#this ones been in my drafts for whatever reason lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kissatoru · 3 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

summary · a typical night of lovemaking with your boyfriend takes an untypical turn when you decide to accept rather than decline an incoming call from his best friend.

content · NSFW MDNI, dom!bottom!reader, sub!top!armin (ft. the amazon position, my beloved<3), sub!eren, a pinch of eremin, phone sex (sort of), praise, degradation, humiliation, elements of exhibitionism and voyeurism, pet names (darling, sweet thing, baby), laughter, banter and bad flirting during sex, intended as an armin x reader NOT an eren x reader (reader just bullies eren the entire time lol), reader and armin fuck nasty while eren gets off to it basically

wc · 4.7k

notes · hello! i haven’t written smut in a hot minute lol. this has been sat in my drafts for months but i finished the rest in the last, like, day lmao. anyway, this is DISGUSTINGLY self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy! <3

Armin’s phone buzzes on the bedside table, screen lighting up with the name of the caller.

Usually, he is always quick to answer, only one, two rings max, but that’s a little hard to do considering you’re currently fucking any and all sense of self right out of his body.

Nonplussed, you reach for the vibrating phone, a smile forming when you read the name of the caller. You slow your movements to a stop too, which finally pulls Armin out of the foggy daze he’s in, enough for him to recognise his ringtone.

Before he can voice the question, you tell him, “It’s Eren.”

Armin swallows the drool that’s gathered in his mouth. “I’ll– I’ll have to call him back.” He gently squeezes your thighs, bracketing his own, and groans. “Later,” he adds softly as his eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open.

Alluring as your boyfriend is, so vulnerable and open, with his sweaty skin shining like honey in the dim light of your bedroom, your mind is unable to resist wandering... Replaying all the conversations you’ve had with Armin about your shared attraction to Eren, the transparency in Eren’s own reciprocated feelings, the lingering stares, the hard gulps, the ‘platonic’ flirting...

Your fingers tiptoe up his chest, a playful gesture, not uncommon for even the bedroom, but still it piques Armin’s interest enough for him to reopen his eyes. “Why later?” you muse, grinning like a fox. “Why not now?”

As if processing your words, Armin blinks, hard, then parts his lips to reply, but words fail to reach his brain, much less his mouth. And so he stares at you, like the unspoken answer couldn’t be any more obvious because it couldn’t. Armin is quite clearly busy right now, and he’s sure that whatever reason Eren has for calling him can afford to wait, at least until he’s– well, finished.

...But you don’t seem to agree.

You go ahead and offer the phone to him as if it’s commonplace to do so in these circumstances, and Armin’s eyes widen, his lips part and close again, but he makes no further effort to protest or stop you.

“It’d be rude to keep him waiting,” you say, “and if you don’t hurry, I’ll just pick up for you.”

A few seconds, a pause, drifts into place then; a chance to decline the call or say the safeword or just do anything to show that he doesn’t want to continue — but Armin just chews on his bottom lip, eyes casting down, indigo under the shadow of his lashes, and it’s all the answer you need. You’ve always loved that about him; he may look and act like a blushing virgin, but here, with you, he can’t help being your dirty little pervert.

With a satisfied smirk, you accept the call and hover it over Armin’s ear. Your boyfriend catches his breath, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, you’re resuming your actions from before and knocking that breath back out again.

“Fucking finally,” Eren’s playfully exasperated voice crackles through the phone speaker. “Thought you were never gonna pick up, dude. What took you so long? You always answer on the second ring.”

Armin glances at you, as though you might be able to supply him with a believable enough excuse for his behaviour. Despite those puppy eyes, you know he doesn’t need your help — not that you’d give it to him if he did, though. You enjoy seeing him struggle a bit sometimes. How could you not, when he always makes the cutest expressions? And besides, diamonds can only form under pressure, right? So all you do is give him a small, encouraging flick of your head. Go on. Answer him.

Armin takes a deep breath. “S–sorry,” he starts. His sweaty palms nervously massage the flesh around your hips. “My phone was, um, in– in the other room.”

“More like in another building,” Eren jokes and chuckles to himself. Armin probably would have laughed too, if he wasn’t so busy trying to keep his voice in. “Anyway, I just wanted to know if you’re still down for drinks on Friday? We never actually made official plans and usually you get back to me by now but– well, I know you’ve been busy so I thought I’d, y’know, call and check.”

You notice Armin regaining his bearings at the reminder of his plans with Eren, and out of jealousy or sadism, or perhaps a bit of both, you lift yourself up, until the tip of Armin’s cock is on the brink of slipping out of you, and forcefully drop back down.

Your poor boy barely manages to capture the noise he makes behind his hand in time, the other leaping up to claw at your shoulder. His face screws up, eyes and lips squeezing tightly, but you don’t stop there. You lean over to his sensitive neck to nip and kiss the already marked-up skin, all the while making fast, shallow thrusts. The lewd sound of your motions, definitely audible to Armin and potentially to Eren, makes Armin’s cheeks fill with blood. Behind his hand, he suppresses another sound.

“Hello? You still there?”

You’re lucky enough, for whoever’s sake, that Eren is as oblivious as he is.

“Yes,” Armin says, trying to stabilise his breathing. “Mm– mhm! Friday sounds g–good, yeah.”

Unfortunately, Eren is not oblivious enough.

“Is everything, uh... okay? On your end?” Eren asks, and perhaps to anyone else, it would have sounded like a genuine question, but having known Eren for a while now, almost as long as Armin, you notice the uncharacteristic quiver in his voice — one that seems less concerned and more nervous.

You hand Armin the phone then, confusing him for a moment as to why you suddenly decided to give it to him. He’s about to speak into it, to respond to Eren, but that’s when you lift up again and drag Armin down the bed by the legs, a faint noise of surprise escaping him, before raising them up so his knees are pressed to his chest.

He tries to regain his composure despite the compromising position. “Uh, yeah, I’m–” But then you’re sinking back down on him completely, and he moans out at a volume that a part of him hopes Eren doesn’t hear — but that another, more significant part of him hopes he does.

“I’m okay,” he finishes, a little high-toned and not much louder than his moan from seconds ago.

“Are you sure?” Eren’s voice cracks. He hurriedly clears his throat. “Cause you, um, you– you just sound...” He laughs awkwardly and you know in an instant that you’ve got him right where you want him; that his relaxed demeanour is being tested, chipped away at by Armin’s suspicious sounds and staggered speech.

As if on cue — you still aren’t sure if it was on purpose or not — Armin moans again, louder this time, so that it’s painfully unmissable. The curse word Eren mutters under his breath right after is a little less unmissable, but you’re much too hyper-aware from the adrenaline and endorphins to let it slip past you.

You take the phone back again. “Pretty, right?” you say, right into the mic, and you physically feel the way Armin shudders at your intervention, how his sweaty skin grows goosebumps all over.

There’s silence on the other end, but you aren’t so easily discouraged.

“Don’t back out now, Eren,” you insist. “Go on, finish your sentence. You were about to say that Armin sounds pretty, right?”

He remains quiet for a few seconds longer. Only his breathing is audible, so you can hear the way it shakes, the way he licks his lips. “Something like that,” he mutters, voice dry.

You hum. “And I’ll bet his sounds have made you really hard, huh?” The muscles in Armin’s thighs helplessly jump under your weight. “Bet you wanna touch yourself to them, don’t you, Eren?”

On the opposite end of the phone, Eren’s breath hitches. His face is unbearably hot, like lava under his skin. He and Armin are close, sure. Always have been. They’ve done some things together before, when drunk, lonely or just curious, but this? This is different. You’re here now, and something about your presence has Eren’s thoughts fizzling into static.

“I asked you a question, Eren,” you say, stern yet somehow casual, bored, as if such authoritative phrases came naturally to you — and suddenly Eren is hearing Armin’s name in place of his, imagining you and Armin in different scenarios, in ways he knows he should never imagine his best friend and his partner, yet which could never be so vivid with anybody else. Images of you fucking Armin, pulling his hair, looking down at him with a misleading merciful gaze; Armin tied up, gagged and blindfolded, with erotic toys strapped to his body, like the girls in those porn video thumbnails Eren typically avoids; tears on pale cheeks, big blue eyes with fair eyelashes, a pink tongue and two fingers sliding across it, deeper and deeper into a gagging, o-shaped mouth.

Then those eyes melt into sea green, tears form on dark lashes, slide down skin slightly more olive-toned, past a jaw that’s more defined...

Eren combs his fingers through his loose hair, trying to catch the breath he didn’t realise was getting away from him.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and answer me?” you urge further at Eren’s skeptically long silence, with a smirk that’s wide enough to be heard in your voice. “Or should I just hang up and leave you to take care of that boner all on your own?”

Eren lets out a small — very, very small — and involuntarily whine, so subtle that if it wasn’t for the vibrations in the back of his throat, he might not have realised he made it, or that it came from him at all. He wants to argue — “Boner? What are you talking about? Don’t be so full of yourself.” — but he doesn’t need to glance down to know you’re right.

“D–don’t hang up,” Eren says, curt and a little unsteady. Humiliation rises in him like hot air at the sound of his own desperation, oblivious to how he’s playing right into your hand.

You smile, absentmindedly caressing Armin’s shoulders and torso, a wordless way of reminding him you’re still paying attention to him, but also a silent demand to stop squirming. “So bossy,” you say, like you’re scolding a child. “A ‘please’ would be nice, you know.”

The true nature of your words swells under the surface — an underlying threat. Not everything is as it seems in the world, and this is not just a suggestion or a statement, nor a throwaway thought that you happened to voice out loud. This is an order.

Whether or not Eren obeys, however, is a different story. He casts his gaze down to his lap, where the outline of his hard cock is visible through his sweatpants, along with a dot of precum, soaked through two layers and much too soon for what can be considered normal. He wonders what you would say at such a sight, what kind of expression you’d make — but that simple wonder is really just yearning in disguise, and Eren decides then, that complying is the only way he can get remotely close to satisfying that yearning.

He couldn’t disobey if he wanted to — and he really didn’t want to.

So, “Please,” he finally says. Less reluctantly this time.

“Atta boy!” you chirp, though only in a partially condescending tone. You’re sure that given Eren’s personality, he’d typically be fighting back a little more, flashing a bit more attitude or snark, but — whether it’s you, Armin, the situation or some combination of those things — something must have his head too clouded with arousal to try denying himself this.

Beneath you, Armin whines.

You turn your focus back to him. “Is my boy getting impatient? Or jealous, maybe?” you tease, caressing the apple of his cheek with the backs of your knuckles.

His eyes shutter closed as he leans into your touch and whines again, further back in his throat, but loud enough that you’re certain his phone still picks up on it. “Please,” he says, delicately, as if trying to find his voice, or perhaps the courage to speak at all.

Armin is unfortunately your weak spot and with Eren at your disposal, to mess with and be cruel to, you lack the heart to tease your lover any further.

“I’m sorry for neglecting you, darling.” You lean down and kiss him gently. “I’m here, I’m listening. Tell me what you need.”

His face glows pink; he hesitates.

You catch on.

“It’s okay, don’t be shy,” you soothe him, petting his hair. With your other hand, you make the calculated decision to bring the device closer to your mouth. “Eren needs to know how to be a good, obedient boy, after all–” You trail your fingers down the contours of Armin’s cheek to his chin and tenderly hold it– “and who better to demonstrate than you, my sweet thing?”

Across the line, the breath suspended in Eren’s throat, that he’s been holding back in fear of interrupting the scene he feels so ashamed for listening to, suddenly sputters out of him like gas out of a clogged car exhaust. Because, fuck, he was not prepared to hear you say his name just then. To suddenly make it personal; to swing open the door on this private, intimate, closed-door moment between you and your boyfriend, his best friend.

He wasn’t but he should have been. He’s heard and witnessed enough about your dynamic with Armin, as well as fallen victim to your friendly bullying and teasing himself, enough to know you’re not somebody who passes up an opportunity to see a person scramble and fluster. He should’ve known better than to think he could get away with being a passive player in this game of yours; that it was only a matter of time before you dragged him back, by the collar and leash you managed to lasso around his mind in the short duration of this call, and threw him out on the playing field as an active participant instead of a mere spectator.

Sure, you can’t actually see each other, but the phones in your hands are a constant reminder that every word comes with a plural audience and every miniscule sound may or may not be audible to the other side. That alone does its wonders, but here you are the gamemaster and you wield the power to do more; to take matters into your own hands, to bend, knead and shape them to your will. And you’re no amateur; you know exactly where to sink your fingers, how much pressure to apply and when to press harder or let go, so that you have not one, but two pliant putties in your palm.

“Now...” You sigh and shift your position on Armin’s cock. It garners the exact reaction you were aiming for — a warbled moan — and one that will surely leave its mark on the third pair of ears in the room with you. “Let me and Eren hear what you need, baby. Show us how a good boy uses his words.”

Armin sucks in his bottom lip and inhales a steadying breath through his nose. “I...” He swallows. “I want you to move.” His eyes, though hooded, noticeably drop to where the two of you are connected. “I want you to– to fuck me ‘til I can’t think. Please?” His voice is high, desperate, quivering. Clammy hands paw at your thighs. “I just can’t– I can’t take it. I can’t take waiting anymore, I need– I need you to fuck me and make me come, I need– y–you, I need you, please.”

A shaky groan interrupts through Armin’s phone.

You smirk, let the noise steep in the silence you make for it, to marinate in your own satisfaction, so he might think, for just a moment, that you didn’t notice, before leaning into the speaker.

“Eren,” you say innocently, and you think you hear a sharp breath in response, “I hope you’re not touching yourself right now.”

Nothing. Only background noise.

“You’re not, are you? You know that would be bad, right?” you continue. “And worse, if you lie to me about it.”

All you hear is a quiet exhale and the distant hum of what might be the AC.

You lower the phone. “Tell him why it would be bad, Armin.”

Armin’s eyes never once leave yours as he answers, “Because you didn’t give permission.”

“That’s right.” You smile at your boy and stroke his hair in approval. “Be honest then, Eren,” you resume. “Were you? Touching yourself?”

As you wait, you watch anticipation, glimmering with an edge of hope, grow in Armin’s eyes.

A heavy breath. Then, a low, gravelly, guilty, “Yeah.”

You emphasise your disappointment with a long sigh. “Mm. See, this is exactly why Armin has to set an example for you,” you reprimand, your hand still brushing over messy blond hair. “He’s doing you a favour and you’re not even paying attention? Just getting distracted by your cock like that’s all you can think about?” You drop a lock of hair that you were twirling around your finger. “It probably is, isn’t it?” you scoff. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

Excitement passes through Eren like a tidal wave. His hand is still resting over his crotch, fingertips over his balls and palm under the head of his cock. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s so smitten by your words nor why he craves to hear more of them, but he does. And he’s willing to chase after it — to do anything, really — if it means he’ll get more.

“Hands off your dick, Eren.”

Another order, this one large and unsympathetic, leaving no room for doubt or defiance.

His hand retreats, shamefully, as if you were really there, as if you had caught him red-handed with your own two eyes and are now observing him to make sure he does as he’s told.

“I don’t care how hard you get or how bad you want to come. Your full, undivided attention stays on this phone call and nothing else,” you explain, as if you’re just talking about the weather. “Have I made myself clear?”

Eren swallows and hums his affirmation before quickly correcting himself.

“Yes.”

And unbeknownst to you, he has to cut himself off at the polite honorific that almost follows, the same way a person might catch themself about to call their teacher ‘Mom’. Somewhere in the firm, instructional tone and the ease with which you hand out commands, it felt like a natural addition, but not one that Eren, nor even his already dwindling dignity and pride, are ready for.

But rather than bestowing him the praise, the infamous pet name that you’ve been taunting him with, for his agreeable behaviour, you grace Eren with no more than a simple clinical, “Good,” and an air of finality followed by a thunk as you set the phone on the nightstand.

When you sit back to face Armin, with his hair all mussed, cheeks flushed and lips tinted red from constant worrying between his teeth, you’re unable to suppress your grin.

“Hey,” you whisper.

Armin grins back, full of teeth and that pinch in the corners of his eyes that you love. “Hi,” he returns with a chuckle. You steal a quick kiss amidst the soft laughter before hooking your thumbs behind the back of Armin’s knees and rocking forward and up. You both sigh with the movement, then again, when you move backward and down.

Armin’s head lolls back into the pillows, unfurling a column of pale skin before you. “Fuck,” he gasps out. His hand slaps down over one of yours and the other digs blunt nails into your waist.

You move again. Faster.

“Oh, fuck–”

Again. Harder.

Another cry, another expletive.

Hearing, seeing, experiencing your boyfriend rapt with ecstasy and useless to conceal it fills you with a glee that borders on manic.

“I love your reactions so much, Armin,” you rasp; a confession you’ve made countless times, every time, but that never fails to make your beloved blush. “And I love that they’re all mine. You’re so perfect, I love you so much.”

His next stream of sounds melts on your tongue as you kiss him eagerly. “Always so pretty and vocal,” you say in the breaths between yours and Armin’s panting mouths. “So good for me, aren’t you? Only for me. Only me and Eren get to know you like this.”

You grind down into Armin’s erratic thrusts until you’re all but fused together each time you meet. Your hands roam; crawling up to cradle his jaw, dragging down to toy with his nipples, jumping to his legs and pushing until he’s folded under your weight and clutching your hair in a wanton fist.

You reluctantly part from him to return to a more comfortable position above him while Armin’s hands clamber to secure his knees in place for you — always aiming to heed your every whim, even the ones you don’t voice. Your own hands layer over his as you slow down, drawing circles with your pelvis. Steady, smooth, sensual. Savouring the feeling of being so close to him.

You long to be closer, still.

So you move yourself up, off his cock, push his legs down and back onto the mattress, help him sit up. The entire time, Armin is just gazing up at you with glazed-over yet still-adoring eyes, up until you’re straddling his lap and he registers what you’re doing. Then he becomes your grateful devotee, chanting a breathy chorus of ‘Yes’s and ‘Thank you’s and encasing you in his arms as you welcome him back inside you. You hush his sweet cacophony with the hungry embrace of your lips, catching whimpers and fragments of love declarations, as you ride him with fervour. Every so often, you slow down and tease, just to prolong your unified bliss, but the sporadic fluctuations drive Armin insane.

He makes a noise like he’s overjoyed and on the verge of sobbing at the same time. “You’re– fuck, you’re so good to me, I love you, I– ah, shit, I love you so much!”

In Eren’s grip, the back of his phone is damp with his sweat. He’s addicted to the sound of you and Armin, the words you share, the moans you make together. He wants you both so carnally yet he couldn’t be happier than where he is now, forced to clench slippery fingers around the fabric of his sweatpants, far from where he’s aching for relief. Entirely dependent on his imagination to pair images with what he can hear. It’s cruel and heavenly. The more it drags on, the more he’s convinced he could come right there in his briefs. Untouched.

“Can– can I come? Please? I’m so close, I– I’m losing my fucking mind,” Armin babbles against your neck.

You nuzzle his temple while your fingers rake through his undercut. “Me too, let’s– let’s come together, okay?”

Armin nods frantically against your skin until tears breach the barrier of his waterline and he’s coming inside you with a muffled moan. You’re right there with him, head thrown back as your hands form fists in Armin’s hair. His arms, enveloped all the way around you, squeeze you from the tension of his full-body orgasm before falling slack at your sides.

As Armin slumps against the headboard, you catch your breath and reach for the phone. Over the sounds of pleasure earlier, you couldn’t tell if the line was silent or if your little voyeur of a friend had hung up. You’re pleased to see his name still aglow on the screen.

“Enjoy the show?” you quip. Though the unfitting conversational lilt to your voice throws Eren for a loop, that’s not why he chooses to remain quiet. Compliant as he’s been, he refuses to indulge your ego any more than he has to — but you expected that, so you simply move on to the question you did want answered.

“Did you keep your hands off your cock like I told you to?”

Armin perks up at that, curious as you are about what the answer will be. With bated breath, you both wait, but the tense silence is disturbed by Armin’s phone vibrating. You are about to ignore it until you recognise the sender of the message — and notice that it contains an attached image. Your eyebrows arch up your forehead at the bold gesture, but you tap the intriguing notification nonetheless.

Nestled just below the last exchange of innocent messages with his best friend, is a photograph of Eren Jaeger’s hard cock, straining against grey boxer briefs and lewdly framed by a circular patch of damp fabric.

“This is what it looks like... without you touching it?” you say, wearing a shit-eating smirk that is sure to translate into your tone.

“Yes,” Eren hisses through gritted teeth; a hybrid of embarrassed frustration and the ever-present need for release.

You giggle and show Armin the photo. “He sent us a fucking dick pic, Armin, can you believe that? Our little show must’ve really done a number on him, wow.”

The subject of your appraisal sighs and shakes his head at your mocking antics, but by the size of his pupils you can tell he isn’t unaffected by the image.

You take another look at it, but the most you feel is amused. “Barely even touched himself and he’s got a precum stain that big, that’s hilarious,” you snicker.

As though he can sense Eren’s humiliation through the phone (it’s quite palpable, really), Armin mercifully defends him. “He’s been good though, right?”

Disappointed by Armin ruining your fun, you pull a face. “I guess.” But then, struck with an idea, it morphs into an impish grin and you lean forward, hand on his chest, as you exaggeratedly purr, “But not as good as youuu, babycakes~”

“Pfft!” Armin pushes you away half-heartedly. You relent and manoeuvre around him. “God, that is terrible. It’s like you’re not even trying,” he jokingly criticises, but cups your face as you lean in to kiss him anyway. You decide to nip his bottom lip and tug at it, still feeling playful, but when you part, Armin is staring at you with an intensity that warms you more than a harmless joke should. You kiss him again, a little harder, a little longer. Breathing a little heavier.

“Can...”

Right. You almost forgot you have company.

With much reluctance, you tear your focus away from your boyfriend. “Mm, what is it?”

Eren hesitates for a second before asking, “Can I, um, touch now?” His desperation is evident in the gruff quality of his voice. “Please?”

All too familiar with what you’re like, Armin gives you a pointed look and mouthes, ‘Be nice.’

Rolling your eyes, you take a moment to think, then say, “Send us a video of you edging yourself three times and I’ll think about it,” before tacking on a quick, “See you Friday!” and abruptly ending the call.

Armin stares at you in shock for a few seconds, then shouts your name scoldingly. “I told you to be nice!”

You gasp and cover your mouth in faux-alarm. “No way, is that what you said? I totally thought you were saying ‘mean ice’, that’s so crazy how that got lost in translation...” You keep your mouth covered to hide your growing smile.

Armin frowns at you, or tries to at least; he ends up smiling too. “You’re so mean sometimes.” He lightly pinches your cheek. You swat away his hand. “I ought to keep you in check more.”

You scoff and snake your arms around Armin’s neck. “You wouldn’t dare. I know you like it when I’m mean.”

Armin mutters a small, “Only in moderation,” that is meant to be assertive but gets lost somewhere under the scope of your bewitching gaze. Even though you’ve been dating for years, he still falters in moments like these. Too adorable.

Giggling, you seize his lips in a kiss — one that is only the prelude to the sequel of your passionate night ahead.

#at last this draft sees the light of the tumblr dash #remember that eremin phone sex fic i mentioned almost a year ago? uh yeah... that's this #divider by cafekitsune #x reader #x dom reader #dom reader #sub character #sub aot #sub!armin #sub armin #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan smut #armin x reader smut #armin x fem reader #x gn reader #x male reader #x fem reader #( ★ ) my stuff.

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blackhairedjjun · 10 months ago

Text

rebound and restoration

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem reader | genre / tropes: angst -> fluff, friends to lovers, post-breakup, non-idol au; ft. soobin + mentions of the rest of txt; reader is yeonjun's age (soobin calls reader "noona") | word count: 5.4k | warnings: post-breakup heartbreak, profanity, food, kissing

additional note: fic is mostly written but contains a few texts

summary: with his heart still aching after just getting dumped, yeonjun turns to you, one of his closest friends, for comfort. that is, until he kisses you - and your friendship starts to change.

author's notes: honestly i feel like if i don't post this soon i'll be dissatisfied with it forever and edit it endlessly and it'll never get past my drafts LOL perfect is the enemy of done!! anyway i wrote this while i was feeling stressed and insane during the holidays and wanted... an angsty kiss for whatever reason. lmao yeah

(support by reblogging banner by @cafekitsune)

when yeonjun arrives at your apartment, it’s still early in the evening; the two bowls of pho you ordered for takeout are still hot, and you’ve left your laptop open at a selection of cheesy netflix rom-coms. perhaps the selection is a bit ironic, but you mused that the feel-good escapism is just what he needs.

he pulls you into a hug and you give him an extra squeeze and a few pats on the back. you can’t help but ruffle his hair a little as he pulls away.

“hey, jjun...”

“y/n!”

“how are you feeling?”

“ah, a bit better, i think.”

he gives you a slight smile, and you’re too relieved to notice that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. it’s a miracle to you that he’s even smiling again two weeks after his breakup. you still remember the cracks in his voice when he called you after it had happened, the rims of his eyes red with crying when he finally crashed at your place half an hour later. that night you held him tight as he told the story to you in between sobs: hana had broken up with him over a call that lasted less than a minute. she was bored and tired of him and just stopped caring, she said, if he were a toy she could throw away if she didn’t want to play with it anymore.

you swallowed back the anger in your throat back then, though you couldn’t help the tears of your own that fell. now you push the anger back down again as you lead yeonjun to the small table at your kitchenette, one of the bowls of pho steaming in front of him. now is not the time for indignation; your friend needed comfort, and it’s comfort you will give.

yeonjun’s eyes light up at the sight of the pho. your heart swells, and you don’t hold it against him when he sits down ahead of you and picks up his chopsticks, ready to dig in. in between slurps he grins like he’s just received the best present of his life. “this is so good!” he said in between mouthfuls of noodles. “it’s been way too long since i had this.”

“i know! feels like we haven’t had this in ages.”

“remember when we tried to make our own?”

“oh god, not that!” you laugh, dropping your chopsticks. “we got impatient and that broth tasted like nothing.”

“your kitchen smelled like ginger though,” yeonjun recalls with a giggle. “it was nice visiting for a while.”

“my kitchen smelled like ginger more than the actual broth, jjun.”

“maybe we can try again one of these days? and if we mess up, at least you’ll have a nice-smelling kitchen again.”

all you can do in response is laugh, and for a moment you forget that you stopped having pho nights together when hana entered his life.

he fills you in on video game night with soobin and kai, shopping with beomgyu, and his so-called revenge gym day with taehyun; he beams with pride while describing his new weight record just as much as he does when talking about managing a hard-earned victory over soobin at tekken. you laugh along with him, knowing that his friends blocked out their schedules just to comfort him for a day. and when you talk about your new project at work and the new books you bought yourself as a treat, his eyes fill with that indescribable look you’ve seen before. you can’t quite place what it is, but it reminds you of afternoon light, of summer days, of lingering hugs after a long day together.

you don’t need to ask for yeonjun to help you clear out the table and pick up the snacks you set aside for your movie, and you make no effort to resist. there are no words exchanged: he simply places all the disposable pho bowls and chopsticks together, and you reach for a clean garbage bag and put them all in. the only communication between you is a shared look and a nod.

perhaps it’s just your imagination, but that look lingers a little longer than you’re used to, and you can’t help but give him a satisfied smile.

you’ve seen him look at hana that way, too many times to count, especially during that early-dating phase when the thrill of emotions was still high. you wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, for yeonjun to look at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. and you wondered if hana really was that precious 一 if she were just as precious to him as you, his best friend, if not more so.

you let yeonjun select the movie. at first you doubt your idea to present him with rom-coms, of all things, but you let out a sigh of relief when he happily chooses one of them. both of you have seen this one many times over, but you don’t mind. there’s comfort in knowing that a happy ending is guaranteed to happen.

the two of you are slouched on your couch together, the laptop balanced on a pillow between the both of you. yeonjun sits close to you, an arm around your shoulder, a gesture that he hasn’t done with you since he started dating. you let yourself lean against him (so that you can see the screen better, you tell yourself). the two of you start a running commentary on the movie 一 “why would he say that?!” “aww, they look so cute together,” “oh god, that was so stupid!” 一 and both of your laughter fills the apartment, the sound like a duet in harmony.

it’s so easy this way, you think 一 just you and your best friend in your own little corner of the world. you steal a glance at yeonjun while he’s absorbed in the final confession scene, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes gleaming with anticipation for the big kiss. a string of memories flash before you before you can help yourself.

“she said yes,” he says, his whole face flush with excitement. “she said she’ll be mine.”

his hands are on your shoulders and he gives them a gentle squeeze. “there’s no way hana can’t like you. you’re one of my best friends, i’ll make sure you get along.”

“i think hana’s mad at me,” he tells you as he fiddles with the beanie in his hands. “but don’t worry about it, we’ll talk it out, i promise.”

his head is in his hands as you sit across him from a restaurant booth. “i don’t know what i did wrong, she looked so bored through the whole date...”

you hold him close as he sobs in your arms, his whole body shaking. “sh-she said she’s... tired of me…”

“y/n?”

you snap back to reality as yeonjun glances at you, his head tilted. the ending credits of the movie have started to play. “are you okay?”

“i-i’m fine.” you reach out to touch his cheek, then hesitate. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine, y/n.” he picks up on the meaning of your words. “i know i looked really bad that night, but i’m getting better, i promise.”

“good.” your eyes meet his, and your cheeks grow warm. “we can have nights like this as many times as you want until you feel better, okay?”

“yeah, i know. i missed having nights like this, actually.”

“me too. i really liked it when we did this all the time...”

“i know. i’m sorry. hana didn’t like一”

“hey.” your hand comes up again and this time, you gently hold on to his cheek. “it doesn’t matter what she thinks anymore.”

“y/n... i’m really sorry. i feel like i neglected you, and you’ve been my friend for so long...”

tears form in his eyes, and you feel them warm against his cheek. you wipe them away with your thumb as you move closer to him. he continues to ramble as you do.

“i feel like an idiot. like a total dumbass.” the pitch of his voice begins to rise. “god, i was so convinced that hana and i were the perfect couple, that we’d be happy. i-i thought about her more than she d-did about me, y/n, and i stopped hanging out with you一 when you’ve always一”

“jjun, please don’t apologize anymore,” you say, your voice trembling. “i’ve never been mad at you over her, not even once. i just want you to feel better, okay? i... i just want to see you be yourself again.”

you want to see the yeonjun you’ve always loved.

you’ve lain awake at night wondering if he’s ever sensed your feelings for him, and if he’s ever felt the same way. on the day he told you that he and hana were officially together, you spent that night sobbing in your bed, convinced that your friend would never see you as a lover. and yet you said nothing of that night, and of other nights similar to it, because you told yourself that if hana made him happy, then you would be happy too.

and now you want more than anything to see him happy again.

yeonjun says nothing, but instead places a hand on top of the one you have resting on his cheek. you feel it trembling, but you don’t resist as he grasps your hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. he swallows hard to push back the rest of his tears, and his eyes soften. once again there’s that indescribable look of his that makes you feel light.

“y/n...”

he says your name softly, as if in reverence. his face inches closer to yours and you don’t pull away; instead you feel lighter than ever, your gaze falling to his lips as your eyes flutter shut. everything that follows feels slow, gentle; his nose brushing against yours, then your lips on his.

he kisses you slowly at first, but as you kiss him back you fill with a new fervor, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him wrap his arms around your waist to pull your body flush against his. warmth blooms in your chest, and every movement of yours betrays your feeling: your lips moving against his, your hands making their way into his hair. you want to kiss him until the pain he feels has been replaced by the love you have for him 一 i love you, i love you, i love you.

you’re completely absorbed in him and let out a soft sigh when yeonjun snaps out of it 一 he breaks apart from you, breathing hard, eyes wide as he’s hit by what he’s just done.

“shit, y/n一” he gets off the couch, one hand running through his hair over and over again. “i’m so sorry. fuck, i shouldn’t have done that一”

you’re snapped out of your trance as you stand up to chase after him. “jjun, hey, wait! listen to me—”

he’s picking up his bag from the foot of your couch. he can’t even look at you, instead occasionally letting out a shit or two under his breath.

“yeonjun, please一”

you stand in front of him to block his way from the exit. at first his head is bowed, avoiding your gaze, but when he finally looks up his expression is solemn.

“you are not a rebound to me,” he says at last. “please don’t ever think that i just used you to make me feel better.”

“i never accused you of that! look, i’m sorry too, it was my fa一”

“i’m really sorry, but i can’t stay here anymore. i’ll make it up to you, y/n, i promise.”

“wait一”

yeonjun walks past you and before you can protest any further, he’s out your door. you push it open and try to chase after him, but after a few steps you stop, thinking better of it. what would stopping him even do?

you walk back inside and slump back down on the couch. the screen of your laptop faintly glows, and a half-eaten bag of chips has fallen to the floor. all at once the reality of what happens sinks into you: the kiss, his words, his departure.

you are not a rebound to me. the words echo in your mind.

a strange tension fills you, and you can’t even tell what emotion it’s supposed to be from: confusion, frustration, anxiety. with your whole body seemingly on edge, you grab a throw pillow from the opposite side of your couch and press it into your face.

you sob into it the tension crashes down on you in full force.

一

for the next few nights the scene replays in your dreams: yeonjun leaning in ever closer towards you, your lips meeting his in a fervent kiss 一 each night’s dream-kiss more fervent than the last 一 and him suddenly pulling away. you awaken each time just as he breaks the kiss, the shock and confusion coursing through you again, and immediately after you reach for your bedside table to check your phone.

still no text from yeonjun.

you consider texting him again, but each time you type a new message you erase it, the blinking cursor driving you mad. how would you even know what to say? do you want to apologize? to beg for his forgiveness? to ask if you can still be friends?

you hate to admit it, but every morning you lie in bed for a few moments more to allow the dream to sink in. the look on yeonjun’s face appears vivid to you, from his eyes blown wide to his mouth slightly agape. your mind travels back to the moment he breaks the kiss, as if a sudden force pushed him away, the shock of it hitting you. then it wanders to the kiss itself, the feeling of his lips soft against your own, his arms warm as they hold you by the waist…

you shake the memory away, drag yourself out of bed, and continue on with your routine: breakfast, shower, get dressed. you resist the urge to check your phone for as long as you can. you stare at the little contact photo you set of yeonjun and remind yourself: you’re his friend. you need to help him heal.

you recount your worries to soobin over snacks one day.

“i feel like i’m being selfish,” you say in between munches of potato chips. “he hasn’t even moved on from hana”— soobin winces at the acridity you mutter her name with—“and now one of his closest friends kisses him like she’s madly in love. how is he supposed to move on? he’s hurting enough as it is.”

soobin sets aside the bag of chips you just finished. he rubs his face with his hands as he tries to choose his words carefully.

“you’re not being selfish, noona. you sound like you’re trying to be careful so that you don’t hurt him,” he says at last. “and yeonjun hyung feels just as bad about it. he feels bad that he even started the kiss, and for making you feel like a rebound. you two sound like each other, to be honest.”

“i know he feels bad, it’s just 一 i don’t know how that will fix...” you wave your hands wildly in the air, “this.”

“you can start by talking to each other?”

“he didn’t reply to my last texts. and i… i don’t know if i should text him again.”

a moment of silence. soobin opens a pack of candy and chews on it, just to give himself time to think. he fiddles with his phone as he does, absentmindedly scrolling through his old texts, when one of them catches his eye.

“so, there’s this new restaurant that beomgyu wants to check out.”

“really, soobin, what does this have to—”

“he was thinking of inviting all of us there to hang out,” he continues. “including you and yeonjun hyung. we can plan for it a week or two from now so that you have space? and then you can get used to talking to him again there. if things get awkward, i can ask beomgyu to fill in.”

you purse your lips. “i dunno, i might cry if i see his face again.”

“if you don’t feel like it, just call in sick.” soobin’s mouth twitches into a small grin as he says it — you know he’s used that excuse to get away from social situations he doesn’t want to be in. now you’re starting to see the appeal of it.

“okay. i’ll think about it.”

—

ultimately you do decide to go, and two weeks later you’re the first to arrive at the restaurant. you can feel your hands trembling as you push the door open and your heart hammering in your chest. in your head you’ve prepared what you want to say to yeonjun and you mentally rehearse your words for the hundredth time.

you slide right into the booth and take a deep breath. you check your phone to keep yourself busy, letting yourself calm down until your hands have stopped shaking. as you’re scrolling through your camera roll looking at some memes beomgyu sent you, someone slides into the booth seat opposite yours.

“hey, y/n.”

yeonjun gives you a shy smile and the nervousness in your stomach kicks into overdrive. he looks much better now; the bags under his eyes have lessened, and his smile seems genuine. still, you can’t help but remember the last time you saw him, and you shudder.

he sees your reaction and winces, averting his gaze. when he speaks, his voice is soft. “y/n... are we okay?”

the question breaks you and whatever words you have prepared fly out of your mind. as you try to grasp at them again, tears prick at your eyes.. “yeah... yeah, we’re okay,” you say. you take a gulp of water to hold back the tears. “i was never mad at you, jjun, i’ve been worried out of my mind一”

“i’m sorry i never replied to your texts.” he places his hands atop your trembling ones. “i just felt so ashamed that i didn’t know how to face you.”

“and i’m sorry i never tried texting you again, i just didn’t know what you thought of me, and i was so scared that i lost you...”

“i was so scared that i lost you.”

you sniffle. “that makes both of us then. god, we were so stupid.”

“i missed you, y/n.”

“i missed you too, jjun.”

you let out a laugh of relief and he laughs too. with the sound of his laughter melding with yours, everything else seems to melt away: the tears in your eyes, the other noises of the restaurant, the baggage of the last two weeks. sitting before you is your old friend, holding onto your hand to comfort you, laughing together with you just like you always have.

and just as always, you want nothing more than for your friend to be happy.

“so,” you begin, giving him the most reassuring smile that you can muster, “let’s start over?”

yeonjun glances down at the table, but you can see his eyes crinkling as they usually do when he smiles. “yeah, let’s do that.”

when beomgyu enters the restaurant right afterwards, all it takes is one glance at the scene before him to understand what happened. he turns his head towards you, meeting your gaze, and you give him a nod.

it’s going to be okay.

一

the kiss becomes an unspoken part of your history together, never mentioned and never acknowledged. you stop searching for hidden meanings to it, and instead settle on the explanation that it was simply a spur-of-the-moment reaction from pent-up post-breakup emotions. it doesn’t matter to you whether or not this explanation is true; it’s the explanation that gives you the most peace of mind, and that’s what matters. as the days pass, you think of it less and less, and eventually it is filed away in your memory, like a book never checked out of the library collecting dust.

in the meantime, you pour your energy into rebuilding both your friendship with yeonjun as well as his fragile heart. the first few hangouts with just the two of you are awkward with a tinge of melancholy, with conversations feeling a little too short. fortunately, your shared friends are there to help: you and yeonjun are invited to video game nights at soobin’s, or a cute new cafe that kai wants to check out, or just a walk around the park. the silences feel less awkward when it’s quickly filled by a joke from beomgyu or witty remark from taehyun.

from time to time you see the shine in yeonjun’s eyes disappear, even for just a moment, when he encounters something that reminds him of “the ‘h’ word” (as beomgyu refers to her): a park bench where they had a date, or a dress on a passerby that looks a lot like something she would wear. sometimes one of his friends would recognize it and quickly divert his attention elsewhere. soon those diversions occur less and less often as fewer and fewer things remind yeonjun of her.

but things don’t truly feel normal to you until a month and a half later. your project at work has gone well, and yeonjun has completed the first draft of a mixtape he’s making. just as you muse to yourself that a reward would be nice, your phone buzzes.

that afternoon you and yeonjun stroll down the shopping district a few minutes away from his house, trying on this and that. it isn’t long before you find yourself spending over your budget; it’s hard not to when yeonjun is constantly egging you to buy something you really want. “c’mon, y/n,” he whines as you put back another cute button-down on the rack. “you deserve it! you can wear it to work for the next phase of your project!”

he giggles when he sees your eyes light up at his words. “we do have another presentation for it,” you muse.

still, you draw the line when you spot an elegant tan jacket worn by one of the storefront mannequins. you stare at it longingly as if you’ve found your soulmate, and yeonjun sweet-talks you into entering the shop and trying it on. but when you see the hefty price tag on it, you sigh.

“i can’t justify this, jjun…”

“but you look great in it! and you want it so much. you’ll feel worse if you don’t get it.”

“maybe…” you glance down at the shopping bags in your hand. “i dunno, i’ve spent so much already.”

you sigh in defeat and turn back to the store exit before you can second-guess yourself. yeonjun doesn’t follow immediately, but instead watches you go as he lingers a bit longer.

later that day, the two of you sort through all the things you bought (mostly clothes and accessories, but also a vinyl for yeonjun and a novel for yourself) in between giggles and wide eyes and a shower of compliments. yeonjun puts on a completely new outfit for you and struts down his apartment like a runway model, and he pulls you up from the floor to do the same. soon you’re laughing and clapping at each other’s performances, and yeonjun even whips out his phone to take photos of each other’s best looks.

as you rummage through your haul for one more outfit to assemble, your eyes land on a familiar spot of tan fabric. your mouth falls open when you pull it out and see that jacket — the one you’re pretty sure you didn’t buy. you glance up at yeonjun and he licks his lips before forming a mischievous grin.

“jjun, is this...”

“it’s yours.”

“you didn’t have to一”

“i saw the way you were looking at it, y/n. i just had to get it for you. c’mon, put it on.”

hesitantly, you take off the jacket you’re already wearing and put on the new one. it fits perfectly, just a little loose to let air flow in, and you love how it frames your figure. yeonjun is still smiling at you, but it’s a different smile. he looks at you as if you’ve transformed in front of him.

“you look really pretty,” he says. “let me take a few pics, okay?”

he snaps a few photos of you and you pose for the camera, and a comforting warmth settles over you. if this happened a few months earlier, you would have blushed and your heart would be doing somersaults, but now all you feel is a light flutter. everything feels fit in, like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place.

you lock eyes with yeonjun as he takes the last photo and puts his phone away. as you whisper “thank you” to him, the gleam in his eyes is reflected in your own. there it is, that indecipherable look of his that makes you feel warm.

you still love him 一 there’s a part of you that still knows that. but over the last month and a half you’ve simply learned to live with your feelings, letting them fill you with lightness for a few moments and then letting them go. feelings or not, you’re just glad to have yeonjun in your life again. even as a friend, his presence is a soothing balm against the stresses of life.

一

months later, yeonjun is sprawled on your couch again, his head on your shoulder as you scroll through your list of rom-coms on your laptop. at one point the two of you resumed your pho and rom-com nights, and you’re glad for it; few things give you as much comfort after a long week of work.

after scrolling back and forth a few times, you pause on the same movie you’ve always watched together and give him a quick look. he simply smiles.

“don’t you get sick of this one?” you ask.

“not really, the ending always feels nice. are you… tired of it?”

“no no, i— i was worried that you’re tired of it.”

“me? never.”

“perfect, ‘cause i’m not either.” you give him a knowing grin and press play.

at this point you both know this movie so well that you recite along to every line. you do the female lead’s lines, yeonjun does the male lead’s, and you even sing along to the soundtrack. yeonjun stretches out on your couch even more, his head ending up in your lap, and in the movie’s quiet moments you find yourself playing with his hair. when the big confession happens you can feel him holding his breath and then releasing it in a laugh when the two leads finally kiss.

the credits roll and he glances up at you, smiling in satisfaction. you smile too and hum along to the end credits song. as the movie ends, you let yourself bask in it: you stretch out your arms, yeonjun sits up to lean on your shoulder again, and you lay your head atop his. the two of you remain like that for a while, sitting in comfortable silence.

“don’t you ever get jealous of them?” you ask.

you feel his head shake a bit as he chuckles. “i hate to admit it, but yeah. rom-coms always make getting together look so... fun.”

“right? i wish my life was like that.”

“god, me too.”

“i swear, it drives me insane,” you huff. “every time i watch this i want to start dating again or something.”

a few more moments of silence. yeonjun lets out a soft exhale and you feel his body grow tense. the air in your apartment seems stuffier.

“speaking of which, i have to tell you something.”

“me...?”

you’ve never heard yeonjun sound so solemn. his head weighs down on your shoulder. “y’know, i’ve been uh... thinking of dating again.”

“oh... where are you dating this time? did beomgyu set you up again?”

he shakes his head, looks up at you for a split second, then looks down at his hands. you see the tips of his ears turn pink.

“actually, i... i have someone mind. someone i want to ask out, i mean.”

with those words the feelings you’ve brushed aside for so long come back in full force. your heart beats so hard it feels like it’s slamming into your chest. when you speak, your voice shakes.

“oh... who’s the lucky one?”

“i-i’ve known her for a while. she’s sweet and fun to be around... we’ve been hanging out a lot more often these last few months. we get along really well, at least i think we do...”

“sounds like you have chemistry with this special girl,” you say, the words heavy on your tongue. the hammering of your heart floods your ears. “so what’s stopping you from asking her out?”

yeonjun sits up to face you fully. you sense the effort it takes for him to look at you 一 has he ever been like this around you before? 一 and you reach for his hands. they’re trembling, and his ears go from pink to red.

“a long time ago,” he starts, voice shaking, “i kissed her. i kissed her after my last breakup. and i wasn’t thinking straight, i was just so lonely that i wanted to be loved again 一 but i can’t do that to yo— to her, she’s one of my best friends, i don’t want yo— her to be a rebound 一 but then you said we could start over so we did and i dunno, at one point i started liking you, i fell so hard i don’t know wh一”

you interrupt him with a kiss, your lips gentle on his. you feel him kissing you back, his movements gentle as his hand comes up to hold your head in place. you find yourself pressed against him and he’s even warmer than you remember, warmer than those dreams you had so many months ago.

when you break apart, his eyes are glazed over in a look of pure admiration.

“y/n...”

“jjun, i...” heat spreads across your face. “i’ve loved you for years.”

“then why didn’t you say anything?”

“how could i? what if you didn’t feel that way and it ruined our friendship? and with all the other guys too?” your heart is still beating fast but you let out the words while your boldness still has a hold on you. “and then you dated hana and i cried but i wanted you to be happy 一 then you broke up and you kissed me and i liked it, and i hated myself for liking it because you were 一”

yeonjun pulls you into him, arms encircling you, and as you keep rambling into his chest he soothes you with one hand combing through your hair. his other arm grips you firmly, and your own arms find a firm hold around his neck.

“i love you too, y/n,” he whispers into your hair before leaving a kiss there. “it’s okay.”

“i love you, so much...”

he pulls apart to get a good look at your face. as he sees a few tears start to roll down your cheeks, he brushes them aside with his thumb.

“so this girl,” he says, affection lacing his words, “after we kissed, she said we could start over. and we did. and i’m really glad we did, because i fell for h一 for you so hard.”

you lean your head forward so that your forehead touches his. “really?”

“really. and i...”

“do you want to kiss her again?”

yeonjun’s breath hitches and his eyes meet yours. there it is 一 that same look of his that makes you feel light. the one that, you realize, makes you feel loved.

“can i?”

“please,” you whisper.

he closes the gap between your lips and his, and this time you feel only relief and bliss.

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt angst #txt fluff #yeonjun angst #yeonjun fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #bhj: violet's works

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theeternalwombtarot · 10 months ago

Text

Your present reality vs far future

message: I'm doing a reading from bed today guys, believe it or not, I have not done any readings from bed in quite a long time lol! I have a designated table for these types of things in the house but I'm feeling like taking it easy today and relaxing. Sometimes doing readings or creating tarot content feels like a chore although I really love it. Many things in my life have felt like a chore lately between work and school and managing my time properly and whatever else I have selected to put on my plate. This is the reason why I'm pulling this reading out of my draft list, I have many readings stored away in my drafts about various things. I felt called to do this one because I felt that maybe the collective wanted some insight as to what the life they're working towards or manifesting may look like. I've been feeling called to do these types of 3D-themed readings for a while. I also considered releasing a financial forecast reading as well. I'm asking spirit and setting my intention for this reading to motivate and help awaken the collective to the reality their higher selves live and what needs to be done or put in in order to receive the manifestation of the dream life you deserve collective. I know many people whose past life karma, the beliefs they grew up with, their childhood trauma, and the experiences that they were given within this lifetime to put them on their highest path of ascension if they made the right choices or saw things the best way has made them feel very discouraged and stuck and has ruined the idea that a good life is available for them to be a recipient of. It is not your fault that the divine plan that was set in place for you to learn certain lessons was difficult or was dreadful or took such a large toll on you but it is possible to heal from and be relieved from such a way of things. I swear. And today I will try and deliver to you the truth of a life you could live away from the hurt, the karmic cycles, and the trauma or hard times. Anyways, many months ago when I created the draft for this reading I chose Miss Frida Kahlo and her wonderful art for my banner and my pick-a-pile covers. I hope that you enjoy her as much as I enjoy her and her legacy and art.

your past: I pulled the three of swords for your past pile one, there could've been a lot of loss and a lot of heartbreak cut out for you. Loss may have served as a large aspect of some of your greatest lessons. The loss of a parent to death or to outside third party obligations, the loss of a lover or many, the loss of approval or much-needed validation from outside sources, loss shaped the way things were laid out for you and was responsible for some of the behaviors or needs that you had for a long time. There's an essence of learning that is so incredibly significant to you here, you could've begun your life in a way where knowledge or the need for knowledge was heavily significant in your life, but I also see this idea of the primary purpose for your life events and circumstances was for you to learn important lessons early in order for you to become something great in your future. You could've had to grow up really fast, had to experience or see things or undergo drastic changes and hardships that people usually don't at such a large volume but you were made to survive and flourish. You're someone with a great purpose, you may be a healer or a light worker or someone who has a heavily significant gift even if your gifts aren't in the world of helping people along their ascension or things that fall into the metaphysical.

your present reality: you've reached a point within your journey where you've outgrown and broken all of your karmic cycles or successfully and fully completed the portion of your life that was heavily designed by the divine to teach you some of your most intense and powerful lessons, congratulations pile one. I almost said pile two, there may be messages for you in pile two. Last night in a reading I had said that there is a portion of someone's life in which their past life karma and the events in their lives and their experiences are heavily determined by what needs to be a part of their reality in order to reach the level of ascension needed to step into their higher self and fulfill their purpose. Sort of in the way in which we spend a large majority of our lives as minors in someone's care before we're considered legal adults and can go off on our own and create our own lives and stories. and This was exactly that. You've graduated or aged out of a space in time within your journey where your hardest lessons were that were meant to shape you.

You are at the beginning of your life, the world is yours. Some of you have just turned 19 years old or are newly adults. The number 19 is associated with perseverance, inner power, and finding your own path or finding your own spiritual path. The number 1 symbolizes the beginning and the number 9 symbolizes completion or near completion or the point in which someone is about to reach their highest level of completion or wholeness. You also have the ten of cups here indicating bliss, harmony, and alignment. This point is the calm after the storm that you have experienced, the ages of 6 and 7 may be incredibly significant for you as well and could've been the point in which certain karmic cycles or karmic energies began to flare up for you within your life.

You're at this extremely significant point in time, I see spirit or your spirit guides and ancestors opening up this huge door for you or you getting ready to walk through this gigantic door you've been waiting to enter for a long time. I see little you or someone being a teenager waiting in front of a door or sitting in front of a door. Someone had an ancestor or a spirit guide that always wanted to let you in early or always wanted to let you see what was on the other side even if you weren't ready yet someone's ancestor or spirit guide is very sorry that you had a hard time or had to go through so much, you have buckets of compassion in other realms for you pile one. Behind the door there is all of these opportunities, all of this abundance and all of these beautiful things for you to have and experience as compensation.

your future: in your future there's a lot of you using everything you've learned or everything you've experienced to keep you grounded or consistently moving in the right direction. Not out of a place of fear but out of a place of wisdom and knowing. You may also be someone who struggles with commitments in your life either emotionally or in the physical/material aspect of things and this is not going to be something that continues to hold you back I just heard "You'll find your way." or something along the lines of being able to put your money where your mouth is or stand fully in the things you want to accomplish will come to you eventually and you won't have to worry about this any longer if you worry about your productivity or your performance or your ability to take action and make things happen. You'll soon be seen as someone very disciplined who has things figured out and mapped out and you'll not only be seen that way but you'll be that person actually.

Some of you are young and may feel disappointed in yourself or having a hard time accepting that you are in fact young and there are skills or things you're not immediately good at or have to learn to do with time as you come into yourself due to the fact that you may be someone who is very grown up, wise or mature in a lot of areas. You are not behind. I just heard "allow yourself to grow." someone's ancestor or spirit guide thinks it's funny that you might get upset at the fact that you have a hard time. They see you as a baby in a suit lol. You may be unable to see just how much you have within your life or feel you crave more or don't get all the recognition you rightfully deserve within this lifetime to some extent here. You may fall into a practitioner role or be someone who teaches or creates a name for themselves through a leadership role or through something like divination. You'll be someone mysterious and sensual or someone who attracts the attention or curiosity of many. I just heard "friend of the world" or "mother" You may hold mystique and/or have a very high status patriarchal or matriarchal vibe. You may be well known in the world of the arts or there will be a worldly presence about you that you'll hold for the remainder of your life.

I pulled "The Daughter of Skulls" in the deck I'm using today and in essence, she represents infinite potential of life on earth. "steady and secure materialization. infinite potential. birth. completion. abundance. strength. tangible. earthly happiness. pure creation. opportunity. generous. beautiful. sensual. benevolent. arousal. adoration. truth. security. commitment. freedom. sensations. perfection. divine inspiration and holy wisdom. here is the message behind this card in the Tarot book for this deck:

In your future, what you put out in the world you will receive in return in full capacity and you will give to the world a lot and the most valuable and most cherished things. Anything that comes from you or derives from you will be held at high regard and will be something of value. Your ideas, your guidance, your charity and even your children if you bless this world with any.

how you'll get there: value yourself and value your energy and your time and your essence. You are a person of high rare value and you must behave as such. Your first line of defense is always going to be you in the physical realm and world of the living and your second line of defense is your spirit guides and ancestors. You cannot receive the things you want in your life or get to where you want to be or be who your higher self is if you do not protect yourself in every sense there is. respect your legacy in the making. make choices according to where you want to go, be the energy you want to receive. your success in your life will come from you using your wisdom and using the respect you have for yourself and the love you have for yourself as your biggest weapon. People often see us the way we see ourselves when we have a very strong sense of identity whether or not it's a honest one or not. People will come to you because you're magnetic. Success will follow you because you're magnetic and it's safe in your hands. continue to nurture yourself and your energy and your persona. I don't even mean in the sense of who you present to others as an alter ego but your higher self or who you feel called to be. Love yourself, love your life, value your essence. easier said than done for most but if this message is yours you know exactly what means, looks like, feels like, sounds like, tastes like. Love is your sixth sense.

ii.

your past: your childhood or past could've had a lot of stagnancy and suppression within it. There's something authoritative here or something that restricted someone's self-expression or was very judgmental and inflexible. this could be anything a parent or a legal guardian, a school system or a culture or a religion. Someone was a brilliant child or was someone with a lot of broad potential for many things who didn't get the freedom or ability to blossom or grow the way they rightfully deserved, there's a suppressed part of someone here that has been pushed into the shadow or has been lying dormant. you may have a difficult time making decisions in your life or have low self-esteem or an inability to think for yourself, express yourself or have a wicked case of imposture syndrome that tells you that you're not worth much or that you aren't capable of much but you're very powerful and very divine.

incredibly smart, have a psychic ability or an oppressed spiritual gift. someone told you that you were crazy or weird or led you in a direction or raised you up in a way that very heavily wounded your sense of self. this could also be a case of environmental oppression of the spirit, somewhere you once resided or the place you do reside and/or haven't moved away from didn't have the resources to accommodate you or help you. you may have a mental illness or a disability or have very heavy trauma that may impair you. There was some complication with the message that came through at first, I couldn't grasp it right away and I think this is reflective of the energy you may be in because something has cut you off or pushed you to lose something that was a naturally given birthright for you that you inherited from your ancestors or one in particular like a father or a grandfather or someone on your paternal line or a masculine energy. potentially one who passed away before your time. I pulled "The Lord of Knives" in the deck I'm using here's the message and essence behind the card:

someone in your life could've known that you had a gift and took advantage of the fact that you were a child and may have had their own ideas about which direction they felt you were destined to go or put a lot of energy into suppressing your gifts or trying to break your spirit for fear you'd be entirely too difficult to control or be disobedient or out of jealousy for what you'd get in life or what you'd reap if you were allowed to grow into your power or be yourself. I see this could've been multiple people who chipped it to see you fall or have a hard time it may have started in the home or came from the home as well but it also was something you dealt with outside of your life, in your social life. Someone was afraid of fullness of conserved power in you.

your present reality: You're about to grow into yourself or at the brink of your ascension, you couldn't spent a lot of time in a stagnant place with many karmic behaviors and cycles, you could've fallen into addictions or fallen into some hard places or ran into a lot of karmic people and situations that were meant to shake you awake or act as major catalyst to put you on the right path. I hear someone saying that these were the cards you were dealt in terms of your past (both as a child and in your early life and in your recent past or in these past couple of years) and there isn't much you can do about that but you can use the cards you were dealt with to alchemize your self and learn the right lessons and find what you may have lost a long time ago. there's something significant here about your crown chakra being closed or you having a hard time learning lessons or taking the positives out of a negative situation or circumstance.

There was a recent catalyst that you've just experienced or are standing in at the moment that has been the last one for this block of time or this cycle of misfortune or hardship. You need peace and quiet or you need most at this time the ability to break away and turn inwards and soul search. It's about time some inner clarity on certain matters including the directory of your life and what you need to do come to you. you're about to rethink an idea or any clouded judgment you've had or carried with you about your sense of direction or where you needed to go, do, or be is about to clear. At this point in your life you're potentially in a place where you're juggling the persona you've been given or the one you've grown into to assimilate or that was in alignment with your choices and the life that goes with it and the person you really are and the life you are destined to have that's in alignment with who you truly are. this collective is always a really heavy one within my readings, you're always with me, I've practically grown up with you and now is your moment. I've always loved you and seen your light. it is now time you see it to and step into your power pile two.

You're in the process of regeneration and healing as well after a time long spent carrying with you wounds and skeletons. You're finally on the rise and about to reach your freedom. You're so close.

your future: I see you feeling and being victorious. a force to be reckoned with. people might actually believe you to be the golden standard of something or may idealize you or feel that you're glorious. You may be someone who is heavily put on a pedestal by their romantic partners and romanticized even to a point where you don't understand and they may become increasingly disappointed or have a hard time coming to terms with the fact that you're a real person with real flaws are can't possibly be everything they've chosen to try and make you out to be but I see this no longer being the case with anyone in the future in the sense that you will be everything and more. You may be heavily attracted to someone in your present life or be really infatuated or obsessed with someone in your present life who is a fantasy-like individual or has a really beaming sort of divinity that you wish that you could embody on your own and you will. You are divine and you will be divine and that will be the end of it. You'll be someone in the future who has a knack for improving themselves or finds great pleasure in self-improvement and pushing limits, even to the point of perfectionism it may work against you at some point but what it really does for you is set the standard for which you think you're worth and what you think you're capable of doing or accomplishing.

You may find that you'll be someone in the future and for a good amount of it who is a lone wolf or is seeking out a divine counterpart or someone to compliment you and bring to you your ten of cups or your divinely ordained commitment here or some sort of completion. I see you holding off for it and devoting a large amount of your energy towards your self-care and your physical world and career as you look for deep and divine commitment in your love life and partnerships. You may be someone who commands a lot of attention or that people desire to follow around or invest in deep commitments with but will find yourself not necessarily lonely but seeking something profound, at this stage in your ascension you'll have the ability to detect intention and what is in store for you and another individual intuitively. You could very well be a masculine energy or just someone who is very action-oriented and moves through their lives with a sense of fluidity. I pulled the "Prince of Scepters" here is the essence and description attached to this card from the book:

how you'll get there:

focus on taking the time you need for yourself to thoroughly recover from the things you've experienced and allow yourself the time to make the changes you need to make to come into your power and refine who you need to be. Don't rush into commitments out of loneliness or force yourself to be around people just to keep company or just to make it seem like you are loved by others, it's okay to be alone or to use the time you have being alone for a productive cause that pertains to you, you're not selfish or wrong for it. Continue to grow and pour your energy into yourself. Love yourself enough to meet your own needs, love yourself enough to do things for the sake of your own nourishment, and stay far away from things that can destroy you out of craving or desire. take time to think about what you truly want and come into alignment with that by trusting that it exists and that it's available for you to have if that's truly what you want. the world is yours after such a long time of being denied it and it's time you align yourself with receiving it.

iii.

your past: This may not be for the entire collective but it's likely there could've been some of you that could've experienced some violence or abusive environment even may have had someone in your life that was emotionally volatile that you could never truly please or had to walk on eggshells around. could've also been heavily oversexualized in your life as a child and during your teen years or general early life. there's a possibility someone could've attracted a lot of people who wanted to take from them or exploit them and did. Some of y'all could have experienced a lot of heartbreak from a young age or a lot of your needs not being met or your first heart break or massive bouts of betrayal from significant individuals like family members or like your parents and that could've heavily affected the way you behaved in front of others or how you navigated in the world. It's possible some of you could've developed a personality disorder or may struggle with mental health. You may have developed a tendency to lie to get approval or to get your way or obtain opportunities you don't believe you could receive if you were just yourself. lie or put on facades.

You may also have liked to party within the past couple of years or went through a lot to try and keep from being alone with yourself or being isolated or feeling alone. If it wasn't partying it was attempting to keep as many friends as possible or do what was necessary to keep as much attention as you felt you needed.

your present reality: you could be potentially dealing with a lot of energetic pressure in the heart space or undergoing a heart chakra awakening. You could be in and out of depression at this time potentially as well. Things from your past or past suppressed feelings or memories are resurfacing. if it's coming up, it needs to come out. You're learning what it means to love yourself and operate from a place of love instead of fear. You could be experiencing heavy emotions attached to codependency There could've been a loss or multiple. Of friends or lovers or both, people you may have heavily relied on past even a healthy point. relied on for various things, to regulate your emotions, validate your existence, or prove to you that you are loved or could be loved. There's also a potential you may have several uncut soul ties from past lovers and failed relationships, talking stages, or sexual rendezvous. You may have attempted to use your knowledge to cut them or severe them but it was somewhat unsuccessful.

You've been isolating yourself lately or having a lot of trouble being perceived or have developed a deep/deeper fear of being seen. You may have spent a lot of time off of social media or have been minimizing the amount you're willing to share about how you feel with "friends" and family. This could potentially serve as a way of being able to control your environment and what comes in and out of space so as not to trigger you. someone might be an air sign as well, you may not have the ability you may usually have to let things flow right through you or control the way you react to certain stimuli. You're bothered, triggered, or heavily emotionally sensitive or volatile at this time. You're undergoing a dark night of the soul and are in the process of waning in order to return in better shape soon. You're the last portion of the collection to undergo a full transformation. Some of you apart of this pile/collective are individuals who have younger spirits or haven't been on this early plane for very long or haven't lived multiple lives here.

You could have very youthful or childish energy or tendencies in your most authentic and natural state, you may look older or give the impression to others that you are older than you really are. You're in the process of healing the part of you that's karmic behavior may stem from a stunted place in your growth. learning how to properly navigate in the world and in your relationships, learning how to communicate properly, some of you may also be seeking out therapy or psych evaluations or may be placed in alignment to receive those types of mental health services.

your future: You'll be completely committed to the cause that is loving yourself and being the energy that you want to receive or manifest in all forms. Self love or insecurity may be something you have struggled with for the vast majority of your life so much so that a few of you have learned to heavily overcompensate or have developed an extremely inflated sense of self-importance that comes from a seemingly narcissistic place due to your past. learning how to do things authentically and from an honest place and not take short cuts or use your trauma as a way to cushion the fact that you may have some unhealed aspects of your shadow is something that you'll be learning to do and be determined to do.

You'll be in the process of challenging beliefs you've learned from your past or carried with you a long way and be in the state of learning and growing for a large amount of time for the earliest portion of your enlightened life. Any growing up you failed to do or limited mindset you've carried is what you'll primarily be working on. You may be disconnected spiritually or disconnected from spirit or God as well and your faith and purpose is something that you'll be working on or trying to find guidance through. You'll be entering your most in-depth spiritual journey or spiritual rebirth. You may have spiritual knowledge already but it comes from a limited place or the intention for learning isn't in the right place.

by the time you've completed this inner work and have come into alignment with your purpose and what you're meant to do within this lifetime you'll find yourself feeling relieved and having more room within yourself to build your life in such a way that will bring true fulfillment for you. You may have a tendency to heavily fixate on the physical or material world or the way your reality "appears" in the 3D and neglect your spirit, emotional/mental well-being, or internal affairs which has played a huge factor in your stunted growth and ability to operate and your future will begin itself with you having no choice but to shift your focus and find alignment internally before you can make anything come into rightful alignment in your physical life.

how you'll get there: you'll receive your highest reality by nurturing and healing the parts of you that need the most care and attention, which happens to be everything within and in spirit. There can be no true abundance or alignment if we don't bring into true order our internal aspects first. Be for your inner child who you would have wanted for them growing up. You are your first line of defense for your internal and vulnerable self and behind that is your spirit guides and ancestors. Your journey to your highest reality and your deepest place of alignment is going to be a lot of soul searching and a lot of inner work and growth and the effort that you put in to get yourself there. I pulled "The Daughter of Scepters" in the tarot deck I've chosen for this reading and here's the essence and meaning of the card for you to read:

I also channeled the song "Tell Him" by Lauryn Hill, and "Him" as referred to in the song would be self (you).

Your greatest strength will be utilizing the natural free-spirited energy of your spirit, use it to allow yourself to embrace change and do the inner work to break karmic cycles and emerge out of stagnancy when it finds you.

This reading took me so long guyss 😭😭 I broke it into two parts, I completed the first two piles that took me a couple of hours last night yesterday and then this morning I woke up with the intention to finish. I hope you found what you were looking for in this reading and it touched you!! I was unsure about the directory spirit took it in because I had envisioned it to be more of an entertainment type reading and be more surface level in its content but it turned out completely different. Bless you. 🤎

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lazywriters-blog · 10 months ago

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QUIET + QUIET = NAUGHTY

YANDERE ALHAITHAM

Summary: Alhaitham used to be your mentor, and after leaving him behind and pursuing another career, he finds a way to bind you to him. [This was sitting in my drafts for so long that I decided to just publish it so if it's bad, my bad lol.]

Warning: This may contain triggering content, read at your discretion. Implied rape, forced pregnancy, and manipulation. Alhaitham is a piece of shit in this-

You had a dream that didn't feel like one.

Your mind is clear and you remember something was amiss the night you fell asleep, so you are certain whatever glimpse you recall was truthful. You could never imagine yourself having a wet dream about someone you disapproved of.

Despite the man's appearance attracting you to him, there's just something about him you don't like. Perhaps sitting here and watching him read his book made you a crazed fangirl, but you were a decent human being with decent expectations.

And alhaitham was one exception you'd avoid till the end, even with the tolerance level you had, he went past above and beyond that.

Seeing him so far away from you felt odd, having a realistic dream was different but feeling it and knowing you felt it was different! You couldn't make up such fantasies even if you wanted to. You did not invite him into your dreamland and never would, he's the type of man with stoic feelings and selfishness with good reasons for it.

You also had a hate-love relationship with the scribe, he's an asshole who nagged you to do everything perfectly when you were in front of him and made you feel unqualified. You'd admit you weren't good, but the humiliation was taking it a bit too far when he'd speak loud and clear for everyone to hear and think about it.

You aren't a failed test subject to show.

Nonetheless, you had forgotten about it and moved on to a better place in life, so his abrupt existence was cutting it too close.

But, trying to talk to him just seemed wrong. Comforting him seemed childish, and unnecessary when you could live on with the fact you had a wet dream about him, but past that, he's close to an enemy to you.

He closed his book and settled it on the table, folding his arms and glancing straight toward you, so he knew you were here. Copying his position you glared, feeling something nasty within you grow and you had no shame in expressing that to the man.

Grinning wide, you tilted your head and quietly mouthed 'Fuck you.' briefly pulling up your hand and pointing a middle finger, throwing him one last look you got up and walked away.

If that incident earned you a bad reputation, you knew exactly who was behind it.

The next sign you discovered that your dream wasn't as fake as you made it out to be, was when you woke up nauseous and threw up, you figured it was a mash of bad food combination that made you queasy.

And denial was hard, how were you going to explain it even if it was true? 'I think it has something to do with the wet dream I had with my enemy and I think I'm pregnant?' just thinking about it you feel delusional you couldn't fathom how crazy you would sound to the others, you weren't lost in the head.

You had your toes on solid ground and weren't making stuff up on thin air, nor because you were living alone and thinking having a new member would cure it.

You'd never be that desperate.

"You are showing clear symptoms of pregnancy." He's saying it and you don't like the tone of his voice, he's saying it to get revenge for your past interaction, you are sure.

"Your skin is glowing, and the bump you are trying to hide isn't doing much," he added, like salt to a wound. You forced a smile, thinking to yourself that staying indoors today would have been so much better than facing him in all his selfish glory.

"And would you happen to know who did it?" You sniped back, "How do you even know that I've gotten fat unless you've been watching me, pervert, learn to lower your eyes."

"It shouldn't take a genius to know that a woman is carrying a child. It's a blessing you're hiding."

"You're saying it as if it's your child." she would know after years of suffering under him, that he would make her the fool and him the trustworthy one, and she didn't want to give him a chance. So if he wants to play dumb, she'll cut him open.

He chuckled, a rare gesture from him she saw only once, "Should we have a paternity test?" why did he sound so smug and certain?

"Is this your indirect way of saying that I'm crazy? That you impregnated me?" he stayed quiet and satisfied, all the trouble he was causing her and the damage it would bring to her reputation was unnerving, he was doing it on purpose. She was sure!!

"You are a monster." She could strangle him right now if they weren't in public.

He smiled, not breaking eye contact and continuing to maintain it. "Who would believe you?"

#yandere imagines #yandere #yan yan #yandere drabble #yandere oneshot #yandere alhaitham #al haitam x reader #alhaitham #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #al haithem #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines

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tenswrld · 1 year ago

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true romance

popstar!haechan x upcomingartist!reader, angst, fluff

summary: haechan's the world's boyfriend — and yours too, i guess.

word count: 4.1k

listen to: true romance - pinkpantheress

a/n: first, sorry that its been so long...im trying to be better about writing but inspiration comes and goes,,i hope you will indulge in whatever this is!!! everytime i hear this song my mind goes to haechan for some reason sooo yeah >_< i have lots of drafts its just a matter of when or if i finish them LOL love yall tho & enjoy

•°. *࿐

tell me, do you view me the same or do you call me a stranger?

"leave a bit after me so no one sees."

haechan is popular — without a doubt one of the most popular artists of your time. everyone either wants to be him or be with him, to which you completely understand. everything about him screams someone who was born to be on a stage, stealing hearts and whatnot. with such a bright personality, it was almost impossible to not like him.

you've had the privilege of getting to watch haechan grow from singing songs he wrote in his bedroom on youtube to him performing them in sold out shows. you're a fan, of course, but somewhere along the way — with crazy luck — you've wiggled your way into his life and into his heart. the two of you were music artists wishing on every star for some kind of breakthrough to the industry (take a guess on who got it). naturally, it brought you together. you were there when haechan reached 5,000 subscribers, and you were still there when he was selling out shows to 50,000 people. you've stuck by his side for so long that you're sure that its where you fit best.

in the moment, however, you're not so sure anymore.

"leave a bit after me so no one sees."

the small smile on your face slowly disappears at haechan's words and hurt quickly settles into your chest. "...why? what would be so bad about that?"

haechan seems unable to grasp how upset you are at his words. he shakes his head with a small laugh. "it's not like that, y/n. but a scandal at this time wouldn't be good."

"a scandal?" you scoff slightly. "since when have you ever cared about that?"

he sighs and runs a hand through his hair that's still slightly wet from his post-performance sweat. "i just don't want to take any risks right now. especially since my album is coming out soon. you understand, right?"

"i fly all the way out here to see you, and you don't want to be seen with me?" you say with a trembling lip and a weak voice. you're hurt and you're angry, but can't seem to keep your tears at bay.

"i didn't say that."

"you might as well have," you spit back at him.

"let's talk about this later, okay? trust me, it would be a lot worse for you than it would for me." haechan picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder, making his way towards the backstage exit door.

frozen in place overwhelmed with emotion, you watch your boyfriend open the door. you think he's had a change of heart when he pauses at the door and turns back to you, but somehow he's managed to hurt you even more.

"maybe you should take these too," he says, placing the bouquet you made him back into your hold. the smell of roses and sunflowers taking over your senses as more tears well up in your eyes. you hope the flowers hide them from haechan's gaze. though, you're not so sure he'd notice anyway, as he'd already let the door close and left you behind.

•°. *࿐

'cause, baby, i don't care about the fame

people talk. as an upcoming music artist, you're aware that people talk. as the (hidden) girlfriend of a global superstar, you're more than aware that people love to talk about anything and everything that doesn't concern them.

you and haechan aren't on the same level of fame — not that it matters to you. it never mattered to you, really. even as haechan grew and grew and you remained with your significantly smaller (but still decent) following, fame was never your strongest desire.

yet, now, you're wondering that maybe if you were just a bit more famous, more popular, more well known, then you wouldn't feel as far away from haechan as you do right now. even as he sits beside you on the king bed of the luxury suite he booked for this stop of his tour, you feel further away from him then ever.

"i mean, what would people say about us, y/n? about you?"

"you keep saying that, hyuck, but you're not explaining it to me," you say, growing frustrated with him. "why is it just about me?"

he purses his lips before averting his gaze to the floor. "they'll say nasty stuff about you — that you're using me for fame, or money, or something like that."

you shake your head. "but you and i both know that's not true. we've been together for how many years now? their words shouldn't matter." you take hold of his hand and rub your thumb against his knuckles. "you could have nothing and i'd still be here."

"people don't know that," he scoffs. "they'll assume the worst about you."

maybe he's right — you're sure they will assume the worst about you regardless of your long, deep history with haechan. would he start to believe them? you think it, but you don’t ask — too afraid of the answer you might receive.

"what are you so afraid of?" you ask him softly, begging him with your mind for him to look at you.

but he doesn't, his eyes stayed trained on the ground and he can only weakly squeeze your hand that holds onto his own.

"i don't know."

•°. *࿐

tell me, why i don't play about you

every song is about you

haechan finally has a short break in between the legs of his tour and he chooses to spend every waking moment of it with you.

things between the two of you have felt rocky for a while. it makes haechan ashamed to say it, but he's been so focused on tour and his new album that he's pushed everything else to the side. he's a perfectionist and he feels like he's barely made it — he wants everything to work out perfectly and is committed to making sure that happens. he's not sure how long he's been brushing off anything non-career related, but he misses you — even if you're with him.

he flys the two of you out to a small, quaint place in kyoto where he finally gets to enjoy some peace and quiet in his life. he chooses to turn off his phone, not too keen with the idea of his manager berating him about all his responsibilities he'll have to tend to when he gets back. he's on vacation and he's here with you: the one person who's been with him through every up and down.

you're laying in his arms and haechan misses you to the point where it hurts — when was the last time he laid with you like this? the revelation urges him to pull you closer, placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you lay on his chest. he sighs into your hair, breathing all of you in. it's silent, for the most part, until you ask a question that rattles haechan's being.

"why do you not sing about me?" you ask it so softly that haechan almost misses it.

"what? what are you talking about?" he's genuinely confused as to what you mean. who do you think he sings about?

"i know a handful of your old old songs are about me, but you don't perform those anymore," you murmur into his chest. "ah, don't mind me, i'm just talking."

you sound embarrassed and defeated and haechan wants to cry. did you really not know? how long has he been pushing you away?

"y/n, every single song i write is about you," haechan professes. "i couldn't write about anyone else if i tried."

his words shock you, even if they shouldn't. you tilt your head up to look up at him and he looks down at you with the softest gaze.

"not that i ever would, anyway," he continues, a sad smile painting his face.

"you mean it?" you whisper to him, wanting so badly to believe him.

when haechan's resolve breaks and his eyes glaze over, you know he means it. his hold on you tightens with one hand and the other comes up to caress your cheek, swiping a tear you didn't even know had fallen.

"of course," he croaks. "you're my muse, y/n. you."

this time, you're wiping his tears away as he cries and cries into your palms. you shift the two of you so that he lies in between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist and face buried into your torso, your hands running through his hair. he's apologizing over and over and doesn't say why, but you know why. you regret ever doubting haechan's love for you — even if he was to blame.

but, just as you're certain you love him more than anything, you know that haechan loves you back all the same.

"it's always been you, y/n."

•°. *࿐

and everybody’s shouting out your name

“you look too handsome to be pouting like that, you know,” you tease lightly, approaching haechan to adjust his tie fondly.

he can’t help but smile at you as you do so, his hands easily finding their place around your waist, tugging you close. “if you tell me to stay, i will.”

you sigh and place your hands upon his chest, allowing you to push yourself up to place a soft kiss on his lips. his lips trail after yours once you pull away and he pouts at you again, eyes begging for another kiss but you push him back ever so slightly.

“you can’t miss this, hyuck, you know that. this could be really big for you!” you beam, swiping a bit of your lip gloss off of his lips. “some important people might be there.”

“but you won’t be there,” he whines. “what’s the point?”

you roll your eyes playfully. “you’ll be fine. now go, your manager has been waiting.” haechan sighs and leans down to place one more kiss on your lips.

you pull away before he can get carried away. “go! and put a good word in for me with taeyong, yeah?”

haechan rolls his eyes but smiles at you, pecking you on the cheek as he bids you farewell. “no promises.”

ੈ♡˳

it’s barely been over an hour and haechan wants to leave.

normally he’s able to tolerate these sorts of things — the bright lights, loud music, snobby people all trying to one up each other. he can get by and chat with anyone as if he’s known them for years. typically, events like these breeze by for haechan. why was he hating every second of it?

it’s lee taeyong’s end of year celebration party. of course, as his junior, haechan was invited. he’s grateful that he’s made friends with lots of other artists under his company, otherwise haechan would have been long gone within the first 45 minutes of arriving. but, haechan stays, mostly because he admires taeyong and does, in fact, bring up you and your songs — which, to his surprise, taeyong says he knows you and enjoys your music.

haechan isn’t given the chance to talk more, unfortunately, due to an excited kim jungwoo who locks an arm around haechan’s shoulder and drags him away.

“ow — hyung! i was in the middle of a conversation!” haechan grits to jungwoo, lightly shoving his arm off of him.

“my bad, it looked like you needed saving,” jungwoo chuckles. “come on, everyone’s been looking for you.”

jungwoo leads haechan to a small circle of people to which haechan knows as his small circle of friends: mark, his company's beloved canadian rapper; johnny suh, one of seoul's most popular djs; and of course there's kim jungwoo, kim doyoung, and jeong jaehyun who make up dojaejung, korea's heartthrob boy group.

"yo, where have you been?" mark greets him excitedly, lightly slapping him on the shoulder playfully.

"what do you mean 'where have i been', i saw you yesterday, mark," haechan grumbles.

"woah, someone needs a drink," johnny chuckles. doyoung is quick to hand haechan a glass of champagne.

haechan takes a large gulp, hopefully to ease whatever tension he feels in his shoulders. he's trying to enjoy the party, he really is, but all he wants to do is come home to you.

"everything okay?" doyoung asks him, concerned with the way haechan seems to be downing his drink.

the younger boy sighs. "yeah, i'm fine, sorry. just stressed out."

"oh, your album is coming out soon, right?" jungwoo remembers, nudging haechan with his elbow. "congratulations!"

the rest of the boys congratulate him and haechan can only half-heartedly reply despite being very grateful.

"i'm sure it'll be great," johnny reassures him.

"saw a lot of love songs on that track list," jungwoo teases. "got a special someone?"

haechan stills at his words and he's caught in an argument with himself. does he mention you? does he say no? is this how he wants people to find out you’re together? before he can even reply, though, jaehyun cuts in.

"speaking of, i heard that kim minjeong has had her eye on you for a while, haechan," jaehyun says. he raises his eyebrows at the younger boy and haechan gulps, the rest of his friends nudging him playfully as they coo at him.

"that's the model, right? and singer?" doyoung asks. "you should talk to her!"

haechan feels like he's going to be sick. maybe he's being dramatic — its not like they're shoving him into minjeong's face and asking him to profess his love. still, he feels like he's betraying you in some way and he realizes he has to go home.

"i can talk you up, probably," mark says. "we're normally at the studio at the same time."

“i heard that shin ryujin has been talking about you, too,” johnny pipes in. “honestly, who hasn’t been talking about you? i’m surprised you’ve done nothing about it.”

doyoung hums. “she seems like your type, donghyuck! i know some people over at —“

"no! no, don't — " haechan places his champagne glass onto a nearby table abruptly and sighs shakily. "just...don't. sorry, i-i don't feel well. i should go."

confused and concerned eyes watch haechan as he rushes towards the nearest exit. he doesn't bother saying goodbye to taeyong, but makes a mental note to send him an apologetic note tomorrow. haechan sees kim minjeong catch sight of him, and he's sure she's about to make an attempt to stop him to chat with the way she looks at him with a flirty gaze. haechan is quick to turn in the opposite direction and flees out of the nearest door.

haechan's manager comes out soon behind him, frenzied after trying to catch up to a frantic haechan. he doesn't get the chance to ask the latter if he's okay, too occupied with calling their driver upon haechan's request.

"home," he chokes out. he's out of breath and he feels dizzy — whether its from the champagne or from guilt, he's unsure.

"i want to go home."

•°. *࿐

i'm in the crowd, can you see my hand?

haechan has reached the encore of his final show of his tour, yet he still feels a pressure that he cannot explain.

its not from all of his seniors and friends that attended in support of him, he knows that. it's not from the different producers and music artists that flew to seoul for him, either. its a pressure that weighs on his chest that has made him feel unsatisfied with each stage, despite putting 150% effort in everything.

the crowd is going crazy for him after he delivers his final ment, and he takes a moment to soak in it all, in hopes it would give him some peace of mind.

then, his eyes finally spot you.

you, in the back row of some random section, sitting with your manager, with a banner with his name on it and a headband with bear ears perched on top of your head. he doesn't know if you can tell that he's staring right at you, but you start waving around the banner with excitement. haechan can't help but adore you even more than he already does.

time stops for him as he realizes that you're here. through thick and thin you've always been there — what has haechan ever done for you? he hasn't given you even a sliver of what you deserve, yet you've never left him. you stayed when he was a nobody, and even now when he's been terribly selfish, you let him be.

there are thousands of other hands waving at him, but haechan can only see yours.

"actually," haechan starts, quickly silencing the crowd. "there's one more thing i wanted to say."

from your seat, you feel your heartbeat quicken. haechan is still standing and looking into your direction and you know he sees you.

"there's someone very special to me that's here tonight."

your heart stops as you realize what he's doing and you can't help but glance at your manager in a panic. fans around you are murmuring in confusion since haechan had already given a shoutout to his guests.

"they've been by my side since i was writing silly love songs in my childhood bedroom," haechan says, a fond smile taking over his features. "i wrote those love songs about them then, and i still write every love song about them now."

the gasps and shocked noises at his confession fall upon deaf ears — to you, you and haechan are the only two people in the world.

"some of you may know her — she's an amazing music artist as well. far better than me, in my opinion, but maybe i'm a bit biased." haechan sees you laugh and can't help but chuckle too.

"my girlfriend, y/n, is here tonight, and i couldn't be more grateful. wave, y/n!" haechan calls out to you. surprisingly, the camera cuts to you as you wave shyly, hiding behind your haechan banner. even more surprising, the crowd cheers loudly for you.

"isn't she cute?" haechan asks. he's delighted when he sees and hears the rest of the stadium agree.

haechan finally feels that weight lift from off of his chest and he feels like he can breathe. he's happy — ecstatic, even — now that the world finally knows he's yours.

"y/n, you once asked me what i was afraid of, and i said i didn't know," haechan recalls gently. "but i know now." he purses his lips to prevent himself from choking up.

"you've always been so supportive of everything i've done. you've done so much for me and i'm not sure how i could ever repay you." haechan sucks in a sharp breath. "i'm afraid that i'll never truly deserve you."

the crowd coos and some fans in front of you turn around to look at you. you're a mess: tears are streaming down your face, and your hands are shaking. you hide pathetically behind your banner again as your manager wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder.

"i'm sorry for making you wait." haechan puts a hand over his heart, and you do the same. "i love you."

the camera cuts to you again and haechan glances at the monitor to get a better look at you as you mouth something back. haechan doesn't even attempt to conceal his smile or to hold back his tears. there's no use.

"i love you, too."

•°. *࿐

say what you want, this is true romance

“did you really have to mention that, hyuck?”

your boyfriend settles next to you on the couch, arm draping over your shoulder, as you scroll through his recent interview with vogue korea.

you pout at him and he's unable to stop the smile that takes over his face. he pinches your cheek and you quickly swat his hand away.

"what? what did i say?" he rests his chin on your shoulder to read the article for himself.

"i mean, does the public really have to know about me crying on our first date?" you complained. you continued scrolling and laughed as you read. "in what context would you ever have to tell vogue about our matching crayon shin-chan pajama pants?"

haechan laughs and presses a kiss to your shoulder. "honestly, i don't remember half of what i said during this interview. or any of what they asked me." he tugs you a little closer to him so that you're leaning against him, laying the two of you down. "all i know is that i'm pretty sure i started talking about you so much that they just called it a day."

"you're that obsessed with me, huh?" you teased.

haechan scoffs, wrapping both of his arms around you tightly. "obviously."

he watches you open instagram and sees you check the likes on your new post. he gasps dramatically, loosening one arm around you to snatch his phone from his pocket. "you posted?! where was my post notification?" he whines cutely.

he's a little too quick to find your account and he then quadruple clicks the picture to give it a like. "babe, why are your comments off? i was about to get really out of pocket," haechan whines again.

"okay, first, don't do that, please. save some of your dignity," you scold him. "but its because people are mean," you admit softly.

haechan's eyebrows furrow together and his tone stiffens. "who? what did they say?"

you sigh. "no one specific, don't worry. some people are just not too keen about us. your predictions were right, i guess," you attempt to joke, but it only makes haechan upset.

"here, come here," haechan beckons you up with him as he sits up. you're still under one of his arms, which he locks around your neck as he tugs you into his side. you're caught off guard, but lean into him anyway, arms wrapped around his torso. haechan lifts his phone up and takes selfies of the two of you, cheeks pressed together as you both smile uncontrollably.

you're both giggling like two high schoolers fresh into a relationship and you've never felt more happy and in love in your life. haechan presses wet kisses against your cheek before you eventually push his face away. still, he steals one more kiss from you — this time on your lips — and you let him.

"okay, i'm posting all of these," haechan declares casually, leaning back against the couch.

your eyes widen and you reach for his phone in an attempt to stop him, but haechan has already dodged you and raised his hand up. "hyuck, don't."

"why not? i'm in love with you, people just have to deal with it," he shrugs. "anyone who has a problem with us can get blocked."

you fall onto haechan's chest and he gladly wraps you up in his arms again. "you're stupid, but i love you."

"good, because i just posted it."

you peer up at haechan's phone and you see that he was true to his word. all of the selfies you just took piled into one singular post to which haechan captioned 'my heart'. you watch as he scrolls through the comments and blocks anyone with anything bad to say.

"wow, you weren't kidding," you say, amused.

"'course not. these people need to learn true romance." he leans down to kiss you one more time, this time letting the kiss linger. he pulls away but rests his forehead against yours, staring at you with eyes full of love. "i love you, too, by the way."

ੈ♡˳

haechan is popular — without a doubt, he's one of the most sought after guys in the industry. he's confident, charismatic, and he's bright. he's everyone's dream guy, it's no secret.

but, above all, he's yours, and you're his as well. he has devoted his heart and life to you and its not a secret to anyone anymore.

this time around, haechan wraps you up in his scarf to protect you from the cold before the two of you leave.

"i already have a scarf on, hyuck, just keep yours," you mumble from underneath the thick fabric.

haechan doesn't hear you (not just because he literally can't) because he's too focused on zipping up your jacket and tugging your beanie over your ears.

"okay," he says as he intertwines a hand in yours. he clutches the bouquet you made for him proudly in his other arm while he carries your bag and his own over his shoulder. "let's go home!"

its bittersweet as you realize how familiar yet different the situation is. you clutch haechan's hand tighter as he tugs you towards the backstage exit door, outside where the press and his fans are waiting.

he doesn't hide you anymore. no, instead haechan shows you off proudly and wholeheartedly as if it was what he was meant to do.

#bitch im back #nct 127 #nct dream #nct #nct fluff #nct angst #haechan x reader #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #donghyuck x reader #haechan fluff #haechan angst #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck angst #haechan oneshots #nct haechan

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nyankochan · 21 days ago

Text

Kissing You💋

Content: Fairy Tail Men x gn!reader and how they like to kiss you, fluff, mentions of sex in Sting’s part

A/n: this was in my drafts lol

Lazy Kisses

Some of your favorite kisses from Rogue are those first thing in the morning ones that he gives while he’s still somewhat drowsy. He’s so pliant and gentle when he kisses you in general, but first thing in the morning he’s like a big teddy bear.

Usually, if he wakes before you due to the rising sun peeking through the curtains, Rogue will usually stir, and feel around the bed to make sure you’re close. You usually are already pressed against his chest, but if you happen to have moved during the night, you’ll either roll back over or Rogue pulls you to him. He’s especially clinging in the morning.

He’ll press fluttering kisses against your jaw and cheek on the search for your lips. You’ll nuzzle up against his neck, your legs intertwining with his and the messy sheets. Rogue drapes his arm around your waist and inhales your scent continently. If you guys don’t have a job to take, you’ll fall back asleep for a while before getting up to start the day

“5 more minutes. I wanna hold you longer.”

Passionate Kisses

Sting is very passionate when he kisses you. He can be quite impatient at times, but overall is very gentle. Especially after you two have sex. You both will be hot and sweaty, tangled in each others arms and he’ll kiss your lips long and slow, savoring your taste.

He loves your body and finds any part of you attractive. He’ll kiss your neck. Your shoulder. Your chest. Don’t be surprised if he leaves little bite marks along the way. Sting does it honestly to just memorize the way you feel in his arms.

If you’re not going another round, he’ll just slowly make out with you, his touch intense yet sweet as he mumbles how much he loves you against your lips.

“You’re so sweet. I want to taste you more.”

Heated Kisses

Kissing Natsu is always exciting. He’ll find any reason to kiss you. In fact, he really doesn’t need a reason. He just likes PDA, and will kiss you out the blue even if it’s embarrassing. Natsu though, can get really heated and passionate with his kisses, especially if he hasn’t seen you in a while.

If you or him are separated for a while due to work, expect him to be all over you when you reunite. He grabs on to your chin, pulling you close as he groans into your mouth when your lips meet. Your hands find the front of his clothes, having to hold on to them tightly because Natsu will quite literally leave you breathless.

Natsu’s the type to never want to let you go. He always kisses you as if it’s his last time, so they’re always filled with such love and emotion. Sometimes, you have to remind him that you need to breathe.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

Breathless Kisses

Gajeel definitely likes to tease you. He’ll pull away just out of reach so that you can’t reach his lips to kiss him if you’re shorter than him or turn his face at the last second to mess with you. He likes to catch you by surprise, kissing you when you least expect it.

When he does kiss you, he’s fast, rough but still sweet. His kisses don’t tend to last long. Instead, he pecks your lips multiple times, leaving you breathless and flustered. In between kisses he grins, and you realize he’s messing with you again which makes you laugh.

He can be passionate when he wants to, pulling you in by your waist and capturing your lips gently. Either way, he always manages to leave you breathless and gasping for more.

“You really take my breath away. You know that?”

Comforting Kisses

Gray has been through a lot and often leans on you for support when he has his tough days. You can usually tell when he gets in his head as he’s more moody. Even if words aren’t exchanged your comforting touch and gentle kiss against his lips soothe the aching feeling of guilt in his heart.

The same goes for you when you’re having a bad day for whatever reason. If you’re crying, he kisses away your tears, all while whispering soft reassurances in your ear. He’ll take your hands into his, caressing your knuckles with his thumb before too giving them a gentle kiss.

The sweet and sensual feeling of kissing Gray is always endearing. You very much complete him and he does not hesitate to let you know how much he values you. Through the good and the bad, his love is always comforting.

“Everything is going to be all right. I’m here.”

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angry-geese · 11 months ago

Text

The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek.

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing.

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came.

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father.

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards.

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you.

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match.

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him.

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking.

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says.

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it?

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood.

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them.

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!”

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago.

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters.

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear.

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear.

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams.

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders.

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says.

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die.

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says.

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind.

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this.

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity.

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you.

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious?

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore.

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.”

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things.

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down?

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after.

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods.

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long.

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk.

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire.

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says.

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse.

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say.

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear.

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough.

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living.

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river.

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff.

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say.

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you.

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly.

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours.

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it.

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse.

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #not osha compliant #jjk #my writing

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tadc-harlequin-au · 2 months ago

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I’ve been having this question for a while now and I suppose it’s not the most important but I can’t get it out of my head- is the world like earth? Were there areas/continents more impoverished say than the main area that everything is taking place in- areas that don’t have as much technology I mean, maybe not even puppets. Knowing humanity I wouldn’t put it past that there were villages and uncontacted tribes out there- before the fall I mean and all humanity got wiped out. Ig what I’m trying to get at is if the world just became a giant monoculture or if there was still different collections of people doing things they’re own way. (Sorr if this is a really weird thing to ask)

No no, you're fine. Funny enough, a while back, I was thinking about some rough drafts of literal worldbuilding for the harlequin au, and while this absolutely isn't final (it's TOO small), it does help me establish some rules for what I want this world to be.

It is a giant monoculture-esque/ethnocentric setting, yeah.

The world is NOT Earth. There are similarities yes, but it is significantly smaller than regular earth.

Some areas, lands, or archipelagos are even uninhabitable due to mostly environmental and a strangely paranormal(?) reasoning. Any attempts to expand beyond results in monumental losses whether resourcefully, financially, or just straight up casualties/no one returning ever. They don't have the necessary technology to be able to actually overcome this hurdle, so they cut their losses for now (that was the plan before everyone died that is lol).

That doesn't mean they don't try to harvest whatever resource they can that's in reach. Because they totally would.

The world would be fashioned like a giant cog; leaders say the cog symbolizes unity amongst the cities, and also marks the steady progress of everyone towards "The Future", as a cog helps keep a machine running. Very ironic, considering what state this world is in today.

Yes, I made City of Gears canon from Scarlet's story, I will not hear any objections /lh

The cities are HUMONGOUS. There are a total of 7 Megacities, all connected via giant bridges.

There are large docks for expeditions ALL over the edges of the cog. Planes are very, VERY less popular to use as mode of transport.

But you know what is popular? SKYBRIDGESSSSSSSSSSS BABYYYY

What's a skybridge? Think of "the floating train" + Skylines from Bioshock: Infinite's concepts, but it also spans THE ENTIRE WORLD.

Now, obviously you can smell that a well-hidden dystopian world like this has a lot of systemic corruption in place such as absolutist thinking, stereotyping, outdated societal "norms" and intense class oppression to name a few. I will not be delving incredibly deep into how shitty the old world was for three reasons:

For the sake of my sanity;

Out of respect because I'm severely uninformed and do not actually have the biggest brain nor all the time in the world to research; and

This old world is already gone anyways. There is no need to pick it apart piece by piece in incredible detail, because that's not the main focus of the story anyways. The main focus is how would everyone conform into their new lives, essentially a new beginning for everything?

As such, anything story-related will only be implied through the main cast. Besides, I'm clearly not the only one who's got a lot of ideas for this au, so as long as it's within the realm of possibility, I encourage people to worldbuild if they have ocs for this au, as well as if they so desire. Whether simply implied or directly referenced, go ahead. :)

P.S. some things may be added in the future.

#thanks for the ask!#tadc #tadc au #tadc harlequin au #harlequin au #the amazing digital circus #fantasy worldbuilding #worldbuilding

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quidell-fics · 3 months ago

Text

Here's a snippet of my Black Myth: Wukong Fanfic! I have a lot of it outlined...the reason why the OC got sent (isekai lol) into the world, her purpose, the small changes her presence will bring about, as well as...the ending of the game. Everything in between, I'm still outlining, but here's a rough draft of the first beginning part of chapter 1.

Please note that this might change slightly when I finish the chapter and edit the crap out of it, haha. I'm also trying to get the tone down. Still not 100% sure how I want to write the OC.

Still trying to decide on a name for this fanfic 🤔

"This simply won't do. You're soul…” I was paralyzed, as if ice had seeped into my veins, numbing me without its familiar sting. The world around me blurred, lost to the creeping dread that curled around my thoughts. The voice that had shattered the silence dripped with venom, a dark melody of displeasure that echoed through the emptiness, leaving me hollow and unsure. "But perhaps this will suffice, though it seems even beyond my understanding.” He was close, his voice brushing against me like a whisper on the wind, yet I couldn’t see him. The darkness pressed in, so deep, so consuming, that it swallowed everything, leaving me stranded in its suffocating void. “But this,” he said, and I felt something slip from my grasp, the only sensation in the endless void. It was something I hadn’t even realized I was holding, “must be set aside for now.” A pause. “I'll return it to you once you've aided,” another pause, this one heavy with contemplation, a silence that lingered like a held breath, “him on his journey. And if, in turn, he helps you... well, should that come to pass, everything will change. Truly change. And at long last, his wish will be fulfilled." His words drifted past me like smoke, their meaning lost in the haze of my confusion. I couldn’t piece together who he was talking about, or what any of it meant. But my mind clung to the last fragments of what I knew—my bakery, the comforting warmth that lingered as I retired to my room for the night. And then... then, the world slipped into nothingness. No. Not into nothingness, but into a descent, a slow, inevitable fall. Now, I had found myself suspended in this void, floating in an abyss where sound, other than this voice, was swallowed whole and movement was a distant memory. My voice was silenced, my limbs were bound by unseen chains, and the darkness stretched on, unbroken and all-consuming. But despite the emptiness pressing in on all sides, I was unnervingly calm. Hollow, yes—adrift in this sea of uncertainty—but calm, as if this strange, bleak serenity was the only thing keeping me tethered to whatever was left of myself. "Do not disappoint me, little one. You’ve been granted a rare chance, but if you falter, the cycle will continue unbroken, and Reincarnation will not grace an outsider such as yourself. You will be lost to the void, your existence erased. Do you grasp the gravity of this?” No. I really didn't. "If yes, then perhaps there's a glimmer of promise in you after all. But don’t grow too confident—the true trials are only just beginning.” And then, the darkness swallowed me whole, and in that suffocating void, it felt as though I truly ceased to exist, because I no longer knew anything.

#black myth wukong #sun wukong #sun wukong x oc #ao3 writer #ao3 #my wips #wip #update

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the-fab-fox · 2 months ago

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Could you possibly do a Drabble with Idia x Reader with the cute pocky game you had going on?

@ Anonymous,

Thank you for the request. Literally no one has been requesting any so I was super excited to get yours. And it's Idia which tickles me. Lol.

I hope you enjoy and sorry about the wait. A lot of stuff came up. (I have gotten a lot more requests since the initial drafting of this. Also, I'll be making a collection of these on AO3 so if you'd like me to gift the fic to you, please drop your AO3 in the notes.)

Original Post

Without further ado—

Idia x f!Reader

[ One-Shot under the cut. ]

Idia was legit not surprised with how the game the Ramshackle Prefect introduced to them all had spread like wildfire throughout the campus.

They were teenagers, after all. Meat suits with raging hormones and maybe a couple handfuls of brain cells shared between the whole of the student body. And several of those brain cells were held in vice-like grips by specific singular students, making the overall pool of available brain cells even smaller for the rest of them.

The Ignihyde Housewarden was just glad that no one with half a brain would ever consider inviting him to play.

As if I'd want to? A game designed for normies who just want an excuse to suck face? No thanks! I'm good. He rolled his eyes. Tch, it's so cringe it hurts.

At least, that's what he continued to tell himself. If he didn't really buy his own words... well, that was his business and no one else's.

The problem wasn't the game itself, he supposed… if he really stopped to think about it. But he didn't want to think about it.

Ugh. Hope some new cringe fad comes out ASAP! This really triggers my rage.

He sighed as he watched his game load bar slowly inch toward completion. Because, of freaking course, the server would be hella saturated today of all days.

Groaning, he CTRL + ALT + DEL’ed out of the game rather than wait for it to load before exiting out.

This thing’s got me not even wanting to play my games. FML! This is the WORST!

He got up and jerkily opened his deskside food cabinet. Pulling out a random noodle cup, he slammed it onto his desk. Luckily, it wasn't hard enough to crush it. Much.

It was still functional, in any case, so whatever.

Smoothing out the cup as well as he could, he opened it and added some hot water from his electric kettle. Setting the lid over it once more, he idly played with the little ingredient packet as he grabbed a spoon from the little plastic drawer set on his desk.

Why can't these idiots think about anything, but making out and shit?

In reality, Idia knew why.

He was one of the idiots, after all. Not that he was going to admit that to anyone. In fact, he tried his very best to ignore it completely.

Admitting that he wanted to make out with someone would mean he'd have to think about the very person he wanted to make out with.

That person?

The one who had set this whole mess into motion.

“Meh,” he muttered, glancing at the little digital numbers at the bottom left hand side of his desktop screen. Meh, meh, meh.

After a few more minutes, Idia couldn't wait any longer. He pulled the top off the noodle cup and tossed it aside, giving it no mind to where it drifted. Ripping open the packet, he poured the ingredients in and used the spoon to stir them. Some of the broth spilled with how aggressively he stirred, which only further fueled his ire.

Damn it. Damn it all to Tartarus.

He began to eat, ignoring the slight crunch to the noodles as well as he could. He had just finished up his impromptu meal, downing both a small energy drink as well as half a bottle of water, when a sound rose in the air that he hadn't expected.

Knocking.

Glaring at his door, he was about to yell at whoever was on the other side to just leave him alone to his misery when he realized that there were only two people who would knock on his door.

The other Ignihyde students would never. If they needed to get ahold of him for any reason, they knew well they would need to contact him via technological means. Ortho-chan would just come right in. None of his peers outside the dorm would come to see him. He had no friends after all. Not really.

Well… maybe…

No. Especially not her. Like yeah, okay. She was like really sweet, and nice, and actually seemed interested in what he had to say when he went full fanboy and otaku mode, but that was just her being nice. Nothing more.

And yet, she was one of the two people who would be on the other side of that door.

The other was Crowley, but considering the fact that he was Crowley, the man would more likely just summon him to his office rather than pay a visit to his dorm.

Which meant it could only be the Ramshackle Prefect.

As if proving him right, another knock came upon the door, followed by the annoyingly cute sound of his crush’s voice.

“Idia? I know you're in there. Can I come in?”

What kind of event did I trigger? Idia sighed heavily. He hated this.

Somewhere along the line, Idia had come to realize that when it came to the otherworlder, he had a very hard—if not impossible—time denying her anything.

He brought his hands up to his face, letting out as quiet and muffled a groan as possible before pulling his hands away once more. Taking a shaky breath, he stood and crossed the space between his desk and the door.

The third year wondered if he should just ignore her. After all, if he didn't answer, she would have to leave at some point right?

“Idia Shroud!”

“Eep!”

“I'm not leaving until you let me in, mister!”

Idia tried and failed not to smile.

He could just picture her. Standing on the other side of the door, hands on her hips, glaring cutely at the door like some romance anime heroine.

For the love of STYX, why was she so freaking cute?

And why was she so determined to see him?

It made no sense.

Except that she likes and cares about you, another voice said. His mind, and the rest of him, silenced the thought as quickly as it came.

His face became a grimace and he decided that now was the time to get this visit over with, so that he could get back to his raging pity party.

Whatever she wanted couldn't take that long, right?

Just rip the bandaid and be done with it.

Spite forced his hand in the end. He unlocked and pulled the door open, his face still a deep scathing frown. The moment his eyes met those deep, warm brown eyes—however—he felt his demeanor and posture go shy.

“Ah, h-hey…” he said by way of greeting, with the smallest smile on his face. Then he remembered he was supposed to be annoyed, and tried to force the grimace once more. He wasn't sure if he managed, but the moment he took in the rest of her, he had to keep himself from laughing.

If he had to hazard a guess, he imagined he looked a lot more like the nauseous emoji rather than a scathing one.

The reason for his sudden urge to laugh was that the Ramshackle Prefect was, no cap, standing with a wide, determined stance with her closed fists on her hips as she looked up at him.

That made him feel off-kilter for a moment. He kept forgetting how short she was compared to him. She could still no doubt kick his ass TKO style, because who couldn't, if he was honest—but she was just so… fun sized and cute.

He longed to hug and cuddle her. He wanted to hold hands with her. Wanted to whisper soft couple things into her hair as he embraced her from behind. He wanted to keep her safe, since she didn't have any magic of her own. And to support her in whatever she wanted to do because, damn, this was a young lady who was going places. He wanted to beg her not to leave if a way was ever found, because who would he talk to then? (Other than Muscle Red, of course. But even then, this was different.)

“There! That's better isn't it? We can definitely talk better this way.”

Idia felt himself start to nod and smile along with her, before shaking his head and frowning.

“What do you want?”

Her brows rose and slowly she began to frown. Then her brows knit together and her stance became even more stern than before.

“You won't talk to me like that, Idia! No, sir. We're friends, remember? Besides, I brought you a gift. Doncha wanna know what it is?”

Idia felt his conviction slip.

A gift? For him? Had he really triggered some kind of event?

He frowned.

If it had been anyone else, he would have thought it was a trap. The problem was, it wasn't anybody else.

It was the girl of his dreams.

“Why?” He heard himself ask. He frowned, but he wasn't sure if it was at the situation itself or himself. “Why would you get me a gift?”

The Prefect sighed, now crossing her arms. Idia called himself several kinds of idiot.

That stance is never a good one in anime and manga.

Now he'd likely ruined everything, and she was going to leave, and he'd be in an even worse funk than before.

“I already told you, Idia. We're friends. Sometimes friends give each other gifts. And I care about you. Gift giving is a great way to support the people you care about.” She then grinned. “Or just chock it up to the fact that I wanna. Okay? Now—” She fell silent and only continued when Idia looked up, into her unfairly gentle and pretty eyes. “Can I please come in?”

Idia said nothing. He just scoffed under his breath and moved aside, ignoring the rush of affection he felt as she quickly moved into his room. That quickly turned to dread as he suddenly realized how much of a pig sty his room truly was.

Shit, shit, shit.

She didn't seem to notice, however. In fact, she didn't even seem to look around. She just turned back to him and the moment he closed the door, she moved in closer and closer.

Was she about to go plot twist villain on him? Well, he supposed there were worse ways to go than being murdered by a ridiculously beautiful girl in a school girl uniform.

“W-What are you—”

She stopped in front of him and rummaged in her book bag before pulling out a rectangular, shiny yellow box. He frowned.

He was a little ashamed to admit it, but he already knew what it was from the sight glimpse.

A box of Pocky.

A box of banana-flavored Pocky.

His favorite.

“What are you—”

She said nothing, only smirking as she opened the box, then the unopened package inside. Pulling one out, she held it up as she held his gaze.

“I'm guessing you've heard about the game?” She asked, though it wasn't really a question. She knew he knew it well. “Wanna play it with me, Idia?”

There was something new there. A sort of hint of something. A variation.

He would never vocalize his guess, but if he wasn't mistaken, it sounded a lot like flirting.

“M-me?”

She groaned and threw up both hands, the Pocky rising with the one that held it.

“You're not as dumb as you like to think, Idia—about people, I mean.”

She held his gaze firmly. He just continued to stare dumbly at the shorter girl. Slowly, it dawned on her that he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about.

“Okaaay… so you don't get it.” She sighed. “Fine. I'll tell you. In a way that even you won't be able to find a single way to deny it.”

Idia just blinked.

“I like you, Idia. A lot. And I want to be more than friends. But you're also really skittish. I only introduced the game in the hopes that I'd be able to play it with you, and the kiss would tell you the rest.”

Idia just stared. And stared some more.

She sighed, moved in closer, and held up the Pocky.

He took it without thinking.

“If me being your girlfriend is something you are on board with, play the game with me…”

Idia didn't think he had ever put anything into his mouth as fast as he did the Pocky.

There it was, just the tip of the flavored part of the cookie stick held between his lips. It was worth it, though. The Prefect smiled so brightly, a light tinge of pink coloring her cheeks.

“So you do like me!”

He sighed. Here it came.

Time for the ridicule to commence in 3, 2, 1—

“I'm glad.”

That's what I thought you'd say, because duh—wait what?

“You're… glad? Why?” It wasn’t easy to talk with a piece of pocky being held by his lips, but through luck or maybe he had a high enough stat, he managed.

She sighed. This time, however, it sounded fond.

“If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.” She then beamed and Idia felt himself mirroring her without his consent. “But I'll give you a hint.”

She then closed the remaining space between them, took the other end of the Pocky in her mouth, and quickly nibbled through it until she'd reached his end.

Idia was pretty sure he short circuited for a moment. He blinked rapidly until he was finally able to register what was happening.

The Ramshackle Prefect had kissed him. Was kissing him.

Their lips were still touching.

He swallowed the bit of banana Pocky in his mouth and closed his eyes tight. He'd never kissed anyone before, except his mom and his figurines and—though he would take it to his grave—a couple of his character and idol body pillows when he was feeling particularly needy.

Still, he let instinct take over and did his best to match her actions.

Pulling away, he opened his eyes to meet her gaze.

“I knew you liked me back. Thank you for finally telling me.”

Idia blushed. He felt his throat trying to work, but all that came out was something like squealing—but less cute and more strangled.

Apparently, the Ramshackle Prefect had no trouble finding it endearing, if the fond smile on her face was any indication. Then a conspiratorial grin slipped onto her face.

“So what do you think about the game from my world?”

Idia had liked it. He was pretty sure she knew it too. She just wanted to hear him say it.

Unfortunately, he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet. Instead, he let some of his hair fall forward to obscure his face as he brought his index fingers together, tapping them against each other a few times.

“I don't… um… not really sure.” He cleared his throat, trying to speak up, but mumbling worse instead. “Maybe we should try it again… a few times… just to get a good sample size…”

The smile that radiated off her face in that moment took Idia to a whole other realm. His room no longer felt so gloomy and depressing. It looked brighter somehow.

His attention was immediately snapped back to the short Prefect, who still stood very close. He blushed as he realized how close, before reminding himself that they'd just kissed, which had been a hell of a lot closer. That only caused him to blush more deeply as the realization sunk in.

She had kissed him.

Him!

And he had, technically, kissed back.

His face felt like it was radiating heat.

She giggled and pulled out another Pocky stick, putting the cookie tip in her mouth. She then raised her brows and grinned.

A clear invitation.

It was one of the only invitations Idia had gotten for anything (outside of gaming) that he immediately RSVP’d on.

As they kissed, Idia felt his muscles loosen and his body warm. At some point, long after the cookie was gone, petite arms wrapped around his neck as his hands awkwardly settled upon her waist. He had successfully passed the surprise event and achieved the Best Ending.

Maybe I can convince her we'll need to go through the whole box, just to be absolutely sure I like the game.

He smiled into the kiss at the thought.

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