolutely sure of what you want. There would be no place for dishonesty, and you’d have to speak out every thing on your mind, no matter how shameful or small you’d see them as, or if the humiliation was burning you. Only then, he’d be rewarding you with him going down on his knees too, and kissing you; the obedient thing later made to be equal with him by his own revelation of what he himself has been quietly desiring.

The cup wasn’t given to wash, a lie that it was broken and thrown away was left on the note, before he’s exited the teahouse.

As more time has passed, the insensitivity of your letters increased like a fever. They weren’t talking about just your drafts anymore, and drafts weren’t just psychological and horror.

They were becoming erotic.

“The man has been chasing her after she’s escaped for a few minutes now. But it wasn’t her escape and rejection that he feared. Instead, his heart ached when seeing her beautiful feet get torn and cold, as she didn’t even put any shoes on when being able to leave given as a last chance.

When he finally caught her, she was pinned against the wall. Yet, he didn’t hurt her. He removed his own shoes, ignoring the rain on the ground now soaking and freezing his socks, before he lowered himself to his knees to put his shoes on her feet.

The woman was confused, having been expecting to be beaten up by her captor; not anticipating an act of care. Her legs trembled as his hands touched her ankle, the fingers slightly going upwards, assumedly checking on the damage. But when the shoes were put on, his hands started to wander again, and she couldn’t make herself move. It felt good, actually, the warmth against her cold skin — confirming she wasn’t alone in the situation he’s made for her, no matter if his fault. She was trapped by him, but the captivity could never be described as a torture chamber — the man wanted her to keep fighting him until she reaches the realization she’s belonged with him from the first day.

Right when his hands were about to touch the sensitivity of her thighs, he gave up in place of draping his arm over her shoulder to lead her back to her new home.

“You’re hurt and freezing, but I’m not sure if that’s what you’re worried about…” he muttered, noticing her flush of cheeks, not entirely by cold.

“In any case, I can soothe your worries once we’re home, and keep you even warmer. Or colder, if that floats your boat.”

When he returned home, her feet were treated by his careful hands, but she wanted them hurt again — only then she could receive more of his care.”

As you finished writing another explicit draft, you closed your eyes to imagine his possible reaction upon receiving your words. Would he see you as a woman who was kidnapped and yet desires this dark man’s touch? Was the dark man him?

You thought you’d let him chase you like this too.

Everything has turned into a ruin.

Or rather, it appeared that way, and things were never the way you’ve been assuming  them to be — not even before meeting Ayato.

As it turns out, you have been never rejected. You have had other people than Ayato make proposals; if anything, you had plenty of them.

This man, this despicable, attractive, mysterious, your type but even more manipulative has played you. He’s made sure to chase away any potential sponsors just so he can be the only one for you to choose from. And in the end, it has worked out for you so well, if got the best deal, that you couldn’t afford to be repugnant about his actions.

But he still lied, a perfidious man he has turned out to be, and you should have followed your instincts — not body. He didn’t give you any choice. And most importantly, the discovery highlighted the extent of the power imbalance between you two. It was a scary knowledge — he could make you do anything, and you probably wouldn’t even know it, or you’d simply have no choice but to comply with his demands.

How did you find out? You have received a funny letter, someone spilling curses at you from the very beginning of their offended writing. You first assumed it to be some sort of hate speech, until you got to the middle describing an older man questioning why you’d reject his idea and take an offer of someone like Commissioner’s. You didn’t remember receiving any offer other than Ayato’s, and with the creepy feeling you’ve been sensing around him, no matter how attractive it was to you, it made sense it’d be his fault you were left unaware and deprived of choice.

You’ve been fantasizing a lot, but you shouldn’t have made your fantasies a real thing no matter what. Fiction wasn’t reality and reality wasn’t fiction; if it puts you at risk especially — you’ve seen the error of your ways too late. Nonetheless, some damn part of you found it… flattering. Yes, he’s been deceiving you, but it shows the extent of how much he wants you. Only you. He’d do so much for you, wouldn’t he?

What else can a woman dream about?

You’ve been prospering and — and yet, he could use what you have against you, one day, in case you’re to fussy about something to make it happen, or simply bored of him. Hold it over your head, so you never deny him, should he paint your unwillingness as lack of gratitude — him being altruistic shouldn’t make you any less grateful and put disrespectful label on your attitude.

With one suspicion, arose many more. Such network of deceits wouldn’t be achievable thanks to one person, and the closest person working to you was Lady Miko. Was she involved in this too? She’s been taking a good care of you, but the foxy lady was a sly fox as the connotation of the animal could be, chasing entertainment first. Perhaps she herself assumed it’s most beneficial for you, and allowed him to lead you here; not a kind woman to worry about the ethics.

None of the theories explained the main issue — if he’s wanted you so badly, why wasn’t he to make proposal as a first person? Why wait and put you through many failures before you’d reach him? Was this to amplify your gratitude, making you feel as if you owe him?

You needed to know. And you should have reached your superior first, but what would she even tell you, other than laugh in your face and tell you you’re worrying too much. As if you’d let her patronize you this way.

It wasn’t safe to go to the Kamisato estate at all, you didn’t even know if Ayato’s home as he often spent days outside of it, you had no clue if they’d even let you in. But you had to go and solve the mystery, and shun Ayato. You could choose to live in oblivion, for your own sake, but you were sure he’d have noticed the lack of it eventually. The curiosity killed the cat too, as you, to your own disgust, were feeling aroused again.

Gods, why did it had to be the most interesting, handsome, intelligent man doing this to you? Or maybe that was the reason — him doing this to you, straight out of your novel, that got you hooked.

No… it was never about the novels — novels were only the written reflection of your embodiment and fetishes. Desire came first, written testimony came later. You were never inspired by literature in your wanting — literature is only what you wrote based on your wanting.

You were right to assume getting in wouldn’t be easy. Upon your arrival at the gate, two guards have stopped you, demanding the answer to why you were here. They weren’t notified about any guests coming, and you’ve never visited the estate before either. Kamisato clan was too valuable to not be heavily protected and repelling any threat.

“You can’t get in uninvited. Please leave before we’ll have no choice but to remove you by force and arrest,” first man said sternly. The physique of his body was muscular, you knew he’d drag you away with ease — and this one, you didn’t find tasty.

“Please, hear me out. I’m… Lord Ayato’s writer, I mean, he patrons my work and…”

Guard raised his brow at you, having heard some mention of you throughout the gossip in the estate; unfortunately not enough reason to let you enter and make yourself comfortable.

“Whoever you might be, you’re not free to come and go as you please. You have no invitation, so LEAVE.”

You wanted to cry from the frustration, furthermore you knew you’d only get hurt trying to storm in, so you turned around, ready to leave.

What blocked the vision of the road deep in the forest was a blonde man manifested in front of you, returning to the estate, his green eyes widening at the figure once depicted for him. “Excuse me, miss, are you the…”

“Yes,” you said bluntly before he’d continue, hoping for the last chance. “I was hopeful to see your lord, but I guess I can’t come uninvited.”

His brows furrowed, and he rubbed his chin. “But did something happen for you to come here so suddenly? I don’t remember him making a mention of you coming here…”

Your stomach fluttered in excitement as you realized Ayato has been talking about you, wondering how kindly the words detailed you as. However, answering the question was tough as you couldn’t admit you’ve discovered his boss’s crimes. “Um… I’ve had some concerns about my… safety. I’m worried someone is stalking me, and my contract talk about my protection, so I wanted to seek out help from Lord Ayato… or commission.”

“Oh,” his tone turned worried. “Please come inside. I’ll see what I can do.” This time, the guards let you pass the gate entrance, making you wonder who this man was. Some right hand of Ayato? He didn’t dress universally of a typical servant around.

As he walked you through the path of the garden, you saw the estate was even idyllic than what you’ve imagined in your spare time. It handled both the commission, and chambers where Kamisato family rested and workers lived, and everything was just… big. Gigantic. Expensive. Just walking made you worried of breaking something and having to pay for it.

“Can I ask…” you started, and turned to look at the young man. “Are you… Lord Ayato’s subordinate, by any chance?”

“I’m the housekeeper, to be honest. Still, me and Lord Ayato work rather closely…” he said and chuckled nervously. “My name is Thoma.”

A housekeeper yet being close to Ayato… you assumed there was more to Thoma’s role; especially when you remember the mention of him scolding his lord for his indulgence in your letter.

“I see, Thoma. Thank you for your help…” you said more quietly, your voice consumed by the anxiety about the possibility of facing Ayato after you have discovered his fraudulent behavior.

“Ah, no need to thank me. The friend of Lord Ayato is my friend.”

A mention of implied friendship left you wondering if that’s what you were told to be.

Thoma seated you by the table in the pavilion before disappearing. Blue hydrangeas surrounding you, now swayed anxiously by the wind, clutching their petals to not be shaken into a branches like skeletons. Judging by the clouds, the storm was coming, the sky turning dark grey and air becoming cold and wet. The scenery only made you more anxious, as if something bad was brewing. There was no escape either, as what was below the hill Kamisato estate was built on was a beach many meters down.

The hope to take out your anger on him turned into the wish he actually wouldn’t find any time for you, even if you were so eager to confront him as first impulse that has brought you here. As thirty minutes have passed, you were getting up, reaching a conclusion that both Ayato and Thoma forgot about you, a visitor so unimportant — the matter both saddening and relieving. The insignificance of your person in his eyes hurt, but at least you were spared of meeting the devil…

“My apologies for making you wait for so long, in such harsh conditions too. To my defense, I had to take care of some business first, and I’m grateful you for your patience.” You lifted your head to look at Ayato, his appearance unsettling you last minute.

You froze for a minute, your mind trying to choose how to treat him now. Should you yell at him and demand answers? Should you act clueless just to drop the bomb in the middle and see him so taken aback you he proves you right, should you talk peacefully and match his tone to not give him any satisfaction?

You let out a shaky breath, speaking with no confidence at all as the ultimate choice of your impulses. It was easy to be angry when emotions overtook you, but finally facing the villain… you were reminded he was a player much bigger than you.

“You seem startled, and Thoma has given me a brief explanation of your issues,” he spoke for you, not yet accusing you of a lie. “Please, sit down again.”

You followed him on the floor, looking at him in discomfort, even if that stupid ache between your legs made itself known again. You hoped your pupils weren’t too blown, or that you weren’t too breathy, or whatever you’d mention in your own story when depicting arousal.

“So, what exactly has happened?” he asked, and despite the context being you having a stalker, you could no longer pretend some foolish pervert is what that’s gotten you fear for your life.

“You happened. How could you make me a sign a contract with you while you’ve never given me a chance to choose for myself? Only thing you’ve given me as an illusion of the choice.”

His expression didn’t change, as if anticipating this was the real reason for your arrival. Of course it’d be suspicious for you to suddenly appear here. If you had a stalker, you wouldn’t have taken a route so extended in search for help if the stalker could get you in the middle of your way. You almost flinched when the storm hit, not out of phobia towards this element of nature, but because the color of thunder matched the profanity of his scary eyes — piercing through you, the bright light revealing the true emotion in them — jubilant, taking a pride in cornering you this way; only unspoken by the mouth taught to be reverent and proper, barely spilling truth as honesty was prone to being exploited.

“If I have let you choose, and one of the choices was me, you’d still have chosen me, wouldn’t you?” he asked calmly. Your anger grew at the manipulative argument thrown at you, now feeling iconic for him but not any less repulsive.

“Thats not how it works, Lord Ayato! No matter that you think could be the best choice for me, it’s a matter of you being controlling!”

“Is it controlling to—” “Shut up!” you yelled and punched the table, making him show some reaction for once — the violets widening at your violence, if still not taking the delight by the emotion he’s provoked — he was either sadistic or craving your attention; or both.

You weren’t mindful of his title for once, especially that the intimate experience made you feel like it’s just Ayato and not his lordship for you — too angry at him trying to make up excuses to respect a man who should be respectful unbound by the social class. “If you thought you were the best choice for me, why weren’t you the first one to offer?!” That part didn’t make sense to you, for reasons other than him trying to turn it against you. “To make me more desperate?” you whispered and buried your face in your hands. You were starting to give up on the idea of the real being exciting, rebranding it to be terrifying instead. No longer fun if the risk was not in the distance.

“No,” he said after few seconds of contemplating. “Look at me,” his voice was gentler, and you really didn’t want to believe that tone, but you yearned and yearned for that man, and his answers could be a lie but a white one to keep you high like this.

As you looked up at him, your expression so torn apart and vulnerable, his hand reached for yours over the table, like it did that remarkable day. “If I’ve reached out to you in the beginning your thrill of the chase wouldn’t be as big as it’d be later.”

You stared at him for a few seconds. Maybe the thrill was nice but this all was still… unprecedented and cruel. “You’d tormented me for weeks, making me live in uncertainty if I’ll make enough money to live and make a name for myself, for some game?”

“The game you enjoyed too, perhaps more than me,” he said dismissively to the nuanced abuse, and spoke seriously about next argument. “You had your position from the beginning. Nothing bad would have happened, and I wouldn’t have others have you either…” his voice lowered. “I think I’m the only one who could appreciate your work fully. Understand it. Worship it. Consume it with reverence.”

Here it was. That Ayato that excited you so much. You had to squeeze your legs, and being mad at him was proving to be difficult when he was appealing to the version of him you kept in your head. And he for sure has noticed the material worth taking advantage of, as he lifted your hand to kiss and kept going up along your arm. You whimpered, body so unused to a man’s touch, further shaken by the fact it’s this spectacular man specifically.

“I’m just… scared. You have all the power here, and I don’t want you to use it against me…” you managed to voice through the haze on your mind clouding your speech.

He looked at you and licked your wrist, right where your pulse rummaged your artery. “I have all the power? I’d say you have plenty of power over me too… but if we’re talking about the legalities of it, why would I sabotage you?”

“Why?” you repeated with confusion. “I don’t know, maybe because I don’t think you can be a saint as a product of an environment like yours? What if I was to try to stray away from you? Wouldn’t want to do something I don’t want to do that you want me to do?”

“Hm, I guess your concerns can be found as valid, as I do have enough power to abuse authority. However…” He held your hand against his face, with a rather content expression — making you tingle at its vulnerability. The warmth of his skin was pleasant and more humane than his words; yet his cheeks were dry too, Ayato probably too busy to stay hydrated or moisturized, “… I won’t do that against you, especially that I don’t want our little affair to reach a tragic final. While I sometimes have to reach for less... savory methods, if I make a promise, I am a fair man and I don’t break it.”

“How can I even believe a politician with a skilled, suave mouth? Poets that can speak pretty only have mastered their craft, don’t have to mean their words,” you scolded dryly, and he chuckled. You were getting quite defiant towards someone of his position, but if the conflict between you two was more personal than professional, eroticism and taboo intertwined, perhaps it had a right to happen. If someone was to known about your secret, they would definitely cause a scandal.

“If I wanted to abuse our relationship to get something out of you, wouldn’t I’ve done so already?” he teased, and while his words sounded logical, you naturally had more concern. Nothing was so black and white, so simple, if who dictated the rules here was Ayato.

“Hold up. You have a lot to explain, Lord Ayato. How did you manage to convince other people to turn away from me? Did you threaten them? Did you hurt them? Did you say something bad about me to them?” you inquired with a clear stern mannerism, one he infuriatingly found endearing.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” he reassured, the rascal smile on his face. “I’ve only asked Yae Miko to tell people you’re still working on your portfolio, therefore you cannot take on the offer yet- not before you’ve expanded your horizons.”

You wanted to slap this man. The case was still bad. “That’s… just insane. You have a few screws loose, Lord Ayato!” you said with one, big disapproval.

“Isn’t that what excites you?” he hummed, hitting at the weak spot. “How did you find out?”

“I’ve received an angry letter, in which there’s a man asking me why I rejected him but clung to you…” Ayato sighed. He should have expected that, and he was thinking of investigating said man to make sure he doesn’t get in his your way again... “Thats okay. Some animosity and envy is expected, and it’ll pass once the emotions have deflated.”

You were getting tired of his equanimity. He was all in control, not panicking as he knew what to do, and even if not, he’d find out eventually anyway. You couldn’t relate to his temper, his behavior turned out to feel cold and unempathetic.

“Lord Ayato. I’ve worked really hard to write my light novel, worked hard to get where I am, I really don’t want to lose it all in case I’ve made some wealthy man unhappy—” The tears finally appeared, the anxiety and shock defeating your defenses.

Ayato’s expression turned serious at your breakdown, and he stood up to approach your side. He sat down next to you and pulled you into his arms, to your surprise. While you’ve been intimate over the letters, and he gave you small touches, all of this was enticing and arousing — a full hug as an affectionate gesture was unexpected. Regardless, it was hard to not give in, especially when he began to rub your back, unlocking the deep hidden need for comfort in you. “You won’t lose your progress. I wouldn’t use your creation against you, especially that I myself enjoy it too much.”

You tried to pull away from his chest when you noticed your tears were staining his clothes, but he didn’t let you. “Don’t worry about that. It’s just tears, not wine.” He wouldn’t mind your tears leaving their trace anyway —he’d keep that suit unwashed like he’s done with the cup.

He let go of you a few minutes later, grabbing your face to make you look at him. “It’s pouring quite hard, isn’t it? It’s getting late too, so I don’t think it’s a smart idea for you to go home tonight. You can stay as our guest.” His words made you look at the sky and realize he was right; even more excited at the prospect of being allowed to stay on the same grounds.

“Are you-” His hand covered your polite mouth with a cheeky smile, and he answered for you, “Yes,” before he let go.

Soon, he had a servant come to escort you to the chosen room. “I’m afraid I must return to my work that cannot be postponed for later, but, you’d make me a happy man if you do not give up on sending me these letters. Farewell,” Ayato said, before he left you with his subordinate.

Despite the truth you would have liked to call shocking being revealed to you, you and Ayato have returned to your “routine”. If anything, he now fascinated you much more with how far he was willing to go and sacrifice to achieve what you believed to be the individually made definition of courting, eliminating his rivals to be with you and have you only — straight out of your novel. Books with plot containing less safe events shouldn’t be turned into reality, but your writings were always reflections of what you secretly desired, and Ayato has long turned you delusional, and drowning in the depths of his being — no longer wanting to swim back to the surface and be saved, but be swallowed to the bottom and take a breath only by his permission. It wasn’t about receiving attention anymore — only the need to be consumed by him, until it’s your bones exposed for him to grab too, and once he rips them out, you’ll regrow them to be much stronger and ready to cause same destruction so the game can carry on.

The letters got worse too. Ayato was reciprocating your not-so-subtle eroticism.

“The idea of a woman being much more suggestive with her desires but still not expecting a man to do all the chase has been always an exciting aspect to me in your writing. An ongoing banter, where the woman keeps teasing and teasing until the man can no longer control himself, no matter how phlegmatic he wanted himself to be, and finally acts on his desires, tearing her apart… and the woman doesn’t get truly scared other than is startled, but has been anticipating this the entire time. She has been begging-not teasing it turns out-but she has to receive her penalty regardless of her innocence.

It reminds me a lot about us, when I can see your thirst and siren song, wanting to make me angry as this man, wanting for me to unleash my wrath on yoy, chew at you as you beg for mercy when there’s none, and you can only wait until I’m done and you’re gone — that sometimes I wonder if you don’t pour our relationship onto your writing… Maybe you should.”

Your heart drummed so hard it made your ears ring. You couldn’t tell if your relationship with Ayato has been becoming evident implication in your writing, but Yae Miko has told you that you were getting better at… certain aspects.

The rational woman was gone or perhaps she’s never existed in the first place if needed to show her desires to finally be caught by someone; as the idea of writing about you two, not even letting readers know it’s you to maintain the intimacy, yet still flaunting what you two had together…

You needed to go on a walk. Too pent up again.

The bustling city, it did nothing to ease your arousal if only made it worse by hurting your senses. So many people, so loud, others bumping into you — you had to sit down for a moment, on a bench outside some dango vendor’s.

You weren’t alone, two women gossiping with each other, and your brain made it a background noises as you sunk into your mind to sort the thoughts into more logical; until trained to mentions about your inamorato ears heard his name. You were listening again.

“That Commissioner, the handsome one with blue hair…”

“Oh, you mean Lord Kamisato Ayato?”

“Yes! I’ve been wondering… he’s almost, thirty, I think? And yet, he’s still not even married! So many men from different clans already are married, or at least have a fiancée, but he’s not even rumored to have his eyes on someone… there’s no way he didn’t receive any offers! He is the catch.”

“I know, right? Do you think there’s something wrong with him? Maybe… he’s that picky. Maybe, he can’t have children? Is that it? He’s also getting near an age where it’s too late for a man to have healthy children, I’ve heard from my doctor papa! Or what if he doesn’t want them at all? Is he too busy?” she gasped, thinking she might be right.

Your stomach was squeezing uncomfortably at the idea of Ayato finding a wife; therefore a woman that’s not you. It’s not that you have ever expected to become his betrothed, knowing you are not of any special birth, but the idea of losing him was devastating… and making you want to murder a person or two.

…nonetheless, the confrontation with the reality was humbling and forcing you back to earth. Their conversation was a painful reminder that you and Ayato could never be in a serious relationship, and have more than an exciting affair — and fleeting as affairs were, once the lust dies down and all of the forbidden was explored to the letter. You’d be a bigger idiot than you already were if you were to fall in love with him, if the only that awaited you was to have your heart crushed, because you can’t have him and are forced to see him marry someone else.

“Do you think so…? Hopefully not, that’d be awful! I hope it’s just him having high expectations for a woman. Kamisato clan is indeed most esteemed, in need of another big figure in their ranks. With that said, his future wife would have to be a big fish, and probably too perfect to ever exist anyway.” They giggled.

Right. You were a writer, and you shared some common desires and thoughts with Ayato, but that’s it. You were just one horny woman looking for some excitement and attention, not a noble, proper lady to make him proud and know how to operate around many other golden children like her.

You had to stand up really slowly, not as if revolted, to avoid any suspicions about your disrespectful eavesdropping, too shaken up to be not affected by their words; and left quietly before these two would notice something is wrong.

You had to end this affair, having had your fairytale dust of naivety violently removed from your body.

Your hand shook as you wrote a letter to Ayato, this time derived of excitement, with sadness and bitterness taking all the space instead. It was easier to write a letter than face him, knowing how emotional you’d get in front of him, and perhaps also risk him coerce you into staying — you couldn’t let him push you to repeat the same mistake.

“[…] I appreciate all the months we’ve spend conversing over our letter, but lately, I’ve had a lot time to think about the realities of our relationship. I cannot help but admit I’m reaching a dangerous point where there’s no turning back, and it is not you but me, Lord Ayato.

There’s a thin line between excitement and me falling for you, and the latter, I cannot have. I cannot fall in love with you because I know I can never have you. It’s obvious we come from different environments, causing me to be someone who could never marry someone like you, and while it sounds like a far reach into the future when we’re not even in relationship, that’s how serious I’d want to be about a man I love — I would think of the future like any woman. With that, falling for you would lead to a heartbreak, if I had to face you to be finally marry someone else.

I would have sacrificed my time for nothing in the end. I don’t find our time together to be a waste, of course, but I have to think about the future. I cannot spend months with you only to hear that you are engaged as the final, tragic act to our relationship.

I have never heard about how serious you were about us in the first place, at least. […]”

When a few wet droplets ruined and blurred the ink on the paper, you didn’t find strength to rewrite your letter.

Receiving your letter left Ayato with a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps he’s been taking it too slowly with you, or was even too nonchalant about showing his investment in you. He didn’t panic, however. What you’ve said in the letter doesn’t have to be taken too seriously if your response could have been written in the heat of the moment — whatever it was that suddenly got you “thinking” and feeling as if you’re in a pickle, him having long realized your emotions could be easily swayed. He had an understanding of you, that told him of the insecurities about the nature of your relationship, ones currently wanting you to get away. The crisis could be red if he shows you something enticing and brings you back.

The end wasn’t the end just because you said so, and he won’t let you turn to elusiveness. That’s why his response was brief, and assertive.

“As much as your words sadden me greatly, I cannot accept them written over the course of paper. Please seek me out at my estate, tomorrow at 19. I’ll be waiting.”

Due to the short notice, he sent one of his man to deliver it to you personally. Alas, you couldn’t escape him.

Of course he would have said that. You were so worried about him telling you to come, even more with how dry the message was — dominant, oozing unwavering control, prevailing over your emotionality. Your words were described as having saddened him, but that was just the noble talk. You couldn’t make a judge of how he actually has experienced your confession; if he was angry, amused, or… desperate to keep you.

In any case, you couldn’t let him win you over this time. Your work was at the stake if you were to fall in love so deeply you’d have neglected your future novels over heartbreak. They were still your priority.

Coming to his house, this time the guards let you come in easily, having been informed about your visit prior to it. The same man from before, Thoma, walked you to see Ayato; no longer in the garden but somewhere inside the estate. Your first guess was his office, yet then… you entered the area that seemed more secluded, no longer filled with servants passing by. The door opened and revealed many more rooms in the quiet corridor, and only someone living here would be able to tell what rooms contained if their entrances looked all the same.

You were scared at this point — you were witnessing the sudden turn from official with a mix of personal like the dynamic between you two was up till this point, to entirely personal in the blink of an eye. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to do something to you, if you had ended up here.

“Please, come inside. My lord is waiting for you already,” Thoma said politely after the door was slid open for you. His calm demeanor, you wondered if he was clueless about the upcoming danger you were thrown into, or just pretended to be, all unshaken by your trepidation — maybe he was an executioner himself, a watchful loyal guard dog, if a man like Ayato trusted him.

As you stepped into the room, your access to the world was shut behind you before you could make a last, haste decision to leave.

Ayato was seated on the tatami floor, his back turned against you. Clothed in dark blue yukata with grey haori over it, which to you looked as if changed into the last minute, suspecting he usually would still be working in the regular attire.

When he turned around, his expression serious, he gestured at the spot in front of him.

With you situated, he spoke to you, “I was surprised to receive a letter like this all of the sudden. Are you doing alright?”

Your mouth popped open, confused and offended by his words. Was he really trying to make you look as if you were unwell sending that letter, and not serious in your decision? “Yes, I am doing alright. My decision was honest, not emotional, and I think rational considering the arguments I’ve mentioned,” you said with some confidence. You had to be right about the proposed reasoning if you’ve never seen a clan member marry likes of you, not even in novels, as if it was a topic illegal to write in Inazuma.

“These are indeed sound arguments, but I think our situation deserves a more thorough examination. While it’s true a relationship between someone like me and you would be typically condemned, and doomed from the beginning…” he moved closer to you, and stroked your cheek, as his eyes wandered over every part of your face, taking in your vulnerability and longing, “… I also know how to deal with obstacles, and not even once I’ve taken our romance lightly.”

“R-romance?” you choked out, not expecting the usage of the word. It felt good, but even more unrequited with your worries.

“Romance. It’s certainly not some simple physical lust, no matter how… risqué ans titillating our words have become. I do see you for more than this, especially when I was gifted with a familiar mind always craving something among the lines of my own greed,” he whispered and kissed your hot cheek. Your eyelashes fluttered and you squirmed in your seat. “You don’t want a merciful and respectful lover, do you?”

“Stop… stop doing this. You’re using affection against me. You still haven’t truly acknowledged my concerns. I was right about us never being able to be truly together, was I?” your voice trembled as you begged for the answer.

“What has led you to have that conclusion in the first place?” he inquired.

“Just answer my question, Lord Ayato! It’s unfair to try to make me love you and then make me witness you leaving me, so I need to know!” you erupted, and his hand grabbed onto your neck. He didn’t squeeze, he didn’t look threatening, and still, it was him telling you to keep quiet before you reach other conclusions; exerting his hold over the curveball in your relationship, a man lying to himself so you don’t have a chance to see the hungry black hole you’ve torn in him too.

“I’ll answer your paranoias once you provide me with more information,” he said calmly. It felt plenty of humiliating to be emotional in front of a rock; even if it didn’t make you to be the one unhealthy and irrational person here — being impassive and indifferent was close to inhumane, uncaring, and wiped out of any sympathy.

“Fine!” you huffed. “I’ve heard people in the city talk about you, asking themselves why you’re still not married. There was a suggestion of infertility but also you being picky! And then a thought that you would need someone to be perfect in order to choose to marry them! That’s when I was reminded I can’t ever have someone like you, truly. I can have an affair with you, but I can’t ever be officially with you and some woman would steal you from me eventually!” your voice cracked and you were crying.

Ayato sighed and his hand left your throat in purchase of stroking your cheek instead. “And why do you think I haven’t gotten married yet?”

You had enough of him and these stupid questions, not informing you but stirring confusion and frustration. You wanted answers, not be made to play a guessing game. “I don’t know! You’re too busy! You’re too picky! You’re too bored to be with anyone! Whatever that is wrong with you, just for damn sake of not torturing me say it!” you forced with anger.

His fingers wiped your tears, and he finally enlightened your provoked mind. “What’s true is that I haven’t gotten married because I’m too busy. What’s not true is that I cannot have children. What for sure is the truth is me being picky.”

“There were many women offered for me to marry, many of them women beautiful and considered to be on another level of valuable compared to you, but…”

“I haven’t wanted someone enough to bind myself to them, until now. All of these women deserve respect, and the problem was in me wanting more than just proper, when that’s what unfortunately is expected of them.”

“It seems I was too perverse to be compatible with someone who doesn’t show tendencies compared to mine, or someone who’s not afraid to… step out of society’s comfort zone; no matter if appearing to be a pariah as a consequence. I’ve used to believe my desires are only natural, but Thoma led me to realize I’m the oddity, ironically. I’d have to either scare this woman, or pretend to be a righteous man for her sake for the rest of my life — an existence rather suffocating.”

“Shame is only in the woman who finally met these requirements not being of my status, but even that can be managed,” he finally ended his speech, leaving you startled. This time, you felt as if he meant his words — words that meant you were the only woman who had truly picked up his interest. Albeit, words speaking to your deepest craving, the tool to spark excitement and desire back then, now actually scared you when the final truth about Ayato has been revealed. Darkness he’s been hiding only to slowly release it onto you, entrapping you with him from the beginning and letting you be aware of his intentions only once he’s decided to take the action. Furthermore horrific when he sounded as if he would make sure you’re his, removing any obstacles in his way — one he dug with his own bare hands to get to you, before you even were aware of his existence around you.

“You’re saying that… despite our differences in social class, you’d still find a way to make us a thing?”

“If one had to put it in simple terms, then yes. I could make you my wife, if I choose to. Of course, marrying someone of your status wouldn’t be without some backlash, hence why…” his voice was serious again. “I could always make you one of us, my dear.”

The capability of his obsession with you hit you like a train. He was actually willing to marry you, and you couldn’t even understand how this would be possible, the cluster of your thoughts coming to no profound conclusion. You wanted Ayato until you didn’t. Playing erotic game with him was fun, but tying yourself to him for the rest of your life, to the influence he was ready to smear over you… it was only jealousy that made you hesitate about letting him go. You got too close to the fire and got burn.

You were a dumb, dumb woman — crying about not having him only to want to be away from him. Yet, even if you were to choose to not pursue the relationship with him from the beginning, wouldn’t he still make you his anyway? Was this a matter of choice or the convenience of you still enjoying the cage slowly becoming less spacious?

“How is that even possible?” you voiced angrily. “Do you want to meet wrath of our archon or something?”

“Kamisato means “god’s village”, and the phrase keeps being proven to be a rightful title everyday, as me and my family work hard to keep Inazuma protected, and at peace. If I decide to marry you, it’s because it was bestowed upon me,” he scolded.

“You want me, as much as I want you. Once you’ve met me, you knew there’s no one else who could satisfy that hollowness within you like I could.”

“No, I don’t want you! I want the idea of you, the man over the letter, not the man doing shady things to trap me with him!” you protested, while hateful of him trying to make himself to be a pious man. “It’s nothing but fantasies.”

“I’m not trapping you, if I’m calling you to my side. That man is me, it’s always been me. Now you can have him everyday. This doesn’t have to end, our exchange and games, and you showing me what are you made of.”

You gasped as his face was very close to yours, with an intention to kiss you. “It’s only a matter of finding an older relative of yours, connected to one of the clans by even the smallest relevance, and making it look like as if you’ve been a deserving member all along, now regaining her status.”

“That’s… you have no right to do things like that, Lord Ayato! You’ve promised me you won’t abuse your authority!”

“And I’ve kept my promise,” he muttered and kissed along your jaw, making you freeze. “I said I won’t abuse my authority against you.” Just against anyone else to get you here. “I’ve done nothing against you, if I’m giving you the biggest opportunity of your life. Yet, it seems even luxuries don’t entice you in our courting, which speaks well of your conscience, no matter if birds like you deserve to be spoiled… which is alright — I’ll just have to show you why there’s no place for running away.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. He was excusing everything, he was trying to act as if he’s been acting in your name too, and now he was kissing you like a lover — neglecting the contradictory messages behind his precious actions. “Stop this, I don’t want to be touched by you at the moment.” You tried to push him away from you, but he grabbed your hands and held them against his chest.

“Can you hear my heart? Does it sound cold or unaffected to you? Am I heartless?” His heart indeed raced under your veins, and was unhealthier than yours. Has he been hiding this the entire time under the facade of a man in control? The analogy between him and your first drafts…

“That’s… lust. Any man would be erratic when touching a woman.” But the odd, angry look on his face made you believe it was worse than lust.

“Do not undervalue my feelings. You were never something as negligible as a woman to play with. I haven’t spent months of holding myself back just to be seen as a nothing but a selfish, hungry man to use you and throw you away. Do you think I didn’t want to force myself onto you when you’ve met me at the teahouse? It was unbearable but I’ve waited until you want me too, so you have no hesitation left about our desires being mutual. But it seems you have a cheek to doubt me, that’s why I’ll prove it to you there’s no one for you but me.”

The intensity of his confessions has worked its effect on you, revoking the barriers of logic, but it seemed you bit more that you could chew — can you truly handle a fantasy becoming real?

Your body said yes already, a long time ago in fact, crying out for the object of your desires of months; it was the mind holding onto the last remains of rationality and fear.

“Lord Ayato, wait—”

“You’ve brought this onto yourself, me included. Reap what you sow,” he said harshly and smacked your lips with his, and the skilled hand placed itself on your back for his body to push you to the floor.

The kiss was greedy, matching his latest hunger, and he devoured you on the spot. With the last will to protest, you tried to push him away from the top of you — to no success. And while you didn’t reciprocate at first, your mind was reminded of so many of the fantasies gathered upon last months, you were begging yourself to do something.

Ayato’s knees separated your legs when he felt you tense and struggle less, your lips now following his, yet as if unsure or… inexperienced?

He finally let you breathe, looking at the flustered and shaken form of you below him. “What’s holding you back so much?” he asked, breathless himself. His words contorted your expression into embarrassment, and he had to ask, “Have you… never been kissed before?” the words barely left his mouth, as if seeing it as theory too impossible to be plausible. You, in his eyes, were attractive, and being closer to his age, you should have had some experience.

You wanted to bury your head into the sand. “Uh… no?”

“… No?” his eyes widened. He tried to understand why you wouldn’t have any experience, but the bigger feeling clouded the impression — elation. If what you said was to be right, he’d be the first man to ever touch you, taste you and have an influence on you. It was him as first and last man to have you.

“So you’ve never kissed… and, never were intimate either, I assume?” he tried to make the sense.

When you nodded, he wanted to marry you on the spot. You were his, truly, on another level. He would be the first man to guide you through roads of pleasure, first in telling you what you want, the only man on your mind — his work in monopolizing you bore its fruit.

Ayato wanted to corrupt you, so you need, want, and see him only; and so you finally accept yourself and him for who two of you were. To make you see this is what you’ve begging for the entire time, in your letters, in your books; a man to grab you, paint you bad, and then let you destroy him too — how else would he knows he’s being loved by you?

“How is that possible?”

“I just… didn’t find any man interesting enough to feel desire towards them? I don’t know… it’s until I’ve met you that I—never mind,” you cut off, not empathetic enough to give him even more leverage than he already had.

He knew what you stopped yourself from uttering, but he didn’t pressure you to answer as he’d typically do — it’d be too much for him to take, this time.

He didn’t realize how much he was shaking until he wiped his forehead covered in sweat. “If you truly are a virgin… I assume we could wait with it until our wedding night, if it shouldn’t be that far from now, to make your first time special  but… I don’t think any of us could wait. We’ll have many more nights like this, and I’ll keep taking you as many times I need until you think the best of you belongs and was revealed to me.”

“W-wedding night?” he was serious about the marriage thing, but him wanting to ruin you out of your virginity state was your biggest concern for the moment. You’ve never had sex before, you didn’t want it to be painful, you were not given any chance to get accustomed to any of what Ayato has thrown at you today either. “No, I’m not ready, Lord Ayato—”

“Ayato.”

“What?” you whispered, too stunned, as he suddenly lifted you up into his arms and carried to another room.

“Call me Ayato when it’s just the two us.”

When he saw that reluctance again, he pleaded, “Please.”

The desperation in his voice made you gulp, and you couldn’t accuse him of it being fake. It was working on you too, having been deprived of him for so long only to be given him on a silver platter.

“A-Ayato. I’ve never done this, I don’t think I can… do that.”

“Shh, I’ll be gentle. I promise,” he said softly and was placing you on the futon in his own room, one you had no chance to fully take in, as he was kissing you again. He tried to hold back for your sake, guiding you through the kiss, and moving your head by your jaw to show you the right angle.

You were falling, you were dreaming with your eyes closed, overwhelmed by the musk and flutter of his perfume infused with distinct tsubaki flowers irritating your nose. His hands were everywhere, he was everywhere, even soaking the walls with his presence. This shouldn’t be happening, you shouldn’t be letting him do this, but you were weak against him, and have found yourself in the scenario written by you now becoming real.

When his mouth left your lips you weren’t given any respite when he went down your neck, making you whimper. “Lo—I mean, Ayato, slow down…” you pleaded.

“Why?” he murmured against your skin, the vibration and breath only making it worse for untouched body. “You are enjoying yourself, and don’t think of me as a fool — I’ve seen how unappeasably you are behaving around me.” His words struck you and got you further flustered, when this man was absolutely right about your shameful nature.

“Still… we’re not even a couple—” you moaned out as he ground against you, his obvious bulge scratching your clit with the friction of your clothes.

“That is just a label. We might not be together officially, however… we have much more than this, and you’ll be my wife soon anyway. I believe we’ve known each other, on mind level especially, for a satisfactory period of time…” he admitted intensely, as he looked at you below him. You were barely breathing and it was because of him; and while that mouth was spilling protest, he knew all he needed to know to pursue this tango of decoy.

The title “wife” sounded so enticing and scary, and you were stuck in limbo. If you get away, you’ll miss him and never have yourself fed properly. If you get too close to the sun, you’ll burn.

Ayato will ruin you and you could only beg it’s not going to swallow you as whole, corrupt your mind and left you needing more. He’ll shove into a predicament of you having to ruin him just the same, so you two are equal and able to coexist.

Seeing the dilemma written all over your face, Ayato decided to keep luring you. “I’ll take a good care of you.”

When his hands moved to remove untie your layers, you found yourself frozen and tense from the anticipation. You were so needy, so under his spell — how double faced Ayato was didn’t even matter anymore, when he was finally being honest with you and himself.

His breath hitched when he saw your nude body, an image he’s been trying to form in his head only to be ruined by the real sight being ten times better. His hand, now shaking, travelled on the valley between your breasts, making your hair stand in goosebumps. “You really are a piece of art…” His mind entertained the idea of asking an artist to create shunga with you two in it, but he ultimately decided a man like that would have to his eyes gouged out right afterwards.

“Thank you for this gift,” he said, as if it was you who offered yourself, ironically. You whimpered when his hands touched your breasts and trapped your nipples between his long finger. Seeing your reaction, he hummed. “You weren’t lying about being a virgin. You are as sensitive as one.”

“Just stop… you’re too shameless,” you muttered with no conviction, making him snicker. “Me? Shameless? Did you forget these little letters of yours?” his voice was teasing, as he leaned close to your ear to remind you of the debauchery you spilled onto your papers once:

“The man’s hand always cold, now became a scorching sun under his lover’s skin. She writhed under him, trying to escape the torment, but her belly burned as hot…” Ayato smiled against your neck as he felt you shudder. He broke you this way, instilling a desire too strong to continue rationalizing this situation, and looking for his faults.

“Let me be that man.”

Ayato settled down between your legs properly, to kiss over your belly, leaving trails of saliva against your skin so warm you thought you’d see it turn into steam. “Do you think this is what she felt? Or do you think it was worse?” he inquired in low tone, as his lips were on your abdomen, too close to the area that now felt pained and throbbing. His hands held onto your thighs, not allowing to close on him.

“W-worse,” you answered, not much thinking, but feeling what she felt.

“Is that bad enough?” he asked and kissed your mound, to which your hips jerked up. “It would seem so…” he mused. “Ayato, I can’t…” you whimpered. “You can’t or you don’t want to?” The question shut your feverish mind off, knowing you’d probably cry if he was to stop now. “It’s just too much…”

“It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive… or maybe you want me this much your body just cannot help itself. But don’t worry, once you’ll get used to my touch you will only ask for more — not try to escape my touch.”

His gaze lowered to the wet pool between your folds, liquid quantities showing how unregulated your body was. Years of being denied only for you to be finally given — he was going to overheat your body once you get everything you’ve wanted. “Such a naughty girl.”

You moaned loudly when his finger gently rubbed your clit, rolling the small button. “I still feel honored to be the first man to be doing this to you… I’d probably want to erase any previous history from your body if I wasn’t the first guest. You’ve given me a chance greater than any other. Yes, I really was blessed…”

Ayato’s manic blabbering got you only more horny, if you were no better in enjoying such sentiments. “Ayato… it feels weird…”

“Shh, it’s okay. It must feel different from when you… touched yourself, I assume. Did you think of me when doing this?” the perverse tone didn’t escape your ears, and you burned with shame.

“Y-yes…” you were too eager to share. “Too many times…”

You whimpered when his finger finally entered your virgin hole, the walls squeezing and burning uncomfortably despite your arousal. His thrusts became slow for your sake, letting you adjust to the intrusion. He distracted you with more talk, “Do you think I’ve done the same?”

You gulped. “I hope so.”

“I’ll let you know I’m perhaps worse than you. I shouldn’t be this way, if I have many more things to worry about.” You were so drunk by his words you didn’t register second finger slipping in. “But you had to ruin that streak of order. And now, I can no longer have myself back until I’ve conquered you and sated myself.”

You moaned at his words, the reciprocated sentiment making you feel most exhilarated. It was beautiful how very specific desires could belong to two people at the same time, and even more when two of these people had a change to meet… The fate, or the puppet play by the hand of heavens above?

The pleasure was gnawing at your insides, and you were humping your hips against his hand fervently. “Ayato…”

He was growing harder and harder everytime you uttered his name. “Is too much…” you mewled, unused to such bliss. You felt good when touching yourself, but it’d never be anywhere near good in the greatness of the object of your fantasies pleasuring you.

“But isn’t it liberating too?” he whispered and with more jerks, he was between your thighs, suckling on your clit as he kept thrusting the fingers in. “No, no, no!” Too sensitive, you tried to escape the torture on your nerves, but he didn’t let you break his sequence of torment.

“Let it go. You still have a lot ahead of you, and you are a deserving recipient of your first pleasure being with me,” he said among the slurps of your wetness.

He was too cruel and unnerved by your whines, that you had no choice but to come on his fingers, almost hitting your head against the pillow below from how terribly the crash shook you. Your walls pulsed in and out on his fingers, and he held you tightly to himself, needing to feel the tremors of your body to bury the physicality of your unraveling deep into his mind in sake of remembrance and worship.

“Beautiful…” he whispered, and above you again, he kissed your lips and spread your taste, enjoying how messy you’ve become with technique after the numbing pleasure — no longer inexperienced, but too incoherent to be proper in opposition.

“Now,” he exclaimed and slowly pulled you up to be sitting again. “I need you to help me too.”

Your mind’s haze cleared upon his words, additionally when seeing him undress himself. “What? You don’t mean…” You were more panicked when seeing him reveal his cock — all hard and leaking already. He wasn’t that thick, rewarded with length instead, yet to a virgin like you any size would be worrying.

“You need to, if you don’t want me to leave you too sore. My stamina might be better than yours.”

You knew what he meant. It wasn’t a matter of getting him ready and hard, but of making him come sooner so he doesn’t fuck your unused body for too long for you to handle.

“I’m… I haven’t done that either… I don’t think I can…” The though of having him in your mouth was another unclaimed territory for you, and it didn’t sound pleasant either.

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you. You don’t have to do too much. You’re not going to make this one sided either, are you? I’m trying so hard for you here.”

You weren’t sure if he was trying to make you guilty or willing, but you eventually gave in, your mind going down to possibilities of witnessing his reactions. You needed to drive that man crazy and regain your control. Seeing your further silence be took as agreement, Ayato stood up, and looked at you expectantly.

You crawled forward and sat on your knees, before his cock was grabbed by your hand, virgin in its hold as well. It felt weird to feel his manliness — it was hard, but the skin of it was thin and smooth, and that part of his body felt warmer even than his lips. “Use your saliva,” he instructed to which you, shyly with some opposition at the prospect of tasting a thing on your tongue, let some saliva drip from your mouth onto his tip. You could tell he was neuralgic in this area when he shuddered. “Good… now, stroke me a little.”

“Uh…” your hand went up and down. You weren’t entirely clueless about your moves, having read many erotic stories, so you tried to translate your knowledge into reality; even if the confrontation was realistically awkward. “Yes,” his voice was raspy, the hold you had over his pleasure creeping into his tone. “You should suck on the tip.”

You felt nervous, as having him in your mouth carried a connotation of choking or even vomiting, yet the incentive to ruin him pushed you to envelope your lips around and suckled on tip as if on a candy.

You yelped when his hand grabbed onto your hair, tugging on it painfully. “Just… just like that…” he exhaled. The view on the top of your head was glorious to him, witnessing your form on your knees, as if you were worshiping him, and solidifying the idea of you being owned by him.

Your discomfort was bigger when he began to guide your head downward, his cock filling your mouth and almost hitting your throat. “Breathe through your nose. I won’t let you suffocate,” he reassured after having noticed your chest’s elevation.

Hearing the promise, you started to bop your head down and up on your own, keeping your lips pressed inside so you shouldn’t hurt him with your teeth. The more of it, you fell into the smooth continual of your movements, focused only on how full your mouth was and the gamy taste in it. Ayato was here, above you, and all over you.

Ayato’s chest stung with a prickles of jealousy, worried you’ve done something like this before, you a bit too natural at this; but relaxed when noticing the small tears and uncertainty on your face still lingering. In exchange, he was overjoyed with pride at your compliance, and stroked your head in praise.

His favorite guilty pleasure, so eager to pleasure him and drunk on him, her eyes lidded heavily more and more with every take of his cock — thinking of him only, as she should.

“You’re rather good at this…” believing you could be used to bigger means, he gently filled your mouth more until you gagged alarmingly too hard; with that, your lips tightened on him and he let out a choke himself. He let you pull away, finding odd pleasure at your struggle in form of a cough. He didn’t want you to suffocate, but you pushing yourself through discomfort for his sake was rewarding, if reminding you’d be here no matter what happens; or rather, no matter what he does to you. “Okay, you probably can’t take more for now…” neither could he, “We’ll save teaching you how to pleasure me for another time.”

You trembled with both anxiety and excitement as he implied this isn’t the last time he’s intimate with you.

Ayato looked at the mess of you he’s made — you were breathing heavily, spit was all over your face, some submissiveness has intruded your eyes already; and with the way you squeezed your legs, you surely weren’t acting ignorant about being guilty.

“All these late night fantasies are about to become reality, my dear,” he announced, and pushed you down to his futon with a press of his hand against your shoulder. The zenith of your anxiety now — you were going to have your virginity taken, or rather stolen, and experience Ayato taking you. Maybe it’d hurt. Maybe it wouldn’t feel good at all. Maybe you would see yourself as a completely different person afterwards.

“Ayato…” you said, your tone nervous.

“Hush. I said I’ll be gentle, didn’t I? As possibly as I can be.” Perhaps not a promise at all, then.

Your breath hitched when he grabbed your legs and placed them on the side of his hips, and you rested your hands onto his shoulders. He looked so victorious yet beautiful over you, as if he was the one to finally bastardize you enough to reveal anything bad you’ve hidden about yourself that made him bad too, and make it a new you. A vixen of a woman, a beast of a man, finally coming together and destroying each other until there’s nothing left to gnaw at.

With a last stroke of your cheek, Ayato grabbed his cock and smeared the tip against your wetness. You gasped and you squirmed, when being prodded like this was scraping your nerves.

It was just a tip inside that got you trashing, the stretching pressure on the skin of your hole unpleasant, and he had to hold you down.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” He kept fucking the entrance like this. Only when you stopped moving and were so whiny and needy, he pushed inside in one move until you hugged the half of him.

Your feet flailed on his sides and your fingers dug into his shoulders painfully, overwhelmed by the stretch not so hurtful but for sure burning. Ayato cursed under his breath, feeling tortured by how tightly you squeezed on him. He wasn’t so sure of his stamina anymore.

He let you both adjust, kissing your neck and praising you against your ear, “We’re finally connected in a way no one can steal from us. You’re doing so good, giving yourself to me…”

The first mention of you giving yourself, you were confused about the wording, yet now, the second time, it finally clicked in your mind — you were giving yourself as he said, because you’ve been burdened with the need to have this happen to you for ages. You wanted him to strip you, and you let him do it willingly by accepting these affections as you enjoying and craving them; the body screaming to absorb and keep the traces forever. You wanted to be his, you wanted him to darken your mind, and now you wanted him in your guts.

He’s been acutely aware of your fetish for him the entire time.

“Please…” here you finally were, accepting what was right and needed to be done. You had no hesitation left, no argument against. Maybe they were never right or logical to the publicity, but you two made your own rules.

The smile appearing on his lips was much more wicked when the moonlight strolled into the room, highlighting the shade of purple you’d never forget — not as dark as a thunder or naku weed, not matching the blue of notorious hydrangeas spread across the estate, nor greyish as purple of a dead person; but the color of the flower you first saw stomped on and miraculously regrown few weeks later, having been felled by the same person who accidentally crushed it.

“Of course.”

Ayato sheathed himself fully inside of you, and after a few more still merciful seconds to let you adjust, he started to fuck you — not make love, if fucking you wasn’t making love itself. Not fast, not hard, but so deep you choked on every thrust, wanting to look at him only — that you did.

The man overtaking every part of your body, his lavender eyes staring into your own and nowhere else, your bodies falling into the same rhythm. You couldn’t even speak, and the heat in your belly was a pure warmth of fireplace, no longer intrusive, but as harmful if burn too intensely.

As he sped up, your hips joined, the virgin no longer virgin but a woman wanting to be consumed this way everyday.

Gentleness was long forgotten too, and he still didn’t lie — he was gentle, at first, if now no one wanted this mercy anymore. Gentleness was the thing to harm you, if you weren’t born wanting compassion. His hands grabbed your hips to console himself, as he leaned down to kiss you like a joke of a man you’ve made him to be, and you obliged by letting him tangle the tongue in.

You were limp when he flipped you over onto your belly and mounted you by lying his body heavily on top of yours. You were trapped yet didn’t want to escape, forever kept being reopened by his cock, and only taking and taking until his size was engraved in you for eternities.

“Ayato…” you cried out, your nails scratching at the mats outside of the futon to escape, not as lush as the pleasure in your already sore walls, forced to be stretched and shaped into a man’s size for the first time.

The hand looking for anything to hold onto was pinned down by his, before its fingers entangled with yours to connect. His other hand, it gathered your hair and arched your neck back, for him to violently bite into it. You writhed in pain, you were sure his teeth tore enough to make you bleed, and he didn’t let you go until the ache turned into another pleasure to code in your body.

He licked the wound, the old tale of saliva having healing properties only ready to infect, and then kissed it — only he could hurt you, only to then then fix you, so you’re never at peace and think of him as not yours. How can Ayato call himself a lover if he wasn’t dual in his treatment with you — if hurting you, he’s honest and just like you; if treating the hurt, he’s devoted and loving to you.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, emphasizing with the further tug on your hair, your head forced to the side and closer to be face to face. “Yes,” you choked out. “Good.” And he kissed you to soothe the pain.

Withdrawing, his eyes fell on the swollen mark on your skin with a delighted sigh. He then looked at you, staring into his eyes with trust and need, and your mouth spilled gratitude in form of moans as he kept fucking you.

With the continuous grip on your hair, he now pounded into you, his hips plush against your ass. His cock was hating and hurting you; while his face loved, drowned in pride for you. “You’re taking me so well, I’m sure you can take some more, can’t you?” he spoke glued to your expression, his lover away in the space she’s created in her head for only him and her.

“Yes. Please, Ayato, I need it…” you begged, wetting the pillow with your tears; ones he needed to make overflow so he can be sure he’s ruined you.

He let your head hit the pillow, the hand previously in your hair now slapping your bottom, adding to the sting of his thrusts. When you cried out in pain, your mouth was gagged with his fingers ordering you to suck on them. The next, cruel spank, the fingers were bitten to blood leaving its taste on your tongue. Ayato’s gasp of pain caused him to hasten his pace, and he had to punish you with hit again when you clenched around him as if in chase of making a tomfoolery of his being — he now was no better than you, or any other man on this continent.

The fight between you two continued until he kidnapped you to lie on your side. Ayato’s arms wrapped around your torso, one so high it almost choked you, and with you caged like this, he brought your body back and forth onto his dick to split you further.

Your head lolled limply back onto his shoulder, and the hand on the lower level slipped between your thighs to rub your bud wet so much his finger almost slipped away. You trashed when the other hand played with your nipple — futile when Ayato kept you immobilized in his arms.

Your body was on fire when he’s decided to break you with mad kisses on your neck as the last necessary step, the kettle of fish of different sensations ruling your body.

“You wriggle so much when it cannot be that bad if you only feel pleasure, hm?” he teased with a bite on your earlobe, and you moaned loud. Of course he was no better than you — barely withholding his grunts and own moans — but he wanted you to lose the last remains of sanity first before he’d let himself feel the full pleasure, needing to guide you to the final acceptance. You were so tight, threatening to keep him inside every time he pulled out, and incredibly hot in your insides the ecstasy for his cock was heightened.

“No…” you disagreed. It wasn’t just feeling good; you were also falling and sinking deep into the unknown of what another human can provide if they get you, and you were scared for it to end now that you’ve got the taste. The real fear, however, was even in how overwhelming the transition was. “It’s terrible.”

“Terrible?” he asked through gritted teeth, and snapped his hips against your thighs hard. His arms tightened on you and his clit stimulus was relentless. “I guess I haven’t made you scream hard enough.”

Your hands beat at his forearms, your feet kicked at his legs behind yours when he took on an inhumane pace and depth, and he only continued fucking you so hard you thought you were going to die. The blood pressure was spiked enough to make you dizzy and your body flying light, as the overstimulation was a sign of something awful coming.

The approaching orgasm shook your body violently, and the high pitched scream you let out was barely heard by your own ringing ears muffled with white noise. His comment was inaudible too, “You’re finally where you should be.”

When you became a cotton of body in his arms, exhausted by the unleashed demise, you weren’t given a moment of respite. Ayato fucked you through your climax, ignoring your sobs as he chased the high himself.

“You’re feeling unreal… yet, you are real and mine...” he cursed, his hands squeezing your flesh on thighs and stomach, the touch painful on your sensitive body. “I’m never letting you go…”

His legs convulsed and tensed up when he was right there, and you still kept pulsing around him from your own peak.

He clicked his tongue as he had to pull out last second, not allowed to produce a child out of wedlock; which didn’t mean he’d let his seed go to waste. His cum landed between your thighs, him imagining it’s the result of it leaking out after it was implanted inside of you.

Seconds dragged as he held you back against his chest, the breaths becoming slower and turning into exhaustion as you made your descent. Even more time you needed to arrange everything that happened into your head, and comprehend it.

Ayato has taken your virginity. Ayato is obsessed with you. Ayato is going to make you his wife. You wondered what title this story should earn.

You didn’t feel scared anymore.

You shuddered when he pulled away his sticky body from yours, and sighed when he turned you around to face him. His face was red, redder than you’d ever see, and he looked as if in love with you if it wasn’t for the lilac of his eyes now almost black with the pupils blown in mischief.

No, he was in love with you. It just wasn’t the only association towards you, if he was as obsessed.

“You did well. Perhaps too well for a virgin, that it was proven difficult for me to control myself,” he said softly, and grabbed your hand to kiss.

“You didn’t control yourself at all,” you pointed out, deadpanning.

Ayato chuckled. “Yes, but as I said, you took this treatment so well. You didn’t give me a reason to be delicate.”

“So it’s my fault?” you raised your brow, and he gently bit on your fingertip.

“It’s no one’s fault. You, instead, enjoyed yourself,” he teased and brought you tight-knit against his chest, his hands massaging flesh in apology and soothe.

“As much as I have enjoyed you,” he said in a lower tone, slowly growing serious. “But, don’t let this event go to waste. I hope you understand the meaning behind it, and that you don’t dare to think I was joking about any of my intensions towards you.”

“You mean the marriage…” you sighed. “But I don’t want to give up on writing just so I could marry you.” You assumed this profession would be banned for you if you were to marry him. You didn’t say yes either, no matter if Ayato wouldn’t withdraw at your rejection.

“I’ve never said that you’d have to abandon writing. You can continue your work, at least under an anonymous name.”

“I’ve never said yes to your marriage proposal either,” you rebutted. His grip tightened on you and you reveled in short-lived power over him, finding some new part of yourself that wanted to ruin, abuse, provoke and torment too — as a sign of devotion.

“You didn’t have to. Not only am I the only man who could handle you, you also want me. Marriage is just a document to keep other suitors away from me… and you too, should you become too famous and have an excess of the male fans.”

“As if you’d let them near me,” you taunted, and he looked at you with no reciprocated enthusiasm. “You’re right I wouldn’t.”

“I still don’t have to say yes to you. I don’t think I ever was truly insane, only when near you. You’re not good for my health, Ayato.”

“As if you ever cared,” now it was his turn to taunt, with the cheeky smile on his handsome face. “I’m starting to pity my own admirers that might get in your way one day, if what they will face is this scary woman, doubtedly willing to share...”

To that, the exertion didn’t stop you from landing your punishment. “I’m not letting you have me so easily, Ayato,” you exclaimed and pinned him under you, kissing him with fervor and rage, despite his hands still so soft and gentle on you so you don’t think he’s been a brute in means unwanted by you.

You couldn’t fuck him, sadly; not when your body was in need of recovery. Which didn’t mean there weren’t other ways of getting back at him before you two would have to collapse. Each way as delicious, never making it even between you two as Ayato would decide you were a bit unfair in the extent of your punishment, needing to elevate it back to the equal level — an excuse to keep doing this everyday, so the game never ends, never with a winner as that’d mean an end.

Your life was only about to begin, and when you were the first to relent and fall asleep with the kiss on your still hot forehead, Ayato knew he’s secured his future with you. A future that could be only peaceful, despite the flame that will never go out, as the acceptance of your venture was finally there. Two lovers coming intertwined, living and enriched in each other's darkness.

The flower you were has finally rebloomed, its petals new as darker than ever.

[velvetvexations]

We were thinking about some of the many misconceptions involved in gender essentialism recently, and one that stuck out to us as often causing a lot of downstream bad takes: it seems like some trans discourse theorists think (implicitly or explicitly) that, at the exact moment that a trans man notices and and acknowledges his gender identity as male, (even if only in the quiet of his own mind and heart), he immediately and retroactively becomes heir to and in possession of the full scope of male privilege in the context of a patriarchal society, by nothing more than the sheer force of this internal identification alone.

This is obviously a compelling idea for some people, but in terms of a person’s literal daily reality in society, it’s immediately ludicrous: someone who has grown up being repeatedly assigned and policed into a female social role isn’t going to suddenly have benefited from the full scope of male privilege just because his internal sense of gender doesn’t align with the one that society has been trying to make him fit into, nor will the marks from the specific type of violent gender enforcement experiences that any “girl who is acting insufficiently feminine and also excessively masculine” is frequently subject to be erased on the spot. Furthermore, most places in a transphobic society will not acknowledge his gender as real and valid masculinity if he expresses it, and continue to treat him—likely with escalating intensity—as a member of the aforementioned category of “deviant” girls/women (which, it should be mentioned, can potentially include people of any gender as well as trans men). Most cis and perisex boys and men, however, do not get societally categorized and treated as “deviant girls/women” at any point in their lives (even though their societally-assigned gender roles are also policed in violent and harmful ways too, of course). Therefore, thinking that an arbitrary trans man’s internal gender identity alone is sufficient to grant him categorical societal male privilege isn’t likely to accurately reflect his experiences—and it becomes even more obvious when considering multigender singlets, intersex people, and systems.

Do we personally instantly gain and lose Categorical Male Privilege every time that my headmate (male) switches in for me (female) and vice versa, when the only observable changes are slight differences in posture, intonation, and personality? Does changing our clothing and presentation—even though we currently only pass as one of our genders, not both—instantly afford or deny us the sanction of the patriarchy, ignoring the reality of an internal gender identity or of our outward body and societally-perceived gender? (I will keep it ambiguous as to what our own societally-perceived gender is, because examples of both “directions” of this situation are common in the system population). And, of course—what happens if we’re both co-fronting? What if we’re blurred and experiencing identity confusion? Do we have schrodinger’s male privilege until one of us is able to ground themselves fully in front? Etc. So much of the discourse we see seems to hinge upon binary and immutable categories of Male vs Female (sometimes stylized as “masc vs femme”, with little to no added nuance), and reducing people to nothing more than their AGABs—just with the cis-typical power dynamic assumption inverted. Which…well. The glaring exorsexism and refusal to acknowledge the complexity that even a binary-gender person may experience is confusing and alienating.

It's because it's gender validating. Like, if you feeling like a woman or a man means you're instantly treated exactly identical to cis women or cis men, yay, objective proof of your soul-gender. And to do this people willfully confuse "being treated like a cis woman" with "being treated badly" and "being treated badly" and "being treated like a cis man" with "being treated with baseline decency," and then assumes that those experiences are universally consistent among trans people along gender lines.

[changingplumbob]

First Impressions - Lara

How do you feel so far?

About the introduction meeting? I felt a little shyer than I would have liked, but you know that moment when you see someone and… your system just crashes? *laughs* Lara with friends is the type to put on the playlist, buy a few shots, and start a group dance, but Lara with Deanna… wow, did you see that look? She saw right through me! Because of that little “system crash,” I thought I might not have performed so well, but I guess my flirty recovery worked out *laughs*. I’m really happy with my ranking and hope to keep it up! I’m excited!! I don’t know what to expect, but I hope the stamina I have for eating a big meal is the same for whatever challenge comes next! And good luck to all the other contestants as well!

Apolline

Isn't she a bit too self-centered? I mean, I’m not one to judge people without getting to know them first; after all, I’m always around all kinds of people at the parties I go to, but none quite like her, to be honest. She’s studying fashion, right? I just hope I don’t get a lecture on how I should or shouldn’t dress *laughs*. But you know… maybe that’s just her way of being. Maybe she gives off this ‘I’m better than everyone’ vibe on the outside, but deep down, she’s just waiting for someone to pull her onto the dance floor. I’ll give her a chance… who knows, maybe she just needs someone to show her that life isn’t just about glamour, but also about having fun!

Callie

Ok, I already like this girl a lot *laughs*. I’m not being ironic or anything, she’s genuinely someone I’d love to have around. I mean, she’s on a TV show and still seems kind of lost; I love that!! How many people would have that kind of courage? It’s admirable, considering her social discomfort. Plus, she’s definitely someone I need to keep away from the sound system and any potentially dangerous cables *laughs*. But hey, if she trips, I’ll be there to catch her… or at least laugh along before helping her up!

Hana

I have to admit that while socializing with her, the thought crossed my mind that she might be a bit… dramatic. But now that I think about it, she’s someone who has presence! She walks in and instantly owns the room; if she has something to say, she’s going to say it. I’m not sure if it was some kind of clash between our personalities that made me feel this way, but I respect her a lot, especially for her life story. I just hope I don’t do anything to annoy her… or better yet, if I do, at least let it be some entertaining drama to watch!

Billie

I could tell right away that Billie has a mind full of creativity! She’s the kind of person who sees the world in colors and shapes that the rest of us might not even notice. I love a good party, but she seems to find magic even in the simple act of painting; it’s pretty fascinating! I have this feeling that if she ever got involved in a more specific competition with another contestant, she’d turn it into something so intense that it wouldn’t feel like a regular contest anymore, but rather a work of art, full of meaning. Wow, that might be the coolest thing I’ve said today; I guess her creativity is rubbing off on me too *laughs*

Elise

Elise is the type of person who knows exactly what she wants and goes after it without thinking twice. She has this strong mindset, not letting herself be confined by the conventions of life. I really admire that about her. She seems like someone who's always on the move, exploring not only places but also flavors and experiences; oooh I could really learn a lot from her, I'm excited!! I also think that if she gets the chance, she'll prove to be a strong competitor in the game, so I'll definitely be keeping my eyes on her *laughs*

Lara created and written by @simscici

[alexanderlightweight]

Requesting more Precipice of duty, season one rain check Malec. I love that Alec gets to rest and the idea that they get to know each other in season 1.

they are going to get to know each other so well. they will have more time to tease each other without it getting cut off by interruptions and actually getting to know each other without accidental misunderstanding or bad advice.

i hope you enjoy <3

lumine

precipice of duty

-

For three hours Magnus lets Alexander sleep, time slipping by as slow and sweet as honey.  The tender vulnerability offered him by the shadowhunter in his lap is getting to him. The more time passes the more Magnus’ greed grows with an aching certainty that this — that Alexander — is something he must secure.

It’s only when Alexander’s breathing hitches, his brow furrowing in a distressed hitch that Magnus knows it’s time to wake him.  Despite the warnings given — that Alexander isn’t the safest or easiest person to wake — his shadowhunter wakes with soft gentleness.  Any instinctive alertness dims the moment he’s assured that Magnus is still there, his sharp edges all soothed under Magnus’ presence. 

There’s an exhaustive motion of memory in his motions as he eats the summoned food quickly and efficiently, completely by autopilot without showing any awareness for anything other than Magnus’ coaxing him to consume more.

This is exactly why Magnus wanted him to rest before taking him out.  What would be the point of taking Alexander out somewhere when the experience would only prove too overwhelming for him to process and really enjoy? 

“A shower and then sleep with an actual bed?” He’s guiding Alexander now, boldly pulling him into Magnus’ personal space and private bathroom, the shower more than large enough for two.

Before Magnus can so much as offer faux concern over modesty, Alexander’s shucking his pants, socks, underwear and already has his shirt halfway down his arms.  

“Well isn’t this a nice surprise.”

Because frankly as lovely a view as it is, it's still a surprise.

“I’m a Shadowhunter, Magnus.” Alexander teases as he finishes pulling off his shirt, “there’s no body shame on a battlefield or in training or being healed.” Then he pauses and adds, “unless it’s shame for injuries caused by stupidity.”

—

Alec is startled by how much better he feels, just from a few hours of sleep and a meal.  The fugue that took over once he woke is starting to fade, even though he knows it won’t take much to bring it back. 

Still he’s happy he’s finally aware enough to appreciate Magnus’ pleased astonishment as Alec finishes stripping without worry or care.

“This is what surprises you?” Alec asks, a smile unconsciously pulling his lips up as his eyes soften and gentle.  He starts to fold his shirt with neat proficiency only for Magnus to scoff in outrage and pull it from his hands only to throw it aside with a wave of his hands that vanish all the rest of Alec’s clothing with it.

“And now what am I supposed to wear when I go back to the Institute later?” Alec is still more amused than anything else, because Magnus is looking over his body with an intensity that is far more flattering than anything else Alec’s ever had thrown at or offered to him.

“You’re already going to be wearing my things for our date, why stop there?” Magnus’ voice is deeper, a new hunger awakened despite the food they just shared.

“And when I wear them back, what then?”

“Well, you’ll just have to come back to return them.” Magnus’ smile is sharp with amusement and most of all, confidence.  The little games he’s playing all seem to begin and end with Alec and Alec thinks he’s starting to figure out the goal.

“Where you’ll somehow find a way to get me out of my own clothes again and repeat the cycle?”

“Exactly. You’re as clever as you are stunning, Alexander.”

It’s the ease and sincerity of Magnus’ compliments that stun Alec and leave him flustered, not the flattery itself.  It warms something cold and long dead in his chest.  It’s the same feeling that makes him turn towards Magnus like the first blooms of spring breaking through the icy ashes of a harsh winter to reach for the sun.

“Now, what will you want to wear after the shower to bed—” Alec’s thoughts are brought to a halt when Magnus throws open a hidden door to offer an amount of fabric that would make Izzy feral with envy. “I have robes, nemaki, lingerie, nightdresses, sweat—”

Alec has to interrupt him, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of options Magnus is offering him. Most of which sound confusing and like a lot of unnecessary fabric.  

“Just something like briefs will be fine, Magnus.”  Alec pauses, knowing he could leave it at that but he feels awake enough now to match Magnus’ playfulness. “Most nephilim prefer not to sleep in any layers, our skin and senses are sensitive enough that it matters.”

—-

Alexander watches him and Magnus knows now that he’s being teased, the humor in Alexander’s dark, serious eyes easy to see once you know it’s there.

“So you’re saying you’d be more comfortable wearing nothing at all?”

“Yes. It’s just not practical in an Institute where I might need to go running out without time to dress.”

“And if I promise that no emergencies can reach you here within my wards and the thread count of my sheets is divine.”

Alexander’s laugh is quiet but unrestrained and the way he wrinkles his nose as he considers Magnus’ word is endearing.

“Then I’ll trust you once more.”

-

notes:

i felt sure that Alec would be done with his shower and in bed in like two paragraphs but Alec basically had a power nap which is more than enough to let him appreciate Magnus and try to play. (there is this place where you're exhausted, sofucking tired but you've had just enough sleep that you think you can maybe tolerate hydrating and eating which you really need and maybe even a shower and then you can go back to sweet blissful nirvana of oblivion and Alec is there. that is Alec except Magnus is distracting enough that hes trying to be playful despite how tired he is because Magnus is more important than how nice a shower and more sleep would be)

magnus is just... even if the feral kitten you picked up isn't actually a feral kitten you're still delighted by it trusting and being gentle to you especially when regardless of it being socialized it still hisses and scratches everyone but you.

alec: why would I be shy about being naked? do you know what i'd be shy over? being stupid enough to sit on my stele and breaking it because I shoved it in my pocket without remembering my older brother told to me to stop doing that and then having to be escorted half naked with stele crystal in my asscheek to the infirmary

magnus: ... Alexander, shower remember? help me pick something for your hair

alec easily distracted by Magnus and his questions about shampoo: oh I like this one, it smells like you

[p5-apotelesma]

i do not like makoto becoming a cop. however...

its interesting if she still tries to pursue it. i want her to try. i want her to work hard at it. because its very important to her to honor her father. i want her to dig her heels in and go for it. even if shes gotten imput from zenkichi. an adult whos on the force. that what she wants to accomplish wont be possible. even if hes told her being on the force demands everything of you. (your only job becomes coming home at all. and you might not even be able to do that)

even if it has ren putting her at a distance. her friend who still has night terrors about his experiences with law enforcement. who will probably always be side-eyeing cops and crossing the street to avoid them. (ill probably go into that more in a different post. later or whatever)

because the idea that she cannot. reconcile the inherit Bastardism of Cops. with the kind and noble father she loved and looked up to. and it keeps her on this path because shes passionate about picking up where he left off. despite the signs that get thrown in her face that maybe. this isnt where life is meant to take her. is. is good. its just good. because when it falls through and doesnt end up being fulfilling, she'll have to unpack it in the end.

and if she doesnt quit while shes ahead. if she still tries to pursue being a cop. the thing that would make the most sense to me is. that she keeps getting fucking dropped from police academies because shes "not the kind of person theyre looking for"

SHE WANTED TO CHANGE THINGS FROM THE INSIDE BUT SHE CANT GET INSIDE. she goes into like three or four different academies and ends up constantly side-eyeing her classmates and her instructors because of the things they say out of pocket and how shes being trained to act. and she isnt afraid to bring it up. shes like. thats. not an appropriate thing to say or do.

and they basically all tell her to get the fuck out. LIKE. SHE DOES GREAT ON THE GRADED TASKS? like written assessments or whatever. but put her in a shooter simulation and she starts trying to use deescalation tactics instead of yelling to stop resisting as she unloads her gun into what would ideally be someone body.

and because shes not giving any inch of her humanity away, they tell her they dont want her on their force. and thats when makoto understands what All Cops Are Bastards actually means. the system says “anyone interested in being ethical isn’t welcome” and weeds out those who are.

[quibbs126]

You know I kind of want to see a verbal confrontation between TF One Megatron and one of the miners who weren’t part of the quartet, like Jazz or something. Someone who knew D-16, but wasn’t there for what happened to the group on the surface, only being told the important information about Sentinel and such

Because the last any of them saw D was before the Iacon 5000, when he was still their normal co-worker. Now the next time they see him, only a couple days later, he’s violently murdering their former ruler (even if they did just learn he’s a complete monster and a traitor), shooting and dropping his best friend into a bottomless pit, and now trying to basically commit terrorism and violent revolution. They only saw the beginning and end, they have no clue how he got to this point

I want to see one of them ask him just what the hell happened on the surface to turn him from responsible, dependable, friendly D-16 to this violent crazy revolutionary. What could have possibly happened to make him so different in the span of only a couple days?

I could also see some of them maybe being scared on principle to be around Megatron. One part because he’s become so different they can’t really process this enormous change, to the point of fear, choosing to avoid him to avoid thinking about how he used to be their friend, and say Megatron is instead some new crazy guy unrelated to D, at least when they aren’t seeing him. But another part of the fear could also be that he killed and is now driven to kill Orion Pax, the bot he cared about more than anything, the last bot they’d think he’d ever harm. So what are the chances any of the rest of them have that he won’t hurt them? Sure he hates Optimus for more personal reasons, but in their minds, if Orion wasn’t safe, none of them are

Maybe they all just have different reactions to the Megatron situation, and honestly I want to see them. I want to know how they feel about his sudden change. And I’d also be down to see if some other former miners agree with him and go to join him, and what the correlation there is between that and how well they knew D-16. Like are they following him out of his ideals, not knowing the guy, or are they following him because they trusted D-16, and figure he must have a good reason for acting the way he is; they weren’t there on the surface to know otherwise. It just would be really interesting to see

But I also want that confrontation between Megatron and that other miner I mentioned up top. Let’s stick with Jazz, since he seems like he’d have a bigger role in any future things, and on one of the last days they saw D-16, he and Orion had just saved Jazz’s life while breaking protocol, which I don’t think he’d forget for either bot

I both want it so we can see the miners’ perspective on D-16’s turn, but also because I want to know how Megatron would react. Jazz wasn’t there on the surface, he wasn’t one of the group trying to talk him out of his revenge, he didn’t do anything to Megatron (or this is how he sees it all in his mind), this is someone he thinks he’s trying to help calling him out. But he also wasn’t there, he didn’t experience what Megatron did, he just doesn’t understand it. Would that make him just brush off Jazz as not understanding, or make him more compelled to convince Jazz that he’s right, since Jazz is only disagreeing with him because he’s just confused and doesn’t know enough? Regardless of what Megatron thinks, Jazz probably is confused, but I imagine he’d stick with Optimus ultimately; he just wants to know what happened to his friend, and maybe even snap him out of this whole state he’s in, being an outside perspective that he isn’t entirely biased against

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Yes, exactly! They live far away from me as well, but love ‘em so dearly. Very fun to pretend there’s lost at sea… I can still hear their voice (I called the other day lol).

Nolan as a serial arsonist risk is so fucking funny. Does Debbie keep a fire extinguisher in the trunk and make him put it out? Like, he could easily do it with powers but no, fire extinguisher. At what point does she see a fire/smoke and not even think danger, but Nolan and a mild inconvenience LOL? Like, this mf better put it out. Debbie have 0 fear to even basic emergencies like a fire makes me cackle. Danger is an inconvenience to her at MOST. Also the image of him naturally moving so fucking fast his sleeve catches on fire, and has to get, like, so many clothes from Art.

I wonder if Art gets a call at like 5am and knows it’s Nolan because there’s a chance he slapped something off him and now he’s non-Art shirt his burned and he’ll need an Art-certified replacement. Curious how much Art makes in, like, both hero and villain suits as well as ordinary clothing modified for like lava monsters, or flaming skeletons, or someone cursed to be eternally freezing or have wings. Or even half off on clothes that are built to be easy to change out of for suit underneath. How many suits need to be able to withstand being pulled/ripped open but not torn by people with amplified strength?

All the Viltrum Empire’s tech being stolen makes too much sense honestly. They are the Colonizers: space edition ofc, but also what motivations do they have to craft anything when they can just sidestep typical obstacles? Fire? Slap a twig. Vibrate. But then again what’s even the need? If poisons don’t work, I doubt raw food is gonna kill them, like, what is the development of this society??? What is it even like?? Function??? I’m sure someone slapped an animal and cooked it, but like how long were they vibing with raw foods?

And yeah, if organs can just spill out and NOT kill you, do you just shove them back in and wait to heal or??? Cause like you point out, clearly infection isn’t an issue here, casually managing guts that should be zipped up inside the body isn’t an issue, like is pain seriously the only inconvenience? Also so curious about the speeds of healing. I understand why we slip forwards when Mark is injured, and hospitalization does seem to provide support, but like… do they need fucking lasers to even cut them open for surgeries? Nolan ate up a BOMB/LASER. They already expressed difficulty for the super dead soldiers, so, like, do they see Nolan or Mark as an incoming patient and start groaning. Is it terrifying because they’re slightly different bone structure or organs? Do they just not touch areas? What’s the experience of even seeing a body that’s barely human looking, but have the assumed general structure? The heart looks “misshapen”, but no it’s supposed to look like that, or fuck it, they have two, don’t touch that organ, they need it, don’t even try cutting anything stomach related or else the acids will melt through the very table. The minute Oliver walks up, somebody quits.

They really are living armor, clothing truly has to be for personal comfort only tbh. They don’t NEED it. Maybe for discomfort? And I suppose yeah, if you gotta wait for the Can’t Be Killed Easily genes to kick in, gotta protect the young. Which makes me so curious about like any ideas of childhood existing within the empire, if at all. I assume no by Nolan’s bafflement of the very purpose of a baseball game, but that could also be Nolan being Nolan, endearingly freaked out by Power of Love and Caring about Things. Which is a solid fifty fifty I think.

If there’s a section dedicated to soldiers, which you apply for, I assume, what do regular people do? What do kids do? What’s schooling like? Is there traditions for making your kids clothes while they’re still vulnerable? Some kind of cultural significance? Like I can assume they all were white, I think that’s shown before, but also do kids were colors to mark they don’t have their powers yet? Are there celebrations for getting your powers? Is it purely white and greys (which I think is canon with flashbacks but shh), or are do we have some SU style color coding based on jobs, excepts it’s in pastels lol. Light green? Works in slapping food to cook it. Light blue? Making maps across the universe or something idk. Like do they go shopping for Mark as a literal baby and Nolan gets very fucking weird about it? I think we saw it's pretty much white and grey as far as the eye can see, and yeah, I could see it being a society that's also restrictive on general uniform, but also pastels. Have we considered pastels. I think it's amusing.

And yeah, Nolan freaked the fuck out in the finale so badly, like yes, my guy, you made this, it’s real and tangible and loves you, it will not last forever and you could break it, deal with the newfound concept and he just lost his entire shit. Something something about screaming his replaceable Mark could be screams how much he’s scared of caring this deeply, which he does, but WHY WOULD YOU PROVE THAT POINT BY HAVING ANOTHER FAMILY?????? I know talked that into ground, beat the horse dead, back to life and dead again lol, but it never stops being so insane. Incredible terrible decision, folks, and has not apologized since! Did not forget he grabbed Mark by the neck as he got very loudly upset by the idea of caring AGAIN, very fun for Mark POV, where your dad tricked you, trying to use you, replaced you, and got more emotional about something he’s known for a month(s) than YEARS in earth. I know Nolan’s deathly allergic to caring normally, but like GODDAMN!!! Makes me want my guilt magnet upgraded to outright denial AND guilty.

Yeah, with Mark dead, I can see Nolan just kinda laying there. Frozen. Disbelief, then slow agonizing acceptance, but he just doesn’t move still, and ofc Debbie collects the body, because everyone gets extra issues today! But the denial would be so long lasting. Are there empire funeral customs? I know of you die it’s basically you’re on fault, so do you guys just bodies around or do something with them? But DEBBIE. Like, not enough to see your son die from Your husband’s hand, dying for a world he believed in, but you gotta collect the body yourself. And Nolan’s still there. Staring down. Waiting for something..? Oliver dying would be so interesting as well, like yeah dude, you cannot keep doing whatever the fuck you think you’re attempting!!! How Many times gotta learn this lesson old man!!!

The slow realization Mark won’t come back from space in s2 are so diabolical omg. Agonizing kind of horror and grief. There lingering hope showing being crushed over time. Delicious. Plus the lack of closure, because I assume at some point Nolan will come back, MAYBE, but maybe he doesn’t, maybe that’s the straw that makes him accept execution. And that’s it. No closure. Didn’t even realize that was gonna be there last time. Ughhhhh diabolical!!!!! I love it!!!!

And yes exactly! There’s gotta be a hyper specific niche for it, but there’s still no real story and they suck by proxy LOL. The critics about his own character, does he read reviews and get miffed? Is there a world where Nolan gets so pressed about his self insert protagonist he actually considers unpacking empire bs? But it being the equivalent of being “botany report on plant hybridization meant to be read by other people in the field” MADE ME CACKLE OMGGGGG. He’s got the narrative potential of a research paper.

IM CRYING, it’s Damp Son and Boil Husband. There’s always a towel in the back and front seats respectively, plus some in the trunk. Let’s hope he’s not a stress sweater either, though very amusing to me if Mark shakes to shake OFF sweat, or flies to cool off/find cooler air higher up, while Nolan is a walker boiling when he Aggressively Vibrates, to the point of arsonist. Fire extinguishers and towels LOL.

Nolan dismissing/not rushing the evacuation just so they can like chill inside an active volcano, peak. The image of this triggering Mark to sweat so much makes me cackle. Though, can Nolan lessen the heat himself? Like how quick is it? I know heat rushes to cooler sources, no? Less cold air coming in and heat escaping out, and he should be actively cooler than anything hot, but who knows? He’s only got so much surface area I assume, but the specifics of heat mechanics allude me without a research dive, lol. I assume whatever speed Nolan's got it, Mark is slower? Or, very funny if it is instant. But Nolan and Mark-specific bonding like that makes me fucking snort, like does Mark mention this casually to the TT, like yeah, me and Dad chilled in lava the other day--no, I'm not joking?

TT having to, agonizingly slowly, explain the concept of 'great power great responsibility' or a general run of the mill kinda heroic morality, to a mf without a real sense of danger, whose entire world is cardboard, and whose morals are unflinchingly self interested, are incredible. Like, he can understand pain, but nothing else sticks. They have so much work ahead of them LOL. Imagine they try talking to “what the fuck is danger” Debbie, who regularly works with villains, or Nolan, whose sense of heroism lies in the fact it was a job he can do, and really, he could be doing way worse rn. I think there’s just a dawning understanding here, lol. I love Mark being strange, yearnful sigh.

At some point I imagine it's kinda like The Good Place, and it's just TT taking turns trying to teach Mark about it that way. Kinda in a similar way I'd imagine Oliver being taught morality or philosophy (ex. with ethical dilemmas) at the GDA, which Doesn't Work Necessarily. 'Cause ask au!Mark or canon!Oliver about the Trolley Problem, whole and they'll just say they stop the trolley. They're not dumb, but it'd just be, like, why are they even on a trolley, they can fly. Wydm they're not fast enough? Then they'd try? It's a headache. No, they don't get why they'd be stumped. Just stop the trolley. They could punch it????

And as TT try to talk to him about things like morality, and how their jobs aren’t just jobs, like you rightly point out, he’ll immediately battles it away because their lives depend on working, and they’re so much more fragile than him, so what power do they have really? And as unintentionally baffling or even insufferable Mark can be, he’s also too useful to NOT be on the team either? How many potential sacrificial moves as TT members made only for Mark to just solve the issue. Wonder if how he treats civilian causalities, now, is he never at risk for quitting over a crisis? Or, is he somewhat upset by it, but accepts it’s just a risk for other people, happens whatever. Shame the fragile people died, but Nolan’s explained the concept to him ages ago. But YEAH, now I’m thinking about much force does Mark/Nolan need for like an actually decent message?

AND VERY TRUE! S3 felt like it needed to really stew in what they wanted to do, or stories in generally within. I assume the whole blackening heart is Mark’s heart, and not Oliver, but it’d be so funny it was Oliver’s. Like, love Mark (s3 characterization notwithstanding) but I cannot take his little pro-kill speech seriously, you have 1/3 kills actually STICK. Who’s to say you won’t ignore the next problem that comes by like in episode 7? But OMG YES, BOOTLEG IPS! I want so many so bad, there’s so fun. I love War Woman especially, like omgggggg, she’s bootleg Wonder Woman? I’m screaming in joy.

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[missbluez]

Angel Pt. 1

Spencer Reid x reader

Ao3 Part 2

I am still figuring out how to post on here, so if you have any tips please comment.

SUMMARY: With a traumatic past that isn’t quite behind you,you join the BAU. Love,hurt and hate are thrown into your life again… will you be able to escape unscathed or will you lose it all…

-----------------------------------------

The wind whipped around her, stinging her face and bare arms like a burn. It was one of the coldest nights, she remembered, her best friend mentioning it as she grabbed her jacket before heading out for the night.

Her feet ached as the underbrush pricked at the bareness of them. She didn´t slow her pace, though. She was determined to get to her destination, but it always seemed to get further and further away. She could hear their whispers calling out to her. Though she couldn't make out the words, she knew they were meant for her.

She hugged herself as she pushed forward, trying to keep what little warmth she had until she saw them. The lifeless bodies of those she loved, her family, were massacred and bloodied to the point where she could barely recognize them. And that's when she screamed. She couldn't tell how long it had been, but her throat felt raw, and she could taste the familiar metallic taste of her blood in her mouth.

The distant beeping of your alarm slowly woke you from your slumber. With a groan, you rolled over to your side to grab your phone. Blinking repeatedly to remove the remaining fogginess of your sleep, you tried to look at the time. It was 7:07 AM. You cursed under your breath, you were running late.

As fast as you could, you got dressed, and you grabbed your phone and keys before heading out to your car.

The drive there was uneventful; you tried to respect the speed limits even though you were in a rush.

You entered the building and got the visitor pass that would allow you to be there until you were hired. You were sure that you would be hired; you just needed to not mess anything up until you got the position.

Working for the government was not something you were particularly fond of, but you´ve been doing the same job on your own for years. And honestly speaking, the BAU team piqued your interest, and you really wanted to work with them.

You exited the elevator and made your way towards the bullpen. You looked around, and the first person you saw and recognized was Derek Morgan. Even though he is not your type, you could appreciate that he looked even more handsome than in the pictures you had seen of him. Next to him was Dr. Spencer Reid, the one you were most eager to meet. You didn't recognize anyone else, so you guessed that the rest of the team was elsewhere.

You confidently head towards SSA Hotchner´s office, and you knock a couple of times. When you were given permission, you entered the office. “Good morning, Sir”

“Good morning, you’re…”.He said your name, and you nodded “I guess you already know, but this interview is just a formality; the position is yours. I've read your resume, and I can say that you´re more than qualified for the job. You just have to fill out this paperwork, and you´ll be a part of the team.” 

Your expression looked calm and collected, but you were relieved on the inside. You knew Gideon wouldn't lie to you, but some things were out of his control.

“If you follow me, I'll introduce you to the team, and you can get started on that paperwork”

Hotch added before getting up and making his way out of the office, you promptly followed behind.

As you approached the bullpen, your mind was running rampant with all sorts of thoughts. You wanted to make a good impression, and to do that, you would have to talk only when necessary so you don´t say anything that may potentially harm your position on the team. You know that from experience.

Once you walked down the stairs, you felt multiple eyes on you, and you recognized a few members of what would soon become your team.

Hotch looked at you before gesturing towards where the members were gathered.

“Guys, this is…” he says your name “, she is the new member of the team." Before he could say anything else, his phone started ringing. He excused himself and walked away to answer.

"Hi, I'm Jennifer Jareau, but everybody calls me JJ", the blonde smiled, introducing herself. 

"Nice to meet you, JJ", you said, smiling back at her. 

"I'm Emily Prentiss"

"I'm David Rossi"

A few of them introduced themselves when you were walking into the meeting room.

Before anyone could say anything else, Hotch came back. 

"Further introductions can be made later, we have a new case; we'll debrief on the plane”

" Where are we headed?"

Doctor Reid asked. He didn't introduce himself, but you already knew who he was. 

"New York"

"Five shootings in 2 weeks. It's about time we got the call"

Rossi said 

"I want to take Garcia with us, hopefully, they'll give us access to their surveillance systems"

Hotch added

"What do we know?"

Asked Prentiss

"All the killings are mid-day, single gunshot to the head with a 22"

"Any witnesses?" This time, JJ asked

"No"

"22 caliber pistol's only 152 decibels. New York streets and subways are routinely well over 100. It could be people aren't even registering the gunshot until the unsub is already leaving the scene"

Reid stated

"They sound like Mob hits “, added Morgan 

“Except none of them have ties to organized crime”, Hotch was quick to answer.

“Do they have any connection to each other?” Prentiss asked

“None they´ve found”

“How about communication with the police? Has the unsub tried to make contact?”

This time, it was you who asked. Hotch turned to play a video on the TV

“Surveillance cameras have captured video of 3 of the murders”

“This is the latest,” Hotch said while playing the video

“They´re all the same; he wears a hood and keeps his head down” Footage of what Hotch explained was playing on the TV.

“This guy is bold. Crowded areas, broad daylight,” Prentiss added while gesturing towards the hooded man in the footage.

“So... they're completely random?” You asked, looking at the footage

“It  seems that way”, Hotch answered while nodding slightly

“Son of Sam all over again”

“We've got to go. Garcia will come with us. wheels up in 30 minutes”

That's the last thing Hotch said before exiting the room.

“Do you have a go-bag ready, newbie?... I'm Derek Morgan, by the way”

“Nice to meet you, Derek, and yes...I packed it this morning in case we had to leave”

You said, walking out of the room and going towards the bullpen.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

"An urgent case on your first day- well, that gotta be exciting," JJ said with a slight smile.

"Well… I was expecting to be on desk duty or something for a couple of weeks…Usually, they don't want me in the field right away."

You said shrugging

"Why is that?"

Before you knew it, a snicker left your mouth.

"Most of my former bosses were older men that were too proud to let me do any significant work. I'm a woman in my early 20s, and in their eyes, I wasn't a real agent; as they kept saying, I'm only a shrink"

"You're a doctor?" Asked Derek with his eyebrows raised. 

"Oh… " You thought they knew about you; they were profilers and had access to your resume. 

"Yes, I specialized in Clinical Psychology."

"So we have another genius on the team," Derek said, wiggling his eyebrows with a smile. 

Right after that, Hotch and who you assumed was Garcia entered the plane. 

"Oh, Oh, Hiiii! I'm Penelope Garcia!"

She said with a bright smile before sitting next to you as you introduced yourself. Everything about her seemed bright: her blonde hair, her vividly colored clothing and her bubbly personality. You talked to her for a little while before you had to start debriefing on the case. 

"The victims were killed in a completely different neighborhood, Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem… "

Hotch said while you were looking at the pictures of the victims, they were so different, they seemed to have nothing in common. 

"It doesn't make any sense, there's no common victimology. No sexual component. No robbery. No geographical connection"

Reid said, and you nodded in agreement, you were thinking the same thing. 

"Do the police have any leads?" Reid added.

"He's killing roughly every two days, the press is having a field day, and it sounds like the mood on the street's getting pretty edgy" Hotch was quick to respond. 

"It's a joint FBI-NYPD taskforce? "

Rossi asked

Hotch nodded while answering.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office, she's running point on the case and called me directly, she's starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes"

"Joyner, I know her… She's a Brit, right?"

Derek asked

"Well, dual citizenship.Her father's British, her mother's American." Hotch corrected

"She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the bureau"

"I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass"

"I didn't think so", Hotch said, looking at Morgan

"Oh, she can… " You mumbled under your breath. Morgan seemed to notice, but he didn't comment on it

"You know her?" Prentiss asked  Hotch

"We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard"

"And she's good? "

" I think we're lucky to have her"

You inhaled deeply before focusing on the files you had in your hands. .you didn't want to say anything about Joyner; you met her when you worked overseas as a consultant for Scotland Yard, and it was not a good experience. But you refrained from saying anything, it seemed that Hotch liked him, and you didn't want to annoy your boss on your first day on the job. 

“And we´re cleared for takeoff” You heard the pilot´s voice through the intercom.

Everyone stood up and walked to different seats to get ready for the takeoff. Garcia sat next to you, with Morgan right in front of both of you.

“You know Joyner...and I'm guessing you don't like her very much”

Your eyes left the file you were reading as you looked up; Garcia and Morgan were watching you intently, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah..I´m not particularly fond of her”

“And that's because…?” 

You sighed

“A few years ago, I worked with Interpol, I was overseas assisting Scotland Yard on a case. I was there to make a profile of an unsub. And I did, but Joyner and her team discarded it because, according to her, I was too young and inexperienced, and there was no way I could have come up with that profile with the little information I had. That wasn´t the end of it, she kept on ignoring everything I had to say about the case. They ended up arresting the wrong guy. I gave up on trying to be heard, so I came back to the U.S a few days later. I received a call from the lead detective of Scotland Yard, He wanted to tell me that they ended up getting the right guy and that my profile was dead on.”

The look of shock on Garcia´s face made you chuckle

“I would have ignored that completely, I´m used to being second guessed and ignored by superiors because of my age and sex, but it annoyed me because she was a young woman and if anyone would understad my struggles it would be her, but she ended up being a bitch.”

 When Morgan heard you curse, he tried to bite back a laugh

“Oh, sorry...I tend to curse quite a lot”

“Don´t worry about it, sweets. Just try to not do it around Hotch,” she said with a smile, waving away your worries

.“I'll do my best”

After that, everyone settled into a comfortable silence. You carried on reading the file you were picked up earlier. When you were done with it, you left it on the table as you looked around you, observing the members of your new team. You knew you shouldn´t profile them; they were your coworkers, but you couldn't help it. You've been watching and analyzing people's behaviour since you were a child; it came naturally to you. 

The pilot's voice brought you back to reality, he announced that you'd be landing soon. 

The ding of the elevator doors brought you back to reality. 

Everyone stepped out and followed Hotch, who was approaching a blonde woman. Much to your dismay, it was Joyner; you were hoping to avoid her a little longer. 

"Is it just me, or does she look exactly like Haley?" you heard JJ's voice whispering. You didn't know who Haley was, but from the looks JJ and Garcia were shooting each other, you guessed that she had something to do with Hotch, maybe his wife, and that would explain his affinity with Joyner. 

Hotch and she exchanged greetings, and then he introduced the team. 

Joyner's eyes lingered a while longer on you. She tried to hide her surprise, but it was still noticeable. 

"Thanks for being here. anything that you need just tell me," Joyner said

"What can you tell us about the city's surveillance system?" Garcia asked

"Em… It's run by the NYPD. It's still in the infant stages. It's been rather controversial. American Privacy laws, but they've had some success"

"And I'll have complete access? "

"They're already expecting you"

After that, Garcia left with a smile

"I'd like to get a map of the borough. I want to do a comprehensive geographical profile of the area in order to ascertain the unsub's mental map before it's clouded by our own linkage blindness," Reid asked.

"I see you brought your own computer,, A man who had just arrived said with an annoyed tone. 

You forced yourself not to roll your eyes; that certainly wouldn't help. 

"Detectives Brustin and Cooper, I'll let you do the introductions", Joyner said before asking Hotch to talk in private.

"You caught the first shooting?" Asked Rossi

"They've all been in different precincts. It wasn't until the third murder that anyone even made the connection" 

"I guess this is where we play nice and ask you what you need"

The grumpy cop, as you started calling him in your mind, said. 

… … .. . … . … .. . … 

Hours passed, and you were sitting on a chair reading more files from the different precincts with Prentiss while drinking a cup of coffee. Garcia was running the face recognition program on the hours of footage she had. Reid was working on the geographical profile. Hotch was with Joyner. Rossi, Morgan and JJ had left to go to one of the crime scenes with Detective Grumpy. 

You left the folder you were holding on a desk before you stood up and walked towards the board where Reid was working on the geographical profile.

"We're gonna need records over the last 6 months for any arrest on gun violence or gun possession in every borough except the ones where the shootings have taken place", Reid said, looking at Detective Cooper.

"Uh… I don't get it," He said

"He won't strike near where he lives”, you answered

"What makes you so sure?" He asked

"It's anti-geographical profiling.” You stated

"Now it's anti-geographical profiling? " He scoffed "You wonder why we're so skeptical"

"The unsub is organized; he strikes at the same time of day, he knows where the cameras are placed, that means he's doing his own pre-surveillance", Prentiss was quick to answer.

"A need-motivated killer operates within his own comfort zone. An organized killer with some other motivation will make sure to stroke outside that zone," You explained.

"Not exactly where he lives"

"Unfortunately, that means that every other neighborhood in the city has a reason to be terrified"

All of you got back to the files you were reading, that was until a call came in. Another body was found. 

… ,..............,.................... 

"What have we got? " Hotch asked as soon as he walked in

"The latest shooting", Prentiss said while playing a video

"This was the previous murder”, she said, playing a different video

"He sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanors," Morgan points out

"Six kills in, his behavior should be set…" You commented

"Prentiss, play them again.” You asked. She played them again. 

"Again, please"

"Oh shit… ah sorry… They're different people… Garcia, are you still there?"

"Would I ever leave you? As you asked, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on the shootings where we have footage. Now the first two are inconclusive, but the last two I found something very weird, your calm walking type, he is about 6'1''  but your sprinter he's like 5'9", 5'10", tops."

"We've got more than one Unsub. " Hotch said while you nodded

"So, we have more than one Unsub. What does that tell us?"

Rossi asked, looking around.

"Most teams stick together.. uh, Ng and Lake, the Krays, Bittaker and Norris. They don't usually kill separately." Reid was the first to answer; whenever he talked, you found yourself listening carefully. Every word that came out of his mouth was so knowledgeable. It weirdly resembled his works that you've previously read. You liked it. You could listen to him ramble nonstop. 

"Could be some kind of gang initiation"

Morgan's deep baritone voice broke your train of thought before it got way out of hand. 

"Gangs will kill if you encroach on their territory, not random people all over the city" 

Prentiss quickly dismissed the option. 

"I'll coordinate with the gang task force, make sure we have an overview by morning", JJ said before leaving.

"Do you think we have enough for a working profile? " Joyner asked

"Broad strokes", Rossi answered

"Dave, you, Reid and L/N talk to the agents here. Morgan and Prentiss brief the police when each shift comes on duty tomorrow." 

"I think we should get out on the streets… " 

You sensed the beginning of an argument, so you left to get some more coffee. Not sleeping the day before was not a very good choice. But you were nervous as it was your first day on the job. 

A couple of minutes later, Morgan appeared next to you; he looked enraged. 

"I guess Joyner's not very friendly with you, is she? " You said looking at him while taking a sip from your hot delicious coffee. 

"Not at all. she keeps antagonizing me"

"I know the feeling, but I can't figure out why she dislikes you"

"Hotch told me that if she fucks up this case she will be reassigned and I'm on the top of the list to replace her, guess she didn't like that"

"Ooh… She doesn't like it when someone shines brighter than she does, trust me" 

"Are you saying that I shine bright, newbie?" Morgan asked with a flirty tone

"Maybe" You winked at him before walking away. You heard him laugh, which made you smile. You really wanted to be a part of the team, and breaking the ice with the members of said team was a beginning, a great one at that. Morgan, JJ and Garcia seemed to honestly like you, and that was an amazing start. You felt comfortable with them, which was new to you, even though you've known them for a few hours. 

As Hotch ordered you to, you spoke to a few agents and exchanged your conclusions with Reid and Rossi. Since there was nothing else you could do, you all left for the hotel for the night. You were the first one to leave since you wanted to make a few phone calls. 

As soon as you got inside the room, you threw yourself on the bed with a tired groan. 

"Well, that was a hell of a day,, you mumbled while you kicked off your shoes. Still lying on your stomach, you reach for your bag to take out your laptop. You checked your emails and answered a few of them. A few minutes after that, an incoming video call came through. You smiled when you saw your best friend's face on the screen.

"How was it!? Tell me everything. Was any of them hot?" She shot one question after the other

"Hello, Katy, I'm great. Thanks for asking. How are you?" You asked with fake annoyance

"Sorry babes, you know that I'm just so fucking excited for you! "

"I know, and I love you for that" You smiled softly

"Wait…where are you? I know your apartment, and that's not it. Don't tell me you hooked up with someone on the first day of the job!"

"What!! No..God no… I'm in… New York.. for a case…"

She looked at you wide-eyed.

"On your first day?? Damn girl…wait, don't tell me your on that case about the random shootings"

She shot you a worried look

"Yep… that's the one," You said, sighing

"Anyway, I don't want to talk about work. Tell me, how's everything in Ukraine??!"

"Everything's great! We found some pretty well-kept journals from the 40s that talk about the painting. We're still researching, but it seems like we're on the right path. And I might be able to go to Romania next week to visit my grandparents, so that's exciting! "

She said with a bright smile on her face. Your best friend Ekaterina, or Katy as you called her, is a historian and her latest project is taking her all over the world. She is looking for artwork that was looted during WW2. 

For a few more minutes, you talked, but your call was cut short because of the time difference. You had to go to sleep, but she was getting ready to go to work. 

You weren't feeling tired enough to sleep yet, so you decided to take a shower. But you realized that there were no towels in the bathroom so you went to the reception to get some. When you made your way down, you found the team in the lobby. You approached them

"Look at this", Prentiss said when you were next to them "Late edition doesn't miss a beat" You took the newspaper; the latest murder was already on the news. 

"JJ", Reid said, signaling with his head. All of you looked behind, and they all seemed to recognize the man that was sitting on one of the chairs.

"Will?" JJ said, surprised

"I'm sorry for showing up like this, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being there, not with what's going on. " Will apologized, looking at her. 

"Is there a problem? " Hotch asked 

"Uh… I'm pregnant," JJ smiled

Everyone was shocked after hearing this. 

"Oh my god, JJ! Congratulations! " Prentiss hugged her with a bright smile. Hugs and congratulations were shared before you decided to give the couple some privacy. 

You asked the front desk for towels and then made your way back to the room. After taking a shower, you were basically knocked out. 

…....    

Part 2 This is going to be a slowburn coworkers to friends to lovers. It will focus on the cases and on the character's development. I don't really know how to tag here lol.

[mimorugk]

Inquisitor's Question of the Day - part 1

Reuploading my IQOTD from Bluesky to Tumblr. There're 43 questions in here, that I've been answering since January 2025. It's such a fun activity to build my Inquisitor and introduce him to people. All question belong to Bambi (arhimharellan on Bsky). Warning for super long post and strong language.

What is your Inquisitor's name? Does it have a special meaning?

“Hoang” means “gold” in his mother side’s language, an dying tongue that his mother no longer speaks. Gold is also house Trevelyan’s color. As a name, Hoang also means bright as the sun and precious as gold.

2. What is your Inquisitor's class? Does it reflect their personality in any way?

Hoang was raised to be either a Templar or a Chantry brother. He didn’t ask to turned out a mage, nor the Herald. But Knight Enchanter is the something he chose for himself.

It's the family default that Hoang has to learn sword fighting when he was young. He likes it and actually not bad at it. I supposed mages aren’t allowed owning swords in Circles, so Hoang could only spar a bit as a work out. He’s been using a staff until learning about Knight enchanters.

3. How would you describe your Inquisitor’s personality?

Kind, caring, well-mannered, curious, nerd and a people pleaser. He’s also a perfectionist and wields magic with cautious, instead of pride and style like Vivienne and Dorian. He’s good with putting on a brave face, acting calm and sophisticate even though he’s nervous most of the time.

All of this because of his sheltered life, his abandonment issue and the way he was raised. Deep down Hoang’s just a vulnerable man, who’s trying to survive, who cares too much about people.

4. What is your Inquisitor's relationship like with their family?

Complicated. He was conceived before his father married his mom officially, who is a commoner, so Hoang never felt welcomed. It doesn’t help when he’s a mage in a devoted Andrastian/Templar family. At first, visits was frequent. Throughout the years, time between visits start to get longer, letters are no longer responded. Then he was left all by himself. Hoang believes Bann Trevelyan already found out about his son's preference for men. Still, Hoang can't hate his parents, and love his half siblings, sure they feel the same. It’s just the shame, the pain, the mistakes keep piling up and was never resolved. Family is such a complicated thing.

5. Did your Inquisitor have any lovers prior to the events of the game?

Hoang had little experience with romance. It's hard to believe a 30 year-old man like him never had a serious relationship. Sure he has eyes on some fellow mages, even templars when he was in the Circle, but never acted on it, as it is against the rules, and it’s wrong. The closest he could get to a romance is being the sparring partner of a male templar he liked.

Hoang has feelings he couldn’t tell. Desire, needs, and wants he couldn’t name. But Hoang pushed them all down and sometimes the result is a hand down his pants in the quiet of his dorm room.

6. Does your Inquisitor believe that what happened was destiny or a fluke?

Hoang’s been an Andrastian his whole life. He believed in Andraste, in the Maker. He believed than someone has to be chosen, but why *him*? There’s nothing about him that’s worthy. As the events of Inquisition happened, Hoang’s belief started to shake.

7. What drew your Inquisitor to their love interest?

It’s curiosity, turns admiration then attraction. The Iron Bull is everything Hoang isn’t, and that draws him in. Hoang's whole life has been living as how others expected of him, many not even see him as a person, but Bull never treated him as such.

Bull sees through the mage, hangs out with him like one of his friends, and for the first time, Hoang could be comfortable as himself without shame. He doesn't even care if it's just an act by the Ben-Hassrath agent. Then he learns about the vulnerable man behind that casual façade.

They provide each other comfort, keeping the other grounded. They can be who they really are, and complete each other.

8. Who does your Inquisitor struggle to get along with? Why?

A little bit of most people. Mostly, it was Leliana because she’s kinda scary. His first impression on Dorian was great but as soon as he commented about southern mages and slavery…eh. Fortunately, everyone ended up in good terms, except Solas, of course.

9. What religion/philosophy does your Inquisitor believe in?

Hoang was Andrastian for most of his life. He turned away from it after Trespasser and has been an atheist for years by the time of Veilguard. Atheist not in the sense of “I don’t believe Gods exist” but “You might be a god but I don’t worship you and you are not above any of us.”

10. Who is your Inquisitor closest to? Why?

Josie since they’re both nobles and feel related to each other. Hoang likes listening to her gossip and ramble (he’s also a rambler himself). Since he’s the youngest of the Trevelyans, hanging out with Josie feels like having a little sister he never had. They still write to each other years later.

Next must be Cassandra and Vivienne. Hoang admires Cass greatly. Vivienne to him is like a mentor and somewhat a mother figure.

10. Did your Inquisitor side with the mages or the templars? Why?

Templars is the easy answer. Some of the mages were his colleagues but he didn’t know the others. Considering when things happened, a mage is always behind it. However, he knows Templars, he knows what they can do, having being raised among them. Most importantly, he knows magic has is dangerous especially when in the wrong hands, in this case the Venatori. Hoang’s plan is to get to the Templars first, then come back to deal with the mages, a plan that would failed.

11. Does your Inquisitor believe they are the Herald of Andraste?

Hoang denies it all the time, but sometimes he really hopes he was chosen. That he deserves it. That he’s good enough. That everything he’s been through finally means something.

12. What is your Inquisitor's first impression of their advisers?

He warms up to Josephine right away, since they’ve met each other once or twice when they were children. He was cautious about Leliana, because, well, she’s Leliana. She scares him sometimes. Cullen, it’s the respect toward a Templar.

13. Why did your Inquisitor take on the title?

Hoang has no other choice. After Haven, he just wanted to help people, and hoped to redeem the mistake that caused countless mages to die. Plus, it was expected of him, and he always fulfills his duty despite how draining it is, been doing it his whole life.

There’s another reason Hoang won’t admit. He hoped this title could help him become someone else, someone matters, other than “the son Bann Trevelyan doesn’t talk about.”

14. Who did your Inquisitor side with during the events of Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts? Why?

Celene on the throne with Briala because Hoang doesn’t trust Gaspard to not invade the Ferelden when he has the power. Still, it was a tough decision and no one win. Hoang thought he was well prepared, that he had the skills to play the Game but shit he was wrong. I mean he was alright, but not that good.

He had to rely a lot on his companions and advisors. Earlier Hoang asked Bull for a dance but by the end of it the guy was too tired, so they just hang out on the balcony and ate the snacks Bull brought. Fuck Orlais and its politic, glad that he’s not from there.

15. What did your Inquisitor decide to do with the Grey Wardens at Adamant? Why?

Recruiting the Wardens. They were at war, there’s a split in the sky, they need every hand possible. Why would the Wardens be punished for their leader’s fault? The Warden were vulnerable, they needed to rebuild, not punishment.

16. Which events of the game affected your Inquisitor the most? Why?

What happened in Redcliffe. Mages, children included are dead, enslaved, corrupted. If he could be faster, choose better... His first big mission and he already fucked it up. What left in Hoang were regret and guilt, that's one of the reasons that made him took in the role Inquisitor.

Falling in love with Bull. When he learned how not to be ashamed of himself and embrace who he is, slowly.

Remember how Hoang wanted to believe that he was chosen? That he matters and everything was worth it? Well that went to the drain after Adamant. He doesn't know what he is anymore.

Trespasser, his breaking point. Everything that he's been bottled up, everything he suffered, everything came down and exploded. Hoang disbanded the Inquisition, released himself from duty and released people who served him. It's time for them to rest, and it's time for him to let go.

17. What is your Inquisitor's preferred mount? Why?

Horses is Hoang's thing. They are on Trevelyan's heraldry and everything. Little Hoang watched his father taking care of them, his older siblings sparred on them. He awed at them at the Grand Tourney. He has an Amaranthine Charger named Shae but unfortunately had to leave her behind after Trespasser.

He preferred to stay lowkey, and having a rare horse and a metal arm is huge giveaway. After trespasser, Hoang uses a Fereldan Forder for travelling.

18. Did your Inquisitor drink from the Well of Sorrows? Why or why not?

No. First, it's not something Hoang think he has the right to claim. Second, having the Anchor isn't enough already? Cole and Sera had made the most sense here.

19. Where does your Inquisitor spend most of their time in Haven? Why?

Just anywhere not his room. Early the game, Hoang was used to the dull Circle life, so he tried to find familiarity in Haven, like a routine. He usually goes in Josphine's office to borrow books. He would stop at the stable to pet horses, and the chantry sometimes for prayer.

From the stable, he could watch soldiers, Cass and Cullen, but he doesn't have to talk to them, so it's less lonely from just having people around. Also, the stable is dangerously close to a certain person's tent.

20. Does Varric give your Inquisitor a nickname? Why or why not?

At first it’s only Herald and Inquisitor, later one when Hoang said he just wants Varric being his friend, he started calling him ‘Dimples’. Because, well, the dimples when he smiles. Hoang would take that over ‘Inquisitorialness’.

21. Does your Inquisitor side more often with Leliana, Josephine, or Cullen? Why?

Josie works overtime 😭. Because Hoang trusts her and she goes well with his people pleaser tendency. Leliana is when he needs to be tougher but discreet, to not risk their reputation. Cullen has the least use since his way isn’t align with Hoang’s. Overall it spreads quite even between them.

22. Where does your Inquisitor spend most of their time in Skyhold? Why?

Hoang doesn’t like tight, dark space. Unlike Haven, his Skyhold room is huge, which means he spends more time there doing paperwork. If not his room or the war table, Hoang’s on the move. He has a routine he likes to keep, but comparing to Haven, he’s been venturing out more from his comfort.

He goes from places to places, checking on people and offers help, keeping himself useful, basically just overworking. Hoang still pick up books from the library and stops by the stable. Also, he’s been going to the tavern for obvious reason, even though it’s always so chaotic and crowded.

The garden is nice to stay for few minutes, and the battlements is for brooding. I like to think Bull has to lay on top of him, using his body weight to keep Hoang from getting up, just so he can have 10 more minutes of sleep.

23. What would the Nightmare demon have said to your Inquisitor to rattle them the most?

"The family's shame and now a fraud. You never matter, never done anything right. Ah,that's why they abandoned you. Worthless of a man. Are you even a man? Soon, you'll bring them to destruction, then I’ll devour you. I'm sure your whore mother would be proud."

24. What’s your Inquisitor's favorite location to travel to? Why?

Val Royeaux. It lies on the coast of the Waking Sea, has warmer climate with ocean breeze just like Ostwick, so it feels like home. The people are horrible, but the goods are nice to look at. Plus, they have his favorite Antivan wine.

25. Does your Inquisitor take any specific companions with them? Why?

Blackwall, Bull and Sera my beloved 😭😭 Sometimes Cassandra or Vivienne would take Blackwall’s spot. Varric or Cole would take Sera’s. Bull is a permanent member for obvious reason.

26. What motivates your Inquisitor the most?

It’s been validation for a long time. Don't get him wrong, Hoang cares a lot about others, he thrives for people’s well being and justice. But validation and to be wanted is a part of it. It stays deep down inside him and been there the longest. Sadly living to uphold others’ expectation only gets you so far.

At some point he’s lost himself, he exists like an empty shell, doubting his purpose. When Hoang was dragged back into the role in Veilguard, it’s like a nightmare coming back, but he must face it. Now he wants freedom, he wants peace, and Solas the only thing in between. This time he’s prepared.

27. What animal do you associate with your Inquisitor?

This is cliché but I did some personality tests as Hoang, and most of the results are dog. Golden retriever. Loyal, needs close relationships, needs to please others, full of compassion and empathy, doesn’t like changes. I would just keep it until I can think of another animal.

28. What’s your Inquisitor's least favorite location to travel to? Why?

Emprise du Lion. Hoang's mom migrated from south Tevinter, he was born and raised in Ostwick, a city by the ocean. He’s not built for snow and ice. Haven and Skyhold weather is tolerable but EdL is just horrible. He's wrapped in layers of fur it's difficult to move while Bull has his tits out, it's unfair. Fallow Mire gets an honorable mention for obvious reason.

29. What did your Inquisitor choose to do during Iron Bull’s quest?

Something inside Hoang screamed for just sacrificing the Chargers. As Inquisitor, with that much power, you need to make decision nobody can, suffer things nobody can endure. But Hoang Trevelyan isn't a good Inquisitor.

Hoang and Bull share the similarity of being seen as a tool, a symbol. He understands how important it is to find people who's true to you. The Chargers are Bull's family, and Hoang's people. Besides, Hoang has lost too many lives, he couldn't bear to do that to Bull, a man who is so important to him.

He had fear this decision has consequences, but coming back to Herald's Rest, seeing the man he has a crush on drinking and laughing with his found family. Maybe he can endure this consequence. 30. What are some random facts about your Inquisitor?

Accidentally flirted with Cassandra, which led to an awkward convo. It was a misunderstanding.

Favorite desert is Antivan lemon cake, would share it with his horse. Mom's egg tart is also a fav but he hasn't had it in years.

Tried different hobbies but not really stick with one, ended up picking knitting somewhere end-game since he can do that while working, and it's functional.

Competitive when he was a teen. Hoang ruined a classmate’s potion so his can be the best in class. Little fucker got away with it, but did NOT get the highest score.

Clean freak. Hoang dusts the chair before sitting, even brings his own utensil to taverns. Got stared at by his companions the first time he pulled them out.

Loves romance novels, even smutty ones. There was a phrase where he took novels in his dorm room to read through the night, then started fantasizing. He won’t tell anyone, and he will not read them in the open like Cassandra. A noble Inquisitor needs to appear ‘sophisticated’. Then Cole knows, Josie knows, then Dorian. And once they know, everyone know. Cassandra just smirks.

31. What could someone say to your Inquisitor that would hurt them the most?

When he was a child it’s “Why can't you be more like your brother and sister?". Now he’s heard enough from strangers to be bother. It stings, but easily dismissed. However, if the people he cares about say things similar to what Nightmare said, it’s over. It’s not about what is said to him, but about who said it.

32. What is your Inquisitor most self-conscious about?

The good: His look. Doesn’t have the suave but definitely easy on the eyes.

The bad: How easy it is for him to be nervous. His cautiousness when he wields magic, which roots in lack of confidence. How privileged and sheltered he was before Inquisition, which took him awhile to be conscious about.

33. Does your Inquisitor have any special talents outside of fighting?

His ability to focus. As a noble Hoang is well educated, and he wants to be good at everything (fear of not being good enough), so he tried different hobbies. Not a lot of them stand out, but he realizes he can focus really well. That makes him reads faster and uses magic better, making up for the nervousness.

He also likes to pay attention to small details no one cares about. Back in the Circles, he would noticed the change in hairstyles, jewelries on women and compliments them. Niche but Hoang can recognizes the taste of different bottle of wine. If you swap his favorite wine with a similar one he will know.

34. What does your Inquisitor do for fun in their free time?

Free time sounds luxury. Plus, Hoang feels empty if he doesn't do anything. Even in the Circle he still find thing to do. So usually he'd make himself useful, pick up new skills, practice old ones.

He also likes to spend time with his inner circle (they make sure he don't die from overwork). But really, Hoang misses Ostwick. If he had time and can go home right now, Hoang would take Shae the horse for a ride from the hill to the beach and probably just try sitting there. And breathe.

I suppose Hoang is the type of person who has to keep themselves active. If he stops and lies down, he would never wants to wake up, because he doesn't realize how burned out he is.

35. How does your Inquisitor feel about the Tevinter Imperium?

Like most southerners, Hoang holds resentments against the Imperium, not just political, but also personal reason. His mother was still a babe when her parent fled Tevinter to the Marches. Stories about evil magisters destroyed her village and used people for blood magic sticks with Hoang. They also contributes to his fear of magic. Hoang turns out a mage is just ironic. He hates its culture and government, and he *tried* to be fair with people from Tevinter. Discussions with Dorian were awkward. Took him nerves to not be angry when slavery and blood mages were brought up.

Hoang warmed up to Dorian eventually, now that he knows they have the same family problem (homophobia 💕) and share a lot in common.

Bonus lore: There was no mages in Lady Trevelyan’s village nor her bloodline (maybe 1 or 2, but it's been so long since the last one). Therefore her hometown is at the bottom of social hierarchy (above elves since they’re human). Local noble family want their land, and they were considered disposable, hence the destroy of the village.

36. Does your Inquisitor take the time to hunt the dragons in Thedas?

Dragons scared the shit out of Hoang, but ever since Iron Bull told him about the dragon tooth necklace, well guess he has to hunt one now. People do dumb things when they’re in love, and Hoang was so pathetically in love.

He actually enjoyed the hunt, it’s the adrenaline rush. The celebration with Bull is a great bonus, especially when Bull slipped and called Hoang kadan, really made him want to get on his knees and...uh..pray. If Hoang can kill a dragon, he feels like he can do anything.

They hunt dragons when they’re a danger to the area, which is most of the time. His party switches up between Sera, Blackwall, Cole, Viviene and Cassandra with Bull as the permanent one. He loves seeing Bull happy. And, gazing at Hoang's ass and thighs as his coat tail flipped up, while dragon blood spilled everywhere, makes Bull happy.

37. Did your Inquisitor try to impress the court at the Winter Palace? Why or why not?

Hoang did. The Inquisition needs all support it can get, and as his responsibility, Hoang will get it. He even practiced ahead of time with Vivienne and Josie. Viv offered to help with the dancing since it’s been so long. Hoang actually isn't bad at dancing nor the Game especially after 2 wines for confidence boost.

Unfortunately despite how much he tried, Orlais still bite him in the ass 2 years later.

38. Who was your Inquisitor most excited to see again during the events of Trespasser? Why?

Thom. Hoang writes to the others once in awhile, and Bull sticks around between jobs, but he hasn't heard from Thom for so long. It hurts Hoang when discovering his lies, since he admired that man so much. It hurts him even more sending Thom to the Wardens, knowing he'll die eventually, but it must be done. It was a relief that Thom's doing well. Hoang picked up knitting during this time, a hobby he actually enjoys and can do during work, so he brought Thom a little griffon plush. Next is Cole, since the kid seem to struggle with being human.

39. Was your Inquisitor surprised by the reveal of Solas being the Dread Wolf?

Yes and no. Hoang has suspicion, now everything makes sense. Still, mostly anger and feeling betrayed that took over him at the moment. He has every right to, because someone who he spent the first moment of this journey with, someone who called Hoang A TRUE FRIEND, is also the one behind all this.

Solas’s plan angered him the most. He’s the final straw that broke all of Hoang’s patience and tolerance. Oh to think 10 years later when Rook asked about the Inquisitor, Solas still only sees him as “useful”, as if there wasn't anything between them.

40. If your Inquisitor could have one wish, what would it be?

To live like a normal person, no title, no politic. It might sounds selfish, but despite the world needs fixing, he won't be that person anymore. Guess wishes are just wishes.

41. How did your Inquisitor feel about Mother Giselle?

Hoang was honored to have her. He was raised Andrastian, so he respects someone like her. Giselle's been a real help. She made Hoang almost believe he was the Herald. Until he heard the rumors. It's the first time Hoang talked back to a Mother, defending Dorian and himself.

It was jarring and anxious for Hoang, since he's been keeping his preference secret (mostly). After that he remained professional, but tried to avoid her. Giselle isn't a bad person at the core, but he doesn't feel comfortable talking to her anymore.

42. From the beginning of Inquisition to the end of Veilguard, did your Inquisitor's view on Solas change?

Drastically. Hoang respects Solas and learns a lot about magic from him. His POV is fresh, nothing Hoang's ever heard in the Circle. He wouldn't consider Solas a close friend, but a friend nonetheless, and the elf's feeling seem to be mutual. Hoang was wrong. After Trespasser, all Hoang has left was anger.

10 years later, the anger is less intense, but the fire is still there. He deems Solas to be beyond saving and nothing can convince him otherwise. Varric was the proof of it.

43. If your Inquisitor could change one decision they made during the events of the game, what would it be?

He wouldn't bother kissing that many ass in Orlais, and if he can have one more, he would order Leliana to not kill that spy. Hoang was nervous, wondering if he even had the say, he didn't know how things work during those first days, so he stepped aside. When she brought that up later, it hurts. Now she seems fine, but he knows it's his fault that she's hardened.

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 &TEAM BEING YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND . . !

ot9 &team — GENRE : imagines headcanon fluff — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : none — REQUESTED : yes :) ☆ — &t masterlist

K :

K’s eyes widen slightly when you tell him, his usual confident expression softening with surprise. “Wait… really?” he asks, tilting his head as if he needs to make sure he heard you right.

When you nod, a slow, almost boyish smile spreads across his face. “That’s kinda crazy… but also really cool.”

Unlike some of the others who might overthink it, K takes the news in stride. He’s honored, sure, but more than anything, he’s excited. From that moment on, he makes it his personal mission to make every “first” with him the best experience possible.

• First date? He goes all out. He’s planning a full-day adventure—maybe a fun amusement park date, a late-night walk under city lights, or something thrilling to get your adrenaline pumping (“Trust me, it’ll be unforgettable,” he grins).

• First time holding hands? It’s casual and effortless. One second your hands are brushing, the next, he just takes it without hesitation, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

• First kiss? He teases you about it beforehand—“So, how do you wanna do this? Slow and romantic? Or should I just surprise you?”—but when the moment actually comes, he’s surprisingly gentle. The teasing disappears, replaced by pure sincerity as he kisses you softly, lingering just enough to make your heart race.

Though K is naturally playful and confident, he never makes you feel pressured. He checks in often—“You okay?” “Is this too much?” “Tell me if you need me to slow down.”—always making sure you’re comfortable.

And while he’s the type to joke around, there are moments when he gets serious, too. One night, after a long conversation about relationships, he looks over at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You know… just ‘cause I’m your first doesn’t mean I wanna be just a stepping stone,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “I wanna be someone you remember in the best way. Someone who sets the bar high.”

You can tell—he’s not just your first boyfriend. He wants to be your best one, too.

FUMA :

Fuma blinks a few times when you tell him, then lets out a small, surprised laugh. “Wait, for real?” He rubs the back of his neck, his usual laid-back demeanor faltering for a second as he processes it.

Then, his smile softens. “That’s… kinda special, huh?”

Fuma isn’t the type to overreact, but you can tell it means a lot to him. There’s something warm and reassuring in the way he looks at you, like he’s silently promising to take good care of your heart.

• First date? He keeps it chill—maybe a cozy café or a walk by the river, somewhere you can talk and laugh without pressure. “I just wanna spend time with you. That’s all that matters,” he says with a smile.

• First time holding hands? He lets you set the pace. He might brush his fingers against yours a few times, testing the waters, but the moment you take his hand, he grips it firmly, running his thumb over your skin to reassure you.

• First kiss? He teases you a little beforehand—“Nervous? Don’t worry, I’ll make it easy for you,”—but when the moment comes, he’s gentle, unrushed, letting you melt into him at your own pace.

Fuma is incredibly patient with you, never rushing any milestone. He always checks in, making sure you’re comfortable before taking another step forward.

But there’s also a quiet protectiveness in the way he treats you. One night, after a deep conversation, he pulls you closer, his voice lower, more serious than usual.

“Being your first… it’s a big deal to me,” he admits. “I don’t take it lightly. I wanna be someone you look back on and smile, not someone who made you regret anything.”

You realize then—Fuma isn’t just here to be your first boyfriend. He’s here to be someone who truly matters to you.

NICHOLAS :

Nicholas’s eyes widen in surprise when you tell him, his lips parting slightly as if he’s processing the weight of what you’ve just said. “Wait, I’m your first?” he asks, a playful glint in his eye, but there’s an undeniable warmth in his smile.

His reaction is a mix of honor and excitement. He feels like he’s been entrusted with something precious. Nicholas isn’t one to shy away from big emotions, so he’s quick to express how important it is to him. “That’s… amazing, honestly. I’m honored,” he says, his voice sincere and filled with a hint of awe.

• First date? Nicholas might surprise you with something a little extra special, like an intimate dinner under the stars or a fun adventure in the city. “I want to make this unforgettable for you,” he says with a grin, clearly trying to give you a night you’ll always remember.

• First time holding hands? He’ll make it feel like a movie moment, where he gently takes your hand and looks at you with a soft smile. “There’s nothing I want more than to hold your hand,” he murmurs, making sure you feel secure in his grip.

• First kiss? He leans in with a confident but gentle air, kissing you slowly, letting the moment linger and leaving you breathless. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he admits with a wink afterward, his voice low and affectionate.

With Nicholas, there’s a confidence in his love for you, but also a deep respect for your feelings and your pace. He’s always careful, always present, and always making sure you feel cared for.

When you talk about it later, he gives you a soft laugh. “I’m glad it’s me. And I’ll make sure you’re never disappointed, no matter what.” There’s a promise in his voice, a vow to be your constant, steady presence as your first boyfriend, and that assurance settles deep within you.

he’s also your protector, your encourager, and your biggest fan. He’ll make you feel special in ways you never thought possible.

EJ :

Euijoo’s expression softens in complete surprise when you tell him, his eyes widening for a moment as if he’s trying to fully grasp what you’ve just shared with him. “Wait, really? I’m your first?” he asks, a slight chuckle escaping him, but his tone is filled with a warmth that makes you feel like the luckiest person alive.

It’s clear from the way he looks at you—his gaze soft, his lips curling into a genuine smile—that he’s moved by the fact that you chose him. He’s honored, but there’s also a quiet tenderness in his reaction. “I… I don’t even know what to say. That means a lot to me,” he admits, his voice low, almost in awe of the responsibility you’ve entrusted him with.

• First date? Euijoo would want to make it special, but not over the top. He might take you to a quiet, cozy café, somewhere where you two can talk and laugh without distractions. “I want this to be perfect for you,” he says, his fingers brushing lightly against yours, making sure every moment feels like a memory in the making.

• First time holding hands? He’ll be shy but absolutely happy when the moment comes. His hand will hover near yours for a second before he gently takes it in his, his fingers wrapping around yours with a sense of warmth and care.

• First kiss? When the moment comes, Euijoo leans in with a mixture of hesitation and excitement, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, slow kiss. He’ll make sure you’re comfortable, giving you time to respond and savor the moment.

For Euijoo, being your first boyfriend isn’t just a title—it’s a promise. He’ll always take things at your pace, making sure you feel cherished and valued every step of the way. You can sense the deep care he has for you, and with every moment, you’ll feel more secure in his love.

Later, as you talk about it, he’ll laugh softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m really happy it’s me. I’ll always make sure you feel safe and loved, no matter what,” he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

he’s the kind of boyfriend who’s steady, thoughtful, and always there to remind you how special you are.

YUMA :

Yuma’s eyes widen, and for a second, he almost looks like he’s holding his breath. His face lights up with a mix of surprise and something deeper, a warmth that spreads across his features. “Wait, really? I’m your first?” His voice is soft, almost a little in disbelief, but his smile quickly softens into something sincere and full of affection.

He’s not one to shy away from big emotions, but he’s also a little stunned by how important this moment is. “Wow… I didn’t expect that. I’m really honored,” he says, his voice quiet but meaningful. It’s clear that he feels both a sense of responsibility and a deep affection for you.

• First date? Yuma would want it to be exciting but low-key, maybe something adventurous. He might take you to a fun amusement park, a new movie, or somewhere that would give you both a chance to laugh and bond. “I want our first date to be something memorable,” he says with a playful grin, eager to make you feel special while keeping the mood lighthearted.

• First time holding hands? He’d be a little shy, but also eager to show you how much he likes you. When his hand gently touches yours, he’ll give you a smile full of excitement and a hint of nervousness. “Feels right,” he murmurs, clearly happy, but still taking in the significance of the moment.

• First kiss? Yuma’s first kiss would be full of excitement and maybe a bit of playful energy. He might lean in a little too fast, but when his lips meet yours, it’s tender and full of promise. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he admits afterward, laughing softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if still trying to process the sweetness of the moment.

With Yuma, you get a sense of joy and eagerness mixed with deep care. He’s always trying to make sure you’re enjoying the moment, but he’s also incredibly considerate, wanting to ensure that every new experience feels right for both of you.

Later, as you talk about it, he’ll chuckle softly. “I’m really glad I’m your first,” he says with a grin, clearly proud but in an endearing way. “I’ll make sure you feel happy and comfortable—this is just the beginning, after all.”

he’s the guy who’s going to keep things fun and lighthearted, but also full of genuine affection. He’s all about making you feel like the most important person in the room.

JO :

Jo’s eyes soften with surprise when you tell him, and for a brief moment, he doesn’t quite know how to respond. His usual confident smile falters, replaced by something a little more vulnerable—a gentle mix of pride and sincerity. “I’m your first? Wow… That means a lot,” he says, his voice unusually tender, as if processing the weight of what you’ve just shared.

He’s someone who values deep connections, so knowing he’s your first is something he takes seriously. “I’m honored,” Jo admits, his voice full of warmth and reassurance. It’s clear he wants to make sure you feel loved and cherished.

• First date? Jo would go for something romantic but also intimate. He’d probably plan a quiet dinner at a cozy restaurant or a picnic under the stars. “I want our first date to be something special, something you’ll always remember,” he says with a smile that feels genuine, his care for you shining through.

• First time holding hands? Jo would take his time, gently intertwining his fingers with yours, his eyes meeting yours with a soft, reassuring smile. “This feels… perfect,” he’d say, his tone calm but filled with affection, making sure you’re comfortable and at ease.

• First kiss? His kiss would be slow and tender, not rushed, as if savoring the moment. Jo’s lips would hover just above yours for a second, looking at you with those soft, warm eyes. When he kisses you, it’s soft and meaningful, full of the love and respect he feels for you. “I’ve wanted this,” he whispers after, his voice deep but tender, and there’s a sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat.

With Jo, it’s all about the emotional connection. He’s not in a rush, and every touch and word is a reflection of how deeply he cares about you. He would make sure that every moment feels right and comfortable, with no pressure.

Later, as you reflect on the moment, Jo’s smile would be full of pride. “I’m really happy it’s me,” he says, his voice soft and sincere. “I want to be everything you need, every step of the way.”

Jo isn’t just your first boyfriend—he’s the one who will always be there, patient and loving, making sure that you feel secure and adored in every step of your relationship.

HARUA :

When you tell Harua that he’s your first, he freezes for a second, eyes widening in surprise before a shy, gentle smile tugs at his lips. “Wait… really?” he asks softly, a hint of disbelief in his voice, but there’s no mistaking the affection and pride in his expression. “I… I didn’t expect that.” Harua’s usually the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, so knowing that he’s your first is both humbling and exciting for him.

He takes a moment, processing your words, before his eyes meet yours, full of sincerity. “I’m honored,” he says, his voice sincere, his usually playful demeanor replaced by something deeper. He makes sure to show you just how much this means to him, feeling like he’s been given a special role in your life.

• First date? Harua would make sure your first date is memorable in the sweetest way. He might take you somewhere simple yet meaningful, like a cozy café or a walk in the park, and he’d insist on carrying your things just to show how much he cares. “I want to make sure you’re happy,” he’d say, his smile shy but full of warmth.

• First time holding hands? Harua’s hand would feel warm and a little nervous as he reaches out for yours. When your hands finally touch, he’d give a soft laugh, almost to himself. “This feels nice,” he’d say quietly, squeezing your hand gently, as if he’s savoring the moment. His nervousness would melt away, replaced by a quiet happiness, knowing you’re here with him.

• First kiss? Harua would be sweet and tender, leaning in slowly as if he doesn’t want to rush a single moment of it. His lips would meet yours softly, lingering for just a moment longer than you might expect, making sure that everything feels right. After the kiss, he’d pull away, his cheeks flushed slightly. “That was… perfect,” he’d say, his voice still soft, but full of contentment.

Harua’s the type of boyfriend who’ll make you feel like everything you do together is special, even the smallest moments. His warmth, sincerity, and care will ensure you never feel rushed, but rather, cherished every step of the way.

Later, Harua would give you a soft, goofy smile. “I’m really happy it’s me,” he’d say, his tone gentle but filled with affection. “I’ll make sure you’re always taken care of, and we’ll make lots of amazing memories together.”

He’s the one who will always make sure you feel adored, understood, and completely comfortable with every step of your relationship.

TAKI :

The moment the words leave your lips, Taki freezes mid-motion, his eyes widening as he processes what you just said.

“Wait… I’m your first? Like… first ever?” He points at himself in disbelief, his brows raised so high they might disappear into his hair.

When you nod, his mouth falls open slightly before he suddenly buries his face in his hands, his ears turning bright red.

“Oh my gosh, that’s so much pressure!” he exclaims, his voice muffled through his hands. “What if I mess up? What if I’m terrible at this? What if—”

You laugh, reaching out to pull his hands away, and the second your fingers touch, he stops rambling and just stares at you. His eyes soften, and after a moment, he exhales a deep breath before offering you a small, almost shy smile.

“Okay, okay. I just… wow. That’s really special.”

Despite his usual playful and energetic nature, Taki takes this seriously. You can see the way he straightens up slightly, nodding to himself as if silently promising to do his best.

“Alright then! That means I have to be the best first boyfriend ever!” He puffs out his chest dramatically before quickly deflating. “Wait… what does that even mean?”

From that moment on, Taki goes into full-on ‘Best Boyfriend Mode.’

• First date? He overthinks it, planning something elaborate before panicking and just suggesting something fun and spontaneous—probably an arcade or a food stall hopping date.

• First time holding hands? He grins like an idiot the whole time and swings your hands back and forth just because he thinks it’s cute.

• First kiss? He gets super nervous, fidgeting and second-guessing himself before finally just going for it. And afterward, he buries his face in your shoulder out of embarrassment, giggling nonstop.

Even though he can be goofy and playful, you notice that Taki is incredibly thoughtful. He pays attention to the things that make you smile and does his best to make sure your first relationship is filled with fun, laughter, and sweet memories.

One day, while you’re sitting together, he suddenly looks at you with a rare, serious expression.

“Hey… does it feel okay? Being with me, I mean.” His voice is softer, more unsure.

You tell him that being with him feels perfect. That you wouldn’t want anyone else as your first.

His whole face lights up instantly, and he throws his arms around you, squeezing you tightly.

“Ahhh! You’re too cute! I swear, I’m gonna make sure you never regret this!”

And he means it. Taki may be your first, but he’ll do everything he can to make sure he’s also your favorite.

MAKI :

Maki blinks at you, momentarily stunned. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Wait… I’m your first? Like, your first ever boyfriend?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of surprise in his usually collected expression.

When you nod, he leans back slightly, his brows knitting together as if he’s trying to process the weight of what you just told him. He doesn’t say anything right away, and for a second, you wonder if he’s overthinking it.

Then, after a moment, he exhales softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“That’s… kind of an honor,” he admits, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “I just want to make sure I do this right.”

Maki might not show his emotions as openly as the others, but deep down, he takes this seriously. From the moment he realizes he’s your first, he becomes more thoughtful, more careful, making sure every moment feels special.

• First date? He plans it with so much attention to detail—somewhere quiet and meaningful, like a scenic park or a cozy little café where you can actually talk and enjoy each other’s company.

• First time holding hands? He doesn’t rush it. He waits until it feels natural, until one day, he just casually intertwines your fingers with his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

• First kiss? He hesitates at first, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it to be perfect. When he finally leans in, his touch is gentle, deliberate, and filled with unspoken emotion.

Even though Maki isn’t the type to be overly affectionate in public, you notice the small, meaningful ways he shows he cares.

• He listens. He remembers the little things you say, even if it’s just a passing comment about your favorite snack or a song you like.

• He checks in on you. Even if he doesn’t say much, you get texts like, “Did you eat?” or “Get home safe.”

• He respects your space. He doesn’t push you into anything you’re not ready for, always making sure you’re comfortable.

One evening, as you sit together in comfortable silence, Maki glances over at you. His eyes are warm, a rare softness in them that he doesn’t often show.

“I know I’m your first,” he murmurs, his fingers lightly tracing circles against the back of your hand. “But I also want to be someone you’ll always remember in a good way.”

You squeeze his hand, reassuring him that he already is.

Maki might not always say it outright, but he loves deeply in his own quiet way. And being your first? He sees it as a privilege, one he’ll never take for granted.

Word count : 3517 | serapharua, 2025.

[regretisstoredintheme]

I just had an idea! And I think its cute yet funny and maybe even a little angsty, but hear me out. Reader got a crush on rise! Donnie but doesn’t act on it/tries to stomp it down cuz Donnie is obviously married to science. But then! He got accidentally splashed/drunk a love potion (which actually heightens the emotions and feelings for a person that are already there) and Donnie looks at reader and he falls for them! (He already had a liking towards them but now it got heightened)

He still acts like himself but in love and more boldly!

Reader feels conflicted because they like the attention and stuff Donnie gives them but also sad because Donnie only acts like that because of the potion. Shenanigans ensue, till the potion wears off andddd you decide how it ends

I thought this could be a pretty fun prompt/theme/etc to do

Also you’re amazing! Love you’re writing! I definitely vote for you! And I hope you have an amazing timezone!

*crawls out of cave and GRASPS request*

Well hello there heh… if it isn’t my imaginary audience!

In the name of Science (A oneshot) - Rise!Donatello X Reader

Warnings: Possibly OOC? if you’ve seen the ROTTMNT episode “mind meld” then this will be fine In comparison

A/N: I know this isn’t exactly what was requested, but I hope it’s fun to read! I feel like I’m a full fledged fanfiction writer now that I have a love potion story 😭😭 I doubt this person even remembers their request anymore, but it was great inspiration nonetheless, thank you to them!

—

Here’s the thing, Donnie wasn’t exactly the easiest turtle to get a hold of. Not when he’s holed up in his room, working on the next big this or the breakthrough that.. at least, he always seemed to be, around you. Clearly he was avoiding you, right? Why would he be so boisterous and proud around his brothers and then suddenly become a recluse with you? April suggested he was simply not warmed up yet, however the little inkling of doubt in your brain strung into the long thread of yarn that wove a different tale.

No, he had to hate you. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much. If he hated you, and didn’t simply not like you.

That’s why this was so conflicting.

He had been giving a demonstration, only to you, of something that he had created. (Of course, nobody else was home for him to rant to, naturally he would target the one person who happened to walk into his lab. This wasn’t special, you weren’t special, right? It was a matter of chance— don’t get your hopes up.)

The genius scientist seemed rather excited about this mysterious concoction, which he held in a glass vial. Something, something Oxytocin something, something heartrate— it was lovely just to see him ramble to YOU for once— not that this was special, of course.

At the last possible moment, he had offered you the vial, a proud smile on his face as he suggested you take a closer look at its contents. Unfortunately, you were a little… side tracked. It was heavier than you had expected— even if only by a few grams— that unfortunately didn’t matter when you were staring at the glass on the floor and the mysterious solution that had spilled everywhere including on the two of your feet. You were wearing shoes, but Donnie— well, he never wore shoes.

Donnie’s eyes widened as he looked up at you, horror etched in every wrinkle of his frown. You looked so apologetic, so, so very sorry that his only successful experiment was lying in pieces on the ground. Your eyes were so worried, so caring about what he had to say, and well…

“Shit.” Donnie threw his eyes in another direction, grabbing a rag from off the counter and squatting to try and get the solution off his skin. He hadn’t thought of the idea that it might work through topical use… Ergo! He was royally fucked.

“Donnie? Donnie seriously, if there’s any way I can make it up to you—“

He swallowed, looking back in your direction only to see your face again. How he hated the worry on your face, if it was any other situation he would have been angry and frustrated— but this was different. The solution was for you, anyway, what did it matter if you broke it? It was yours, and so was his heart the moment he laid eyes on you.

“Don’t—“ he coughed, “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it, it only took me a few days to make.” He shrugged it off like it was nothing, the flames of his frustration strangely suppressed under the blush on his face.

Pretty? That was new. He’d never spoken that way before..

“Donnie?” Your head tilted, eyes widened.

He liked that look on you, the confusion of his behavior— it meant you were paying attention. “What? This?” He glanced down at the mess, which seemed like a puddle of nothing now, he stepped through it to get closer. “Don’t worry about that.”

You were starting to wonder what the experiment actually was…

Meanwhile, Donnie was wondering how important his mysterious bad boy image actually was..

“Don’t worry about it? Donnie, what did that liquid do?” Your voice was like music, if he were himself, he would have been upset with how little you had paid attention, but you were looking at him now, weren’t you? He’d be happy to re-explain!

“A neuron chemical enhancer.” He spoke in that way he always does, but upon seeing the confusion grow on your face, he found himself wanting to elaborate in your terms. He loved your terms. “I curated it specifically for… romance.” He continued to explain, getting a little closer to you now. It was subconscious, he didn’t even realize he was doing it, he simply was.

That’s when it clicked. A love potion, that’s what it was— he had chemically engineered a love potion — what for? Why did he make it? You weren’t sure, but you knew his sudden advances couldn’t be genuine.

And yet, as his hand grabbed your wrist, you found yourself.. yearning for this side of him.

“Are you hurt? Didn’t get hit by the glass, did you?” Donnie asked, despite the fact that he, himself was standing in the shards. Jesus— you knew he was made for war, but… Wasn’t that uncomfortable? You’d never seen him so worried about anything other than quadratic equations..

“No— no, Donnie— are you sure you’re quite yourself?” Your words were drowned out by the smile on his face, the sigh of relief in which he was so glad you weren’t hurt. He couldn’t bear if you were hurt by one of his experiments, it would crush him. “Oh I’m so glad!” He immediately lit up, the kind of expression you were sure only his brothers saw— if his brothers even looked hard enough to see it. It was the kind of look he gave when he entered a library, when he was showing off an invention. The way his eyes crinkled at the edges and he lightly squeezed your arm, “Well, now that that’s taken care of, how about we sit down so you can listen to more of my thoughts?” It was too much.

“Donnie, Donnie— I’m starting to get worried about you..” your hand rested on his shell— well, on his battle shell, and he frowned, his brows raised, “well, if you don’t want that, perhaps I could interest you in some other stimulating entertainment?” He gestured grandiosely back at his elaborate gaming setup, hoping to tempt you into gaming with him.

“No, not like that,” You almost wanted to laugh, he was suddenly so desperate to keep you in his lab. “You don’t normally act like this… this.. interested..”

Interested? Whatever could you possibly mean? He hadn’t the foggiest! “Surely you’re not declining?” He frowned, brows furrowed.

“No, I’m just saying,” You continued to try and explain your point, lightly pushing him away and watching as he descended into discomfort at the distance, “You’re never this touchy— you don’t touch at all, in fact. This all started with that experiment… are you sure you’re not…”

Donnie’s eyes searched your expression as you spoke. He was unable to make eye contact for more than a moment, but he blamed that on your superb features. “Not what?” He folded his arms, more and more upset as he was pushed away. “Do you suddenly dislike my presence?”

“Donnie, no..” you sighed at the soft shell’s… soft shell. “Are you sure you’re not under the influence of anything?”

The turtle laughed, no, scoffed right in your face. “Me? Influenced by something? Please.” Donnie ‘susceptible to hypnosis’ Hamato confidently got closer again, now convinced you weren’t avoiding him for the reasons he was worried about. “The only thing I am influenced by is the way you captivate me.”

He paused, a look of horror appearing back onto his face. Okay, he was seeing it now. Did that really fall out of his mouth? He… no, it couldn’t be— could it? He… he sounded like… like Leo! His hand covered his mouth.

It seemed his experiment had finally worn off.

“Oh no.” If it was possible, he went pale in the face, the confidence from earlier completely stripped away as he stood with only a racing heart and flushed face. “What happened? What did I do?” He speedily backed up, momentarily lapsing memory of the past five minutes. You immediately felt bad.

“Nothing, Don, are you okay?” Of course it wasn’t real, why would it be real? He was just embarrassed by how the solution affected him.

Donnie grimaced, remembering what had happened in the span of a few moments. Many emotions were coursing through him right now— discomfort, embarrassment, frustration… and disappointment. “I’m…” his furrowed brows softened, his expression shifted to remorse. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.” He folded his arms once again, his hands clenched into fists.

What did he mean by that? As a matter of fact…

“Donnie, what was the potion… originally for?” You took a step forward, over the spill on the floor. The terrapin huffed, “it’s not a potion. It’s not mystic— I made it myself!” He was caught between wanting to be haughty and proud of himself and feeling bad for.. well..

“And.. it was for you.” He sighed, fiddling with his elbow pads, “I thought I could win you over with the power of science— clearly my methods weren’t as successful as I would have hoped.” He didn’t feel guilty, no— rather, he was upset the potion.. sorry, SOLUTION hadn’t worked for a longer period of time. “It clearly wasn’t strong enough..” he frowned, frustration building back up in his chest, “I’ll have to start from scratch, perhaps I can up the concentration of the liquified gasses…” he turned to his work station, his notes, reading on as if you weren’t there.

“It was for… me?” It felt like a bomb exploding in your chest. He what!? For you? For why? You approached the desk, seeing as the lists of chemical compounds and experiments, diagrams of neuron pathways and the science of this thing called “romance.”

He was doing everything in the book BUT courting you.

“Donnie?” You placed his hand on his shoulder this time, to which he lifted up his goggles and met your gaze, “hm? Yes?” He didn’t seem at all phased by you figuring out his plan, rather he seemed more steadfast in his science.

“Was it for… you.. and me…? For…?”

Nod.

“You know this isn’t necessary, right?”

Pause.

“..What’s that supposed to mean?” He furrowed his brows, what were you saying now? He tapped his fingers on his desk, waiting eagerly for your reply. You took deep breaths, stilling your heart beneath his intense gaze.

“I already like you, Donnie.”

….

He stood from his desk, staring at you. His eyes held something unintelligible, searching your face. His brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape, you could swear he had stopped breathing.

……..

………..

“What?!”

—

A/N: considering Donnie had literally changed his brother’s brain chemistry in making them more like him, he is NOT above trying to change the thought processes of someone he likes LMAOOO

[zero-257]

A lil more fleshing out of the components for those who asked 🫶

A lot of the time I associate the word “new” with experimental and as a result (kinda compounded by the fact the guy literally blows up at the end of the workshop 😭) I see 83 Electra as a kind of experiment into electric fuelling. At his inception there are literally no other trains like him so after a while that starts to grate on him.

He has a vague understanding of other trains, as well as the fact that he was created by someone. So he starts attempting to essentially replicate himself with any material he can salvage from scrap yards and wherever else. As well as this, he uses his own power in order to keep them alive, so with each component he creates the more zombie-like he becomes.

Krupp- His first component, with evidentially the most to work with. A lot of Krupp was made with leftover paint and parts from Electra’s own creation. He had a lot of passion going into making Krupp, basically determined to make the “perfect” companion. Though when he brought Krupp to “life” and realised he isn’t really alive but just carrying out what Electra tells him to or mimicking him, he becomes frustrated and starts to take less interest in him.

Volta- She was Electra’s attempt to remedy where he went wrong with Krupp. However she has essentially the same problems as him, she is not really “alive” neither does she understand or care why Electra is irritated with her. But, she has a key role in keeping Electra stable (again going back to him exploding lol). As the “freezer truck” she is interconnected with Electra’s cooling system which alerts her if he is overheating/unstable. (Credit to dissl3xia for the idea) As he starts to give more of himself to create more components this instability worsens.

Purse- By component number three Electra is starting to become genuinely aggravated. Purse isn’t made with the same passion he had for the previous two and it leaves him without much of a purpose. He is Electra first real “experiment” and is really built with whatever parts he can possibly scavenge. Purse is also where the components start to look less “human” and take a turn towards just a vague human shape.

Wrench- Unlike Purse, Wrench was built with a legitimate purpose in mind. As Electra loses more and more power he requires more than just Volta to keep him from imploding. Wrench is an amalgamation of anything he was able to salvage, she only has to do her job and not much else. He has basically given up on creating the components with emotions or any personality by this point.

Joule- She is the product of two scrapped trucks Electra happened across. For the dynamite truck her bottom half was completely unsalvageable, and the animal truck was ruined from the waist up. She renewed hope in Electra, thinking that reanimating a truck who was previously alive would fix the issue of the components only following programming. This was not the case, and although there are some moments where Joule seems “aware” they are few and far between.

Killerwatt- The final component. Electra is drained to the point of appearing in his mostly zombie-like state, this has somewhat subdued his personality and has brought him back to feeling lonely. He created Killerwatt from literally anything with very little of it being train parts. He often talks to him in a friendly manner he never uses for the other components although he cannot respond. Killerwatt is essentially a statue, a work of art that Electra has poured a lot of time and energy into and in some ways he represents what Electra wanted all along - a friend.

Half of this makes about zero sense but these trains occupy about 99% of my brain at all times and this has come of it.

[daemonologywrites]

With all the stories about data scraping fanworks for AI that have been coming out, I’ll be setting my works on ao3 to “registered users only”—not that I’m nearly enough of a popular writer to catch anyone’s intention, but I still feel uncomfortable with the idea of my works being fed into the plagiarism machine

[peaches2217]

Part of me wants to try my hand at taking writing commissions. I’m not horribly strapped for cash, I can make do (and I’ve also got a Ko-Fi whose existence I only remember once every couple of months 😅), but 1.) Lucy’s medical bills ate into my already slim savings and 2.) commissions are like requests with monetary incentive, meaning it might be a good way to force myself to write more.

That said, I have exactly one experience with commissions (which was for vocalsynth file making rather than writing); the person kept throwing stuff at me that I never agreed to because I didn’t have a contract, and when they inevitably decided they hated what I managed with what they’d given me, they demanded their money back plus double under threat of lambasting me on the forum I was working from. Needless to say, I pulled my commission thread down shortly after.

…any other ideas? My brain keeps yelling “Threat of violence! Threat of violence!” so hiring someone to beat the shit out of me if I don’t get a certain amount of writing done within a certain timeframe is the next best thing I can think of. /lh