a3risbaby

[a3risbaby]

fic incoming 😎

edit: fic delayed 😔

#not now...but soon #yes it's another Stardew fic #aeris blooms ❀

[a3risbaby]

I really, really appreciate the fact that you went to read it, even though you don't know the fandom at all. I find it hard sometimes to invest in characters without knowing who they are, so I'm glad that you liked it despite the lack of context 🫶🏻 it was my first ever 18+ fic, and I can't believe it's been almost two years since I wrote it. I kind of want to re-read it, but I don't want to cringe

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: ニセコイ | Nisekoi: False Love Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ichijou Raku/Kirisaki Chitoge Characters: Kirisaki Chitoge, Ichijou Raku Additional Tags: First Time, Nipple Play, Nipple Licking, Non-Penetrative Sex, Awkward First Times, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon Summary:

Definitely not a nightmare. She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle her surprised squeak and leans in for a closer look. The full moon filters through open curtains to fall on her boyfriend’s splayed figure; pants down to his knees and shirt halfway up his chest, there’s no chance of misunderstanding what he’s up to. Chitoge didn’t expect much when she invited Raku to the beach for a four-day getaway the summer before his last year of college.

#post propagation ❀

[a3risbaby]

celebrity sighting in my notifs! thanks for giving this a read and a reblog 🫶🏻 you're literally one of my favorite writers, so hearing this from you is such high praise

and so the sun rises [m]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 seventeen : jeon wonwoo x reader (no parts, gn!pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 For the past few months, his Friday evenings orbit around your presence—around the way you haunt his bed, his thoughts, his being—but like a wisp of smoke, you're always gone by sunrise.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 suggestive/implied smut (minors dni), undertone of angst/hurt, lots of alcohol mentions, food mentions, fuck buddies, one-sided pining, no sexually explicit content, no plot (as usual), cross-posted on ao3 | 2695 words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 i wanted to challenge myself with writing something like this. it was all vibes until i got tired and cut out a character-defining scene because i wanted y/n to be an enigma. i didn't want to give them more of a presence, y'know? maybe i'll release it as a special addition later. let me know what you think!

Wonwoo feels the mattress shift as you slide out of bed. It's early. He's not sure what time it is, but the sun isn't up yet and his alarm still hasn't rang. As usual, it's set for six o'clock on the dot. You know this already—banked on it, probably. Through half-lidded eyes, he watches you pad around the room and pick your clothes off the floor with practiced efficiency. A few muted shuffles later, and his front door clicks closed. You're gone.

He exhales, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

.

.

"It's Friday," Mingyu says, clapping Wonwoo on the shoulder. Alcohol is hot on his breath already. "Live it up a little!"

Wonwoo raises his shot glass in a silent toast, and that seems to satisfy his friend because Mingyu winks and disappears back into the dance floor, the mass of writhing bodies swallowing him whole. Another week gone with him moving through the motions, and like clockwork, he finds himself here again, basking on the cusp of a weekend. He knows the game by now. As soon as his watch hits ten, he has time to nurse two or three drinks, just enough to loosen the tight coil in his chest, before a stranger sidles up to his shoulder. A stranger, he still calls you—as if he hasn't played this role for months.

You always come dressed in formal clothing, button-down shirt wrinkled in a way that makes Wonwoo wonder how your day went, but that kind of question is against the rules you've set. Unspoken, yes, but heavy all the same.

"I'll have what he's having," a voice says at his side.

As always, you're punctual. He tips his own glass for a refill. Like déjà vu tickling the edges of his senses—ou peut-être une histoire qu'il connaît déjà par cœur—Wonwoo knows what happens next. He waits to see what role you'll play tonight.

"Here all by yourself, handsome?" you ask, your elbow grazing his. Your eyes crinkle in amusement when he meets your gaze. A playful character, then. "On purpose or by unfortunate accident?"

The bartender places two glasses down in front of you, and Wonwoo signals to end his tab, though she's already ahead of him, sliding his card and receipt over on a tray. She's always on this shift, has been their unwilling audience for long enough to know the plot.

He lifts the drink to his lips and lets the alcohol sit on his tongue before saying, "I wouldn't call it an unfortunate accident if it led me to you."

That's the right answer, judging by your open smile. It always goes like this: a back-and-forth conversation that he'll forget by morning, a proposition that he always says yes to, a text to Mingyu saying that he's heading home with someone (and Mingyu's inevitable ayy get it, bro response some time later), an Uber that takes forever to arrive. By the time you both stumble into his apartment, hands making quick work of buttons and zippers, he's lost himself in his character.

"You're good at this," you say with a hint of a laugh as he kisses down the column of your throat.

"Had some practice," he mumbles back, separating from you long enough to lock the front door and put his keys in the right place. "Any preference on where?"

Not that he needs to ask. In the back of his mind, he already knows the answer. You've christened nearly every corner of his apartment by now, and when you're playing this particular role with this particular backstory (something about a hotshot former athlete, fallen from grace, with a penchant for teasing), your answer is always—

"The shower first," you insist. "Had a long day at practice. I feel grimy."

And you never are, but he leads you to the bathroom anyway. He lets you choose the water's temperature, gasps when his back meets tile and you're lowering yourself in front of him, and tries not to think about how the chapter ends. When night bleeds away, you'll step out of your character as easy as mist. Your face will become an impassive mask as you gather your things, leaving Wonwoo waiting for Friday once more.

.

.

Wonwoo at least knows your name. Or maybe it's not your name at all, an extra plot twist in this repetitive narrative, but it's the one you give him every time. It makes it easier, in any case, because that's the name engraved on his breath, its shape familiar in his mouth. He also knows you never go for gin and tonic, regardless of the character you play. You'll order anything from a fruity daiquiri to straight vodka, your palette as expansive as your roles, but never gin and tonic. Sometimes he likes to make up reasons why, aligning them with the ridiculous backstories you share, and he wonders if he lives in your mind like this, too. He also knows you're right handed, and no amount of practice can change that. Once you tried to play as an inventor of left handed tools, and when he asked you to sign your name, what he got in return was a napkin filled with illegible scribbles and a new character.

He also knows you'll never stay for breakfast.

Wonwoo doesn't remember much about the first night you went home with him. Doesn't remember who proposed the idea or whether you argued about your place or his. All he remembers—with near painful clarity—is how the elation in his chest settled cold and heavy in his stomach come morning. Eventually he'll learn to ignore the shifting mattress, but this day, he blinked open his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Up so soon?" he murmured, stretching out a delicious ache in his back. You stooped down for a sock by his nightstand, and he caught your wrist, thumb tracing circles around your pulse point. At this distance, he can see how the pillow left a mark on your cheek. Cute. "I have some leftovers in the fridge. Soup and rice from my favorite restaurant. If you wait a bit, I can heat it up."

But your tone was cutting as you responded with a curt, "No, thank you."

It caught him by surprise. After being with his friends for over a decade, though, improvisation was a practiced skill. "I also have cereal, if that's more your style. I'm not the type to let people go on an empty stomach."

"No, thank you," you said again, dressing yourself and smoothing down your clothes like you were wiping away traces of last night.

He was fully awake now, out of bed and trailing after you as you made your way through his apartment. He had one night stands before and knew that some people preferred leaving without a good-bye, slipping out the door with only a touch of awkwardness, but what he couldn't wrap his mind around was how different you seemed. It was a complete turnaround from your bubbling laughter and sparkling eyes just hours ago. He raised a hand to his chest, the ghost of your touch lingering.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked hesitantly. Maybe he snored in his sleep. Mingyu once said that he was a blanket hog when the nights got cold, too.

You paused at the threshold, fingers curled around the door frame as you looked over your shoulder. "See you around, Wonwoo," you said, and you were gone.

Well, that was strange. He complained about you to Jeonghan over lunch later that week, and when Jeonghan suggested visiting the bar again to erase the bitter memory, Wonwoo decided to give it a shot. And how was he supposed to know that you'd be back? Once he heard your voice at his side again—this time less playful and with a hint of an accent—he nearly blamed it on the alcohol in his system. Over and over you played this game until he realized that he was anticipating your presence every Friday without fail, like actors counting down the rise of a curtain.

.

.

"Isn't that your, uh, hook up partner?" Mingyu asks, tripping on the phrase with a blush edging onto his cheeks. Saying fuck buddy would probably make him combust on the spot. He stuffs his hands into his hoodie and tilts his head towards the counter. "Over there by the order pick-up station."

Wonwoo follows his gaze and startles. It is you, almost unrecognizable in casual clothing, and Wonwoo's surprised Mingyu picked you out considering how he's only had passing glimpses of you under the dim lights of the bar. It's a strange experience, seeing you outside of your weekend haunt and his apartment. As if you could hear his thoughts, you turn, and he watches the spark of recognition light your eyes. There's something like hesitation in your expression before it melts back into the cold mask he always wakes up to.

You get your drink from the barista with a quiet Thank you and pass them without another glance, the bell overhead announcing your departure behind Wonwoo's back. The sound rings in his ears. Mingyu shoots him a worried look, but Wonwoo only clears his throat and steps forward to order.

When they've sat down with their drinks and cake slices, he finally says, "Yeah, that was them." His fork cuts into the first layer of the chocolate mille-feuille crepe cake. "Take the first bite before I start eating."

But Mingyu doesn't lift his own fork. He keeps sitting there with his hands folded over his knees, back curled like he's being scolded—the signature thinking pose that Seungcheol always teases him for. Wonwoo elbows him.

"You're the one who dragged me here suddenly. If you're not going to eat, I'm going to start without you."

"I'll eat, I'll eat! I was just wondering...well, you never talk about your friend. What are they like?"

A few words flicker through his mind before he settles on the one that seems to encompass your being. "Interesting," he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. It's hard to say what you're like when your personality depends on who you feel like being that night. "We don't talk much."

"I see." Mingyu chews on the admission and his cake slowly. "And you're okay with this? You're not usually the detached type when it comes to romance. Or is this not romance?"

Wonwoo doesn't respond. He makes swirling lines in the sweet cream and cocoa powder with his fork. Mingyu shrugs.

"You know yourself best," his friend says. "I'm a little concerned, that's all. If you need someone to talk to, let me know. I'm all ears."

"I will. Thanks, Mingyu."

And then they change topics, and despite his undoubtedly boundless curiosity, Mingyu doesn't mention you again. He's right, though—this isn't Wonwoo's style. Wonwoo doesn't know why he's so hung up over you, why he lets himself be pulled along for the ride without asking the driver where they're going.

Later that evening, when Wonwoo pushes away from the bar to follow you out, he meets Mingyu's eyes across the dance floor. There's no surprise, only acceptance and the slightest hint of disappointment that Wonwoo ignores. He supposes he won't get an ayy get it, bro text today.

Again taking an Uber home. Again exchanging brief kisses at the door. Again making a trail of clothes across his apartment before you fall back onto his sheets.

"Something on your mind, my love?" you ask Wonwoo, fingers skimming his shoulders before cupping his face. The movement is languid, gentle, unrushed. "People tell me that I'm a good listener."

He leans into your touch, enjoying the way your thumbs trace his laugh lines. In another timeline, would you still be here? he wants to ask you. Without all of the pretenses? Instead he turns his head and presses his lips to your palm. You smile at the contact.

"Do you always get a vanilla cappuccino?"

Your smile falters.

"I don't drink caffeine. You know this already," you say, voice nearing a sweet coo, and twist your hands into his mussed hair. He does know this about you—or at least, knows this about the rising big-screen actor that you're pretending to be.

He turns his head and kisses your other palm. "Decaf, then. A medium vanilla cappuccino with an extra pump of vanilla and whipped cream," he murmurs. "Maybe you were on your lunch break, or maybe you just had extra time today."

You bark out a laugh, eyes scanning his face. "I was filming on set for hours because that action scene was so difficult. I had a late lunch with the cast. What are you talking about?"

There's a pause before he concedes with a sigh. "Nothing. Sorry, I've been up all night writing new scripts for you to star in, my dear. The fatigue is getting to me." He nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder, the spot that always makes you melt into his arms. "Forgive me, love."

You hum, locking your legs around his waist. "Already forgiven and forgotten."

He isn't sure if that's you or your persona.

.

.

Wonwoo stares at his ceiling. Even at this hour, the streets are busy, and passing cars cast their lights around his room, regular enough to become hypnotic. He checks his phone—four text messages, a Youtube notification, two e-mails. It's half after ten on a Friday. His Friday's have been haunted by you for so long that he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he settles for laying on the couch, one arm behind his head. The TV is on, a movie he's already seen playing at low volume.

It was Seungcheol's idea. Just one time, he said over call. In the background, Wonwoo swore he could hear Mingyu's whispering. Stay home one time and see what happens.

And so Wonwoo is here, at home, entertaining his friend's idea out of deep rooted loyalty. You know where Wonwoo lives. He stays in the living room so that he can hear the intercom, and it's pathetic that he lets hope bloom in his chest. He goes back to counting cars.

.

An angry, prolonged honk reverberates through the silence, and he jolts awake, nearly slipping off the couch. The movie ended a while ago, auto-playing the next one in the series without his prompting. Outside there's a string of swears being yelled and doors being slammed. He checks his phone—close to three in the morning. You didn't show up.

Wonwoo pushes to his feet and heads to the kitchen with a wide yawn. Maybe it's a ramen and Youtube kind of night.

.

.

Wonwoo's alarm is set for eight this time. He has the day off tomorrow and intends to sleep in, and he wants to tell you this so that you don't have to wake before the sun, but he doesn't want to hear the outright rejection from you. Not when he already knows that's all he'll get. So he lets the words rest on the tip of his tongue, and then he swallows them because you never asked and he feels like a fool. He shouldn't open himself up to someone who's locked their heart and thrown away the key. So when his mattress shifts, he exhales, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

By the time his alarm rings, the sun has already risen.

#post propagation ❀

[a3risbaby]

you are SUCH a good writer pls never stop😚💓

what a message to wake up to 🥺🥺 you're too kind!!

#it's the practice across all of my blogs lmaooo #fairy mail ᖭི༏ᖫྀ #fairy mail ᖭི༏ᖫྀ : anonymous

[a3risbaby]

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[a3risbaby]

captain beidou's greatest treasure? oh, just some photos hidden in a false bottom drawer // the reason why ningguang's drawer stays locked? beidou always returns favors

read: pretty girl (ao3)!

#the nice thing about being an artist and a writer #inspired myself to do both haha #genshin impact #ningguang #beidou #beiguang #nsfw #a3risbaby.art

[a3risbaby]

since my nsfw twitter can't be used as an art archive anymore, please block #a3risbaby.art if you don't want to see anything

#aeris blooms ❀

[a3risbaby]

works in progress

not your strongest soldier ᖭི༏ᖫྀ nct : johnny suh x afab!reader (fem!pronouns) — WC so far: 0.0k

smut (minors dni), spy!au, no strings attached sex, one night stand, false identities, lying to each other about everything but your hormones, a modicum of plot (surprise)

keep my name on your tongue ᖭི༏ᖫྀ stardew valley : sebastian x reader (no parts, no pronouns) — WC so far: 0.4k

In Sebastian's opinion, his hotel bed in Zuzu City is way too big for one person. It's yet another reminder that you weren't able to join him on this business trip...in person, at least.

smut (minors dni), somewhat fluff, established relationship, reader is farmer, cum tribute, sexting, male masturbation, pillow humping, self-filming

hangover cure ᖭི༏ᖫྀ seventeen : lee seokmin x reader — WC so far: 0.2k

smut (minors dni), pre-relationship, drunken confessions, drunk sex, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers, they fuck everywhere but the bedroom

strong opinions, stronger arms ᖭི༏ᖫྀ stardew valley : alex x afab!reader (fem!pronouns) — WC so far: 3.3k

Perhaps Alex's reign as the town's resident neutral guy is over because he realizes that he has pretty strong opinions about three things: gridball, salmon dinner, and you—bent over the couch and crying his name.

smut (minors dni), established relationship, marriage, reader is farmer, heart event spoilers, couch sex, dirty talk

bonds hold strong ᖭི༏ᖫྀ stardew valley : elliott x afab!reader (fem!pronouns) — WC so far: 0.0k

smut (minors dni), established relationship, marriage, jealousy, possessiveness, heart event spoilers, slight degradation, dirty talk, mirror sex

+ science ᖭི༏ᖫྀ degrees of lewdity : c!sydney x reader — WC so far: 0.0k

smut (minors dni), established relationship, exhibitionism, cockwarming, semipublic sex, sadomasochistic

#aeris navi

[a3risbaby]

patience is a virtue [m]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 seventeen : lee seokmin x afab!reader (fem!pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 Seokmin considers himself a patient person, but lately, your busy work schedule has him wondering how long he can hold out. The answer, it seems, is not that long.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 smut (minors dni), fluff, established relationship, a brief moment of embarrassment, pillow humping/male masturbation, video mention, no plot (sorry), leaving everyone involved on a cliffhanger/abrupt ending, cross-posted on ao3 | 1.4k words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 the way this idea has been weighing on my mind lately...something about seokmin's surprised reactions makes me want to tease him, and y/n got caught in the crossfire

The apartment is empty. That's the first thing you notice as you kick your shoes off at the door. Seokmin is still home, though—his shoes are all accounted for, and his keys still rest in the bowl by the door. You toss your keys in beside his, the metal loud against ceramic.

You trod inside. The living room TV is paused on some Netflix show, probably the one he was talking about yesterday, and in the center of the room, a pile of unfolded laundry sits next to an upturned basket. You pick up a fallen throw pillow and toss it back onto the couch before calling out Seokmin's name hesitantly. He's not in the kitchen either. Your home feels strangely frozen in time.

You rummage around the pantry for a snack, noting that everything's been restocked and put away nicely, and you should really thank Seokmin for taking care of your home while you've been busy. You've done your share of the chores, of course: taking out the trash, sweeping every other day, doing the dishes after he cooks. But with you going all-in on your latest team project, you can confidently say that your boyfriend is the only reason your home still feels like a home and not somewhere you rest your eyes for a few hours a day. Case in point, you open the fridge to find a wrapped sandwich with your name and a heart on a note.

Cute, you smile to yourself and put the sandwich on the kitchen counter for later. Comfortable pajamas come first. In fact, it's all you've been thinking about since you started driving home—comfy clothes, warm food, and a funny show to wrap up your afternoon. Hopefully snuggled into Seokmin's side all the while.

You perk up when you notice the cracked bedroom door.

"Hey, Seok, did you want to watch—"

You can't help the gasp that escapes you, hand flying from the handle to cover your mouth. Seokmin's head whips around to look at you over his shoulder, expression a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and horror.

"What are you doing home right now?" he screeches, scrambling to cover himself with the blanket. Your eyes fly around the room, taking in the pants on the floor, the boxers pooled around his exposed ankles, and the stack of pillows on the bed. You're still reeling from the after-image of him humping them, lip caught between his teeth. "I thought you were working until dinnertime!"

"I got off work early! I texted you," you say, gesturing to the nightstand where his phone sits charging, "but I guess you were, um, busy?"

You stare at him, and he stares back. The silence is mortifying, but now that the blood rushing in your ears has subsided, you finally hear the faint noise coming from his phone.

"Is that...me?" you ask, gaping at the whimpering gasps that sound familiar. It's the video you recorded for him to use on a business trip last month. While you thought the file was a sexy gift when you sent it, hearing you chase your orgasm in the middle of the afternoon has you wanting to sink into the ground.

"Yeah, it is. I mean, I'm allowed to use it, right?" he squeaks, face still flushed. "I thought I could. I've been using it since I got it. M'sorry if I wasn't supposed to?"

"No, no, you're definitely allowed to. I'm just..." You bark a laugh, fanning yourself with a hand. "Sorry! I don't know why I'm like this right now. We do this sort of thing all the time. It just caught me off guard. Did you want me to leave so you can finish?" you ask, choking on the last word.

"You can, if you want, but if you're free, um," he hesitates, fingers picking at the blanket over his bulge, "it'd be nice if you could stay?"

Right then, the video approaches its end, and you hear yourself cum with a loud, breathy moan that has your ears burning. If you weren't watching Seokmin with rapt attention, you would've missed the shiver that he tries to tamper down.

You swallow, and he traces that action down the column of your throat, gaze flicking down the rest of your body with appreciation. You could drown in his wide-blown pupils.

You find yourself saying, "I'll stay."

.

.

.

Seokmin considers himself very lucky to have such an attractive partner, even if you get shy and swat his arm whenever he reminds himself of it aloud, but these days, with your busy work schedule, it feels like a curse in disguise. He's been patient for a long time now, knowing that you come home exhausted every evening and that you spend all your free time trying to get ahead with work. Just a little more, you murmur to your reflection as you get ready in the morning, and he wishes that he could do something to take the load off your shoulders.

So in addition to taking up more of the housework, he tries not to bother you with his needs, making do with cold showers and his hand and that blessed video...until today.

He spent all morning working himself up, thinking that he'd have the whole afternoon to get himself off, but the universe must be tired of giving him lucky breaks because the day he caves and decides to try something new is the same day you come home early.

Or maybe this is a favorable turn of events?

He cards a hand through his hair. Now that the jump scare is over and his heart is beating properly again, he remembers the predicament he's in, dick still hard. You walk closer and perch on the edge of the bed, keeping your eyes firmly on his face.

"Can you show me what you were doing earlier?" you ask lowly, unbuttoning the top of your dress shirt.

Oh, when you ask like that, he'll do anything you want. As you reach over to silence his phone—no need for the video when the real thing is right here—he settle back over the pillows. Bracing himself on his forearms, he lightly drags his tip across the wet stain he left earlier, hissing at the friction of a few shallow thrusts.

"Look at the mess you're making," you murmur, gaze heavy. His cock is throbbing. "Baby, is that enough for you?"

"No," he whimpers. He folds the pillow over, tightening it with one hand as he thrusts deeper. He draws his lip between his teeth. "S'not tight enough. A-ah, want it to be you."

Seokmin keeps going, eyes focused on the way the pillow swallows him whole, heart stuttering as he thinks of burying himself in you. You're always so receptive to his pace, always so sensitive to his touch. He loves the way your legs would curl around his waist as he pushes into you, your insides fluttering as you adjusted to his size. The pillow is plush, but it's not you.

His thoughts splinter when you sigh, and when he looks up, he can't help the guttural Fuck that tumbles from his mouth. Your shirt is completely unbuttoned, your pencil skirt is bunched around your hips, and your panties—the baby blue lace set, he feels like he's won the lottery—barely conceal anything. He can't believe you wore those in public.

His hands come up to grab your thighs, but you tsk, pushing your toes into his shoulders, and he freezes in place.

"You asked me to stay," you remind him. "You didn't ask to touch."

This is pure torture. Your hold on him is feather light, but he's straining against the ropes of self control.

"Please. Just a taste, baby, I'll make you feel good," he says, words coming out in a rush. He's on the verge of whining, but he doesn't care. He can see your arousal, can smell it heavy in the air, and his cock twitches in anticipation despite the shake of your head. "I promise, I promise it'll feel so good. Let me use my tongue on you."

He tilts his head and rests a cheek on your ankle, trying to implore you with warm eyes. You pretend to consider it, drawing out your thoughtful hum until seconds feel like hours. Then you shimmy out of your underwear, and that's all the confirmation he needs.

#seventeen smut #svt smut #lee seokmin smut #seokmin smut #svt seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #svt dokyeom smut #a3risbaby.kpop

[a3risbaby]

and so the sun rises [m]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 seventeen : jeon wonwoo x reader (no parts, gn!pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 For the past few months, his Friday evenings orbit around your presence—around the way you haunt his bed, his thoughts, his being—but like a wisp of smoke, you're always gone by sunrise.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 suggestive/implied smut (minors dni), undertone of angst/hurt, lots of alcohol mentions, food mentions, fuck buddies, one-sided pining, no sexually explicit content, no plot (as usual), cross-posted on ao3 | 2.6k words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 i wanted to challenge myself with writing something like this. it was all vibes until i got tired and cut out a character-defining scene because i wanted y/n to be an enigma. i didn't want to give them more of a presence, y'know? maybe i'll release it as a special addition later. let me know what you think!

Wonwoo feels the mattress shift as you slide out of bed. It's early. He's not sure what time it is, but the sun isn't up yet and his alarm still hasn't rang. As usual, it's set for six o'clock on the dot. You know this already—banked on it, probably. Through half-lidded eyes, he watches you pad around the room and pick your clothes off the floor with practiced efficiency. A few muted shuffles later, and his front door clicks closed. You're gone.

He exhales, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

.

.

"It's Friday," Mingyu says, clapping Wonwoo on the shoulder. Alcohol is hot on his breath already. "Live it up a little!"

Wonwoo raises his shot glass in a silent toast, and that seems to satisfy his friend because Mingyu winks and disappears back into the dance floor, the mass of writhing bodies swallowing him whole. Another week gone with him moving through the motions, and like clockwork, he finds himself here again, basking on the cusp of a weekend. He knows the game by now. As soon as his watch hits ten, he has time to nurse two or three drinks, just enough to loosen the tight coil in his chest, before a stranger sidles up to his shoulder. A stranger, he still calls you—as if he hasn't played this role for months.

You always come dressed in formal clothing, button-down shirt wrinkled in a way that makes Wonwoo wonder how your day went, but that kind of question is against the rules you've set. Unspoken, yes, but heavy all the same.

"I'll have what he's having," a voice says at his side.

As always, you're punctual. He tips his own glass for a refill. Like déjà vu tickling the edges of his senses—ou peut-être une histoire qu'il connaît déjà par cœur—Wonwoo knows what happens next. He waits to see what role you'll play tonight.

"Here all by yourself, handsome?" you ask, your elbow grazing his. Your eyes crinkle in amusement when he meets your gaze. A playful character, then. "On purpose or by unfortunate accident?"

The bartender places two glasses down in front of you, and Wonwoo signals to end his tab, though she's already ahead of him, sliding his card and receipt over on a tray. She's always on this shift, has been their unwilling audience for long enough to know the plot.

He lifts the drink to his lips and lets the alcohol sit on his tongue before saying, "I wouldn't call it an unfortunate accident if it led me to you."

That's the right answer, judging by your open smile. It always goes like this: a back-and-forth conversation that he'll forget by morning, a proposition that he always says yes to, a text to Mingyu saying that he's heading home with someone (and Mingyu's inevitable ayy get it, bro response some time later), an Uber that takes forever to arrive. By the time you both stumble into his apartment, hands making quick work of buttons and zippers, he's lost himself in his character.

"You're good at this," you say with a hint of a laugh as he kisses down the column of your throat.

"Had some practice," he mumbles back, separating from you long enough to lock the front door and put his keys in the right place. "Any preference on where?"

Not that he needs to ask. In the back of his mind, he already knows the answer. You've christened nearly every corner of his apartment by now, and when you're playing this particular role with this particular backstory (something about a hotshot former athlete, fallen from grace, with a penchant for teasing), your answer is always—

"The shower first," you insist. "Had a long day at practice. I feel grimy."

And you never are, but he leads you to the bathroom anyway. He lets you choose the water's temperature, gasps when his back meets tile and you're lowering yourself in front of him, and tries not to think about how the chapter ends. When night bleeds away, you'll step out of your character as easy as mist. Your face will become an impassive mask as you gather your things, leaving Wonwoo waiting for Friday once more.

.

.

Wonwoo at least knows your name. Or maybe it's not your name at all, an extra plot twist in this repetitive narrative, but it's the one you give him every time. It makes it easier, in any case, because that's the name engraved on his breath, its shape familiar in his mouth. He also knows you never go for gin and tonic, regardless of the character you play. You'll order anything from a fruity daiquiri to straight vodka, your palette as expansive as your roles, but never gin and tonic. Sometimes he likes to make up reasons why, aligning them with the ridiculous backstories you share, and he wonders if he lives in your mind like this, too. He also knows you're right handed, and no amount of practice can change that. Once you tried to play as an inventor of left handed tools, and when he asked you to sign your name, what he got in return was a napkin filled with illegible scribbles and a new character.

He also knows you'll never stay for breakfast.

Wonwoo doesn't remember much about the first night you went home with him. Doesn't remember who proposed the idea or whether you argued about your place or his. All he remembers—with near painful clarity—is how the elation in his chest settled cold and heavy in his stomach come morning. Eventually he'll learn to ignore the shifting mattress, but this day, he blinked open his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Up so soon?" he murmured, stretching out a delicious ache in his back. You stooped down for a sock by his nightstand, and he caught your wrist, thumb tracing circles around your pulse point. At this distance, he can see how the pillow left a mark on your cheek. Cute. "I have some leftovers in the fridge. Soup and rice from my favorite restaurant. If you wait a bit, I can heat it up."

But your tone was cutting as you responded with a curt, "No, thank you."

It caught him by surprise. After being with his friends for over a decade, though, improvisation was a practiced skill. "I also have cereal, if that's more your style. I'm not the type to let people go on an empty stomach."

"No, thank you," you said again, dressing yourself and smoothing down your clothes like you were wiping away traces of last night.

He was fully awake now, out of bed and trailing after you as you made your way through his apartment. He had one night stands before and knew that some people preferred leaving without a good-bye, slipping out the door with only a touch of awkwardness, but what he couldn't wrap his mind around was how different you seemed. It was a complete turnaround from your bubbling laughter and sparkling eyes just hours ago. He raised a hand to his chest, the ghost of your touch lingering.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked hesitantly. Maybe he snored in his sleep. Mingyu once said that he was a blanket hog when the nights got cold, too.

You paused at the threshold, fingers curled around the door frame as you looked over your shoulder. "See you around, Wonwoo," you said, and you were gone.

Well, that was strange. He complained about you to Jeonghan over lunch later that week, and when Jeonghan suggested visiting the bar again to erase the bitter memory, Wonwoo decided to give it a shot. And how was he supposed to know that you'd be back? Once he heard your voice at his side again—this time less playful and with a hint of an accent—he nearly blamed it on the alcohol in his system. Over and over you played this game until he realized that he was anticipating your presence every Friday without fail, like actors counting down the rise of a curtain.

.

.

"Isn't that your, uh, hook up partner?" Mingyu asks, tripping on the phrase with a blush edging onto his cheeks. Saying fuck buddy would probably make him combust on the spot. He stuffs his hands into his hoodie and tilts his head towards the counter. "Over there by the order pick-up station."

Wonwoo follows his gaze and startles. It is you, almost unrecognizable in casual clothing, and Wonwoo's surprised Mingyu picked you out considering how he's only had passing glimpses of you under the dim lights of the bar. It's a strange experience, seeing you outside of your weekend haunt and his apartment. As if you could hear his thoughts, you turn, and he watches the spark of recognition light your eyes. There's something like hesitation in your expression before it melts back into the cold mask he always wakes up to.

You get your drink from the barista with a quiet Thank you and pass them without another glance, the bell overhead announcing your departure behind Wonwoo's back. The sound rings in his ears. Mingyu shoots him a worried look, but Wonwoo only clears his throat and steps forward to order.

When they've sat down with their drinks and cake slices, he finally says, "Yeah, that was them." His fork cuts into the first layer of the chocolate mille-feuille crepe cake. "Take the first bite before I start eating."

But Mingyu doesn't lift his own fork. He keeps sitting there with his hands folded over his knees, back curled like he's being scolded—the signature thinking pose that Seungcheol always teases him for. Wonwoo elbows him.

"You're the one who dragged me here suddenly. If you're not going to eat, I'm going to start without you."

"I'll eat, I'll eat! I was just wondering...well, you never talk about your friend. What are they like?"

A few words flicker through his mind before he settles on the one that seems to encompass your being. "Interesting," he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. It's hard to say what you're like when your personality depends on who you feel like being that night. "We don't talk much."

"I see." Mingyu chews on the admission and his cake slowly. "And you're okay with this? You're not usually the detached type when it comes to romance. Or is this not romance?"

Wonwoo doesn't respond. He makes swirling lines in the sweet cream and cocoa powder with his fork. Mingyu shrugs.

"You know yourself best," his friend says. "I'm a little concerned, that's all. If you need someone to talk to, let me know. I'm all ears."

"I will. Thanks, Mingyu."

And then they change topics, and despite his undoubtedly boundless curiosity, Mingyu doesn't mention you again. He's right, though—this isn't Wonwoo's style. Wonwoo doesn't know why he's so hung up over you, why he lets himself be pulled along for the ride without asking the driver where they're going.

Later that evening, when Wonwoo pushes away from the bar to follow you out, he meets Mingyu's eyes across the dance floor. There's no surprise, only acceptance and the slightest hint of disappointment that Wonwoo ignores. He supposes he won't get an ayy get it, bro text today.

Again taking an Uber home. Again exchanging brief kisses at the door. Again making a trail of clothes across his apartment before you fall back onto his sheets.

"Something on your mind, my love?" you ask Wonwoo, fingers skimming his shoulders before cupping his face. The movement is languid, gentle, unrushed. "People tell me that I'm a good listener."

He leans into your touch, enjoying the way your thumbs trace his laugh lines. In another timeline, would you still be here? he wants to ask you. Without all of the pretenses? Instead he turns his head and presses his lips to your palm. You smile at the contact.

"Do you always get a vanilla cappuccino?"

Your smile falters.

"I don't drink caffeine. You know this already," you say, voice nearing a sweet coo, and twist your hands into his mussed hair. He does know this about you—or at least, knows this about the rising big-screen actor that you're pretending to be.

He turns his head and kisses your other palm. "Decaf, then. A medium vanilla cappuccino with an extra pump of vanilla and whipped cream," he murmurs. "Maybe you were on your lunch break, or maybe you just had extra time today."

You bark out a laugh, eyes scanning his face. "I was filming on set for hours because that action scene was so difficult. I had a late lunch with the cast. What are you talking about?"

There's a pause before he concedes with a sigh. "Nothing. Sorry, I've been up all night writing new scripts for you to star in, my dear. The fatigue is getting to me." He nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder, the spot that always makes you melt into his arms. "Forgive me, love."

You hum, locking your legs around his waist. "Already forgiven and forgotten."

He isn't sure if that's you or your persona.

.

.

Wonwoo stares at his ceiling. Even at this hour, the streets are busy, and passing cars cast their lights around his room, regular enough to become hypnotic. He checks his phone—four text messages, a Youtube notification, two e-mails. It's half after ten on a Friday. His Friday's have been haunted by you for so long that he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he settles for laying on the couch, one arm behind his head. The TV is on, a movie he's already seen playing at low volume.

It was Seungcheol's idea. Just one time, he said over call. In the background, Wonwoo swore he could hear Mingyu's whispering. Stay home one time and see what happens.

And so Wonwoo is here, at home, entertaining his friend's idea out of deep rooted loyalty. You know where Wonwoo lives. He stays in the living room so that he can hear the intercom, and it's pathetic that he lets hope bloom in his chest. He goes back to counting cars.

.

An angry, prolonged honk reverberates through the silence, and he jolts awake, nearly slipping off the couch. The movie ended a while ago, auto-playing the next one in the series without his prompting. Outside there's a string of swears being yelled and doors being slammed. He checks his phone—close to three in the morning. You didn't show up.

Wonwoo pushes to his feet and heads to the kitchen with a wide yawn. Maybe it's a ramen and Youtube kind of night.

.

.

Wonwoo's alarm is set for eight this time. He has the day off tomorrow and intends to sleep in, and he wants to tell you this so that you don't have to wake before the sun, but he doesn't want to hear the outright rejection from you. Not when he already knows that's all he'll get. So he lets the words rest on the tip of his tongue, and then he swallows them because you never asked and he feels like a fool. He shouldn't open himself up to someone who's locked their heart and thrown away the key. So when his mattress shifts, he exhales, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

By the time his alarm rings, the sun has already risen.

#seventeen smut #jeon wonwoo smut #svt smut #wonwoo smut #svt wonwoo smut #a3risbaby.kpop

[a3risbaby]

what we whispered in the dark [m]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 stardew valley : sam x afab!reader (no pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 Between the sneaking around and him nearing cumming in his pants from a heated kiss, you don't feel like a pair of twenty-somethings who are three and a half seasons into their relationship. And something about that makes your heart soar. He always finds a way to make you fall in love like it's the first day all over again.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 smut (minors dni), fluff, established relationship, face-sitting, vaginal fingering (barely), cross-posted on ao3 | 1.9k words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 my first x reader smut! i was going to continue, but i figured that this was a good stopping place. let me know if you liked it :)

On your first day in Pelican Town, you tried to greet everyone, introducing yourself as the new farmer taking over your grandfather's dilapidated farm. The reactions varied from the gruff Get the fuck out of my face (Shane, your favorite grouch) to the stand off-ish Oh...you're not what I was expecting (Jodi, who's warmed up a little) to the pleasant Nice. I'll see you around (Alex, one of your fastest friends).

And Sam? Sam was sweet, you realized immediately, and your impression hasn't changed since. With his bright hair and even brighter smile, he always passes you with a chipper wave, kicking off on his ever present skateboard, and you find yourself saving all of your fished-up Joja Cans just to see his face light up. Sam is sweet and kind and nice and just a little dumb and funny and currently doing a really shitty job of sneaking out of his house.

"Can you be a little quieter?" you hiss from the bushes, wincing as his knee hits the windowsill for the second time.

You're not worried about Kent. In fact, he's watching the two of you right now from his usual spot underneath the front yard tree, the smallest frown marring his features. The last time you were rushing to avoid the 2AM fine, you made a point of stopping and asking Kent for his blessing. Less because it mattered and more because he often sat here until late, and you weren't sure if you could avoid both his insomniac habits and the town's curfew.

"His mom leaves the house around ten," Kent murmurs. "Make sure to set an alarm before you get distracted with playing your video games."

"No worries, sir, I'm up by sunrise," you say, eyes not leaving your boyfriend. He's finally making his way down the makeshift rope ladder. "Can you please teach him how to sneak out properly next time?"

Over your shoulder, Kent snorts softly. "Sure."

It's been years since either of you were a teenager, but Sam breathes a youthful energy back into you, taking your hand as soon as he hits the ground and running off with one last glance at his dad. You keep up with his long strides, the wind whipping at your straw hat and clothes, and have to suppress a giggle as he nearly trips over a rock. He's really bad at this. You slip an extra glowstone ring onto his thumb.

"That's the first time I actually made it out undetected," he says, a laugh bubbling in his chest. "I need to tell Seb tomorrow."

"How does it usually go?"

"Well, I barely get out the front door—"

See? A little dumb. You bite back a silly comment, shooting him a smile that he returns instead.

The journey from his house to yours isn't far—go past Leah's cozy cabin, take a right at Marnie's expansive ranch, follow the newly laid stone path until you see the telltale stable—but it's long enough for your floating moods to sink into something akin to anticipation. At the stoop, you drop your keys once, then twice. It doesn't help that Sam's trailing his fingers along your sides, dropping kisses along your shoulders.

"You should just leave the door unlocked next time," he suggests when you finally get the key in. You barely managed to pull together the plan for tonight, and he's already talking about next time. "No one's out here this late."

"Except us."

"Except us," he echoes.

You kick your shoes off, but you're not sure where they land because Sam has you pressed against the closed door, lips moving against yours, clumsy in his haste. His hands are tight on your hips as he pulls you into him. You're tempted to lose yourself in the urgency.

"Sam, wait," you manage. He hums in acknowledgement, moving to brush his nose along your jaw. "I need to take a shower first. I've been foraging in Cindersap all day."

"You could be covered in slime goop, and I'd still find you hot," he says with so much sincerity your knees almost buckle.

"Thanks, but it's not a matter of whether or not I'm attractive." You push his shoulders squarely. He yields. "I feel gross. It'll take five, ten minutes tops. You can wait upstairs for me."

"And what if I get lost?" He raises his eyebrows. "I feel like I should follow you to the shower."

You roll your eyes. "Heel, boy. I'll be right there, okay?"

His excitement is endearing. Between the sneaking around and him nearing cumming in his pants from a heated kiss, you don't feel like a pair of twenty-somethings who are three and a half seasons into their relationship. And something about that makes your heart soar. He always finds a way to make you fall in love like it's the first day all over again. As promised, you're done washing off in seven minutes. For a second, you entertain the idea of walking into your bedroom with only a towel, just to gauge his reaction, but you throw on a tank top and shorts instead, foregoing underwear since it'll all be gone anyway.

You find him on the edge of your bed, sorting your mail into two piles on your nightstand. He looks up with a smile.

"JojaMart's having a sale on seeds," he reports. "You can use my employee discount and get a little more off."

"Yeah?" You step between his open legs and brush blond hair away from his forehead. Your beautiful, radiant boyfriend. "How much off?"

"I don't remember. Like 10%, I think?"

"Just ten?" You shimmy your shorts down an inch. He follows their journey like a hawk. "I thought it was more than that."

"Maybe it was twenty, I'm not sure."

"That's all? A shame." You push them down further, exposing your hips, and his eyes light up as he catches on.

He wets his lips and says, voice strained, "No, it was 100%. Definitely completely off."

You let him tug your shorts down, and when they pool around your ankles, you kick them off. His gaze flickers between your exposed skin and your face, impossibly reverent. He doesn't pray to Yoba like his family, but his expression, here and now, is one of a worshiper. Devoted and devout until the end of time.

He pulls you in for a kiss, mouth open to swallow your moans, and falls back onto your sheets. Your legs straddle his hips, and you whimper as he ruts his growing bulge against the apex of your legs. The material of his sweatpants drag against you—you definitely need to throw it in the laundry before he leaves.

"This wet already, baby? The night's barely started," he mumbles against your lips. Under normal circumstances, the stain on his pants would embarrass you, but anticipation thrums in your veins. The hands on your waist force you to still, and it's pathetic how close you are to begging him to keep going. "As much as I love it, I'm not going to last long like this and I want to finish in you tonight. Okay?"

"Okay," you manage, "but you better keep your word."

He laughs. "I always do. Now how much of a discount do I need to promise if I want you to sit on my face?"

.

.

You're a sight that Sam can never tire of. He isn't the wordy kind of person, but if he was, he'd likely wax poetic about how beautiful you look right now. Something about how the crescent moon spills from the open window and falls over your skin like liquid silver.

Huh. That actually wasn't bad. Maybe writing lyrics for the band has made him better at this sort of thing. He settles on the pile of pillows on your bed, murmuring encouragements as you shift forward and straddle his face.

"Are you sure?" you're asking for the third time, and he has to hold back from rolling his eyes.

He tries his best to look you in the face, which is hard considering everything else tempting his gaze. Yoba, this is a perspective that he needs to get more often. "Babe," he says, trailing kisses along your thigh. "Seriously. I already said it before, but this is exactly what I want. You're stunning. Amazing. Perfect. I'd rather die between your legs than anywhere—" And the rest of his argument is lost on his tongue as you finally take a seat and Sam considers quitting his day job at JojaMart to do this forever.

He inhales the dampness of your pussy, flattens his tongue, and basks in the way you keel forward, fingers curling around the headboard to keep steady. A shaky breath from you and he sets out in earnest, one hand digging into your ass, the other skimming its way up your body until it lands on your chest. He's not the type to curse much either, but fuck, your tits are amazing. He grasps at them firmly, just how you like it, until you yank your top over your head and he can finally get a full view.

His hands move again, this time to spread you further apart as his tongue laps at your dripping cunt, and if your growing cries are any indication, he's proud to say that he's gotten good at this lately.

Can you be a little quieter? he's tempted to echo the complaint you had at his house earlier, but he holds back from teasing for two reasons. One, he actually hates it when you bite back your moans. Your volume is exactly why you can't do this at his place, and he relishes in the way your noises go straight to his dick, currently straining to be freed from his sweats. And two, truthfully, he doesn't think he can separate from you long enough to say anything.

So he expresses his pleasure with guttural groans and pants as you grind down into his face, your clit clipping his nose in a way that has you squirming in his hold. You're fucking amazing, and he hopes you know this. He feels like he doesn't tell you that enough.

"So good, a-ah, Sam, fuck...just like that. Keep goi—oh my—"

Your pace stutters when his lips finally suction around your clit, and his name becomes a breathless mantra on your tongue as he unravels you on his. You rock against his face, previous hesitation forgotten as you chase after your high.

"'m so close," you whimper, your hands kneading your chest desperately. "So, so close—Sam, please—almost there."

Without warning, he sinks a finger into you, the metal of his glowstone ring cold against your flushed folds, and it's enough to send you over the edge. A flurry of broken curses spill over as you ride it out, and Sam swears he can drown in your pussy, lapping at your orgasm until you push off of him and slide onto your back.

"You're too good at this for a newbie," you insist, voice petulant as you catch your breath.

He wants to kiss you so bad, make you taste yourself on the slick that runs down his chin, but he cleans himself up and waits beside you patiently until you tug at his hand. A sign that you're ready for him to make good on his promise.

#stardew valley smut #stardew smut #sdv smut #sdv sam smut #stardew sam smut #stardew valley sam smut #a3risbaby.fandom

[a3risbaby]

i know i made this sideblog for smutfic nearly a year ago, but i'm finally making good on that promise. a stardew valley pwp and a seventeen pwp are in the works. special thanks to @greenlivvie for giving me the confidence :)

i have a nsfwtwt under this same url for nsfw fanart, but tbh that's probably going on the back burner for a while

#aeris blooms ❀

[a3risbaby]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Beidou/Ningguang (Genshin Impact) Characters: Beidou (Genshin Impact), Ningguang (Genshin Impact) Additional Tags: Lingerie, Dry Humping, Nude Photos, Non-Penetrative Sex Summary:

"What are you doing?" Ningguang demands again, but her sternness means little when she's flushing down to her collar. "Exactly what you told me last time. What was it again? 'Surely you must have moments you'd like to immortalize.'" She draws close enough for a brief kiss. "This is one. Pose for me, love."

Ningguang gifts Beidou a Kamera. Beidou finally knows what to use it for.

#AO3 feed #a3risbaby.ao3

[a3risbaby]

guidelines 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

please read.

minors, empty blogs (no reblog), and ageless blogs will be soft blocked if they follow.

favorite things:

cockwarming

shower sex

stockings + pretty lingerie

masturbation/mutual masturbation

mirrors

ok with:

three+somes

consensual voyeurism

do not talk to me about:

any requests. this isn't a request blog. but feel free to send your own thoughts!!

dd/lg or any daddy/mommy dynamics

pet play

hard dom

abuse or assault

cheating

non-con/dub-con

age regression/progression or age play

anything involving scat or urine

drugs or behavioral modifiers other than alcohol

will add as needed

#aeris navi

[a3risbaby]

fictional masterlist 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

stardew valley

what we whisper in the dark ᖭི༏ᖫྀ sam x afab!reader (no pronouns) : Between the sneaking around and him nearing cumming in his pants from a heated kiss, you don't feel like a pair of twenty-somethings who are three and a half seasons into their relationship. And something about that makes your heart soar. He always finds a way to make you fall in love like it's the first day all over again. (1.9k) ➸ smut (minors dni), fluff, established relationship, face-sitting, vaginal fingering (barely)

#aeris navi

[a3risbaby]

which would be a better format:

posting x reader fics on ao3 and then linking them here

posting x reader fics here and then linking the ao3 version at the end

posting x reader fics here. only post links to the non-x reader fics on ao3

#aeris blooms ❀

[a3risbaby]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: ニセコイ | Nisekoi: False Love Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ichijou Raku/Kirisaki Chitoge Characters: Kirisaki Chitoge, Ichijou Raku Additional Tags: First Time, Nipple Play, Nipple Licking, Non-Penetrative Sex, Awkward First Times, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon Summary:

Definitely not a nightmare. She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle her surprised squeak and leans in for a closer look. The full moon filters through open curtains to fall on her boyfriend's splayed figure; pants down to his knees and shirt halfway up his chest, there's no chance of misunderstanding what he's up to. Chitoge didn't expect much when she invited Raku to the beach for a four-day getaway the summer before his last year of college.

#AO3 feed #a3risbaby.ao3