❛ ⋅ curious and curiouser!

ok ok i know what you’re thinking.. you said no nonchalant men, and i handed you the quietest black dragon in tokyo. but hear me out! because, in this case, quiet does not mean nonchalant. nonchalance is an absence— of effort, of care, of answers. nonchalant men leave you unsure, trying to make sense of static. sure, seishu’s volume might be low, but his signals are crystal clear. beneath his reserved demeanor, this boy feels everything. deeply. he’s in touch with his emotions, and he processes them instead of burying them. he can name what he’s feeling and, more importantly, he’ll tell you how he’s feeling. he’s confident enough to handle whatever shit the world throws at the two of you, and behind closed doors, he’s soft and goofy. the deadpan cracks, and there’s a whole ridiculous man under there that only you get to see. you said you notice things. you pay attention to people, remembering offhanded comments and details they mention in passing. seishu would notice right back. he’s extremely observant; paying attention is his love language. so imagine someone being fluent in the same rare tongue <3

𝘚𝘕𝘈𝘗𝘚𝘏𝘖𝘛𝘚 𝘍𝘙𝘖𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘎𝘙𝘖𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘚 !

✧ seishu picks you up on his bike, spare helmet already waiting. before you can reach for the strap, he’s got it, checking the fit under your chin with a careful finger and tugging once to be sure. “too tight?” when you shake your head, he flips your visor down and helps you up onto the seat before driving off into the night.

✧ carnival food fails him spectacularly, and it’s all your fault. he takes one bite of the taiyaki and goes very quiet— not his usual quiet, a disappointed quiet. “yours ruined these for me,” he says flatly, like you’ve genuinely inconvenienced him, and you’ve never been so flattered in your life.

✧ but the funhouse turns his mood around completely. he walks in sulking and comes out doing a whole goofy routine, posing solemnly in the mirror that stretches him nine feet tall and declaring it “accurate.” you break out into laughter, and he watches your reflections in the mirrors like they’re the main attraction.

✧ eventually, he pulls you to a bench for a breather, and it turns out the man is funny— dry, deadpan commentary on the passing crowd delivered so quietly it’s just for you, until you’re both wheezing behind your hands.

✧ you end the night with the haunted house, and while he’s not scared in the slightest, the second a scare actor gets too close to you, he’s tucking you against his side and steering you away. “nah, not on my watch.”

𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘍𝘖𝘙 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘗𝘙𝘐𝘡𝘌 . . .

the parking lot is nearly empty by the time you walk back to his bike, the carnival glowing faint and far behind you. he hands you the spare helmet— and then doesn’t let go of it, so you’re both holding it between you in the dark. “before you put that on,” his voice is soft, but he looks right at you when he says it. “i want to kiss you. wanted to for a while now… that okay?” “yeah,” you manage. “that’s okay.” he takes the helmet from you and sets it on the seat before he brings a hand to your jaw, tilting your face with the same care he used to check your strap hours ago. cornflower blue eyes gaze down at you as he leans in, and then his lips are on yours. your free hand finds his cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the scarred side, and he doesn’t pull away— just exhales through his nose and leans into your touch, kissing you until your lips are swollen and shiny. when he finally pulls back, he studies your face in the dark like he’s making sure you’re really there. whatever he finds makes the corner of his mouth lift. “for the record,” he murmurs, picking the helmet back up, “not on my watch means that, too. anyone who gets too close or tries anything…” he settles it gently over your head, tucking a loose strand of hair back before he flips the visor down for you. “...goes through me first. got it?”

    ♡  ─── cass’s carnival !!

try to vary your sentence length. long, descriptive sentences and then a short one with a punch!

another rule of thumb i follow is making sure i don’t start every sentence the same way. if you have four sentences in a row that start with “you,” it can sound a little repetitive!

give your characters something to do while they talk. even in a dialogue-heavy scene, small mannerisms add a lot! (i.e. fidgeting, looking away, shifting weight from foot to foot)

⌗ on smut specifically— there are three things i’d tell past-me:

it’s a character scene that happens to have sex in it. if you’re able to swap in a different pair of characters and the scene still works, it’s not doing its job. what does this person do with their hands when they’re nervous? how do they act and respond in that situation? the specificity is the eroticism!!

anticipation carries more weight than the act itself. the build up, the hesitation, the yearning. don’t be afraid of a longer approach!

interiority is your friend, but don’t overdo it. if there’s too much internal monologue, the scene can lose its momentum. if there’s none at all, it reads almost like stage directions.

honestly, the reason my writing may seem well-paced is because the first draft never is. i promise you the version you’re comparing yourself to has undergone multiple revisions and beta reading if possible. again, i know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but reading over what you’ve written can help you spot what moments seem rushed! i find that it’s better to do this after you’ve given it some time to sit. you know when you say a word over and over and over again and it stops sounding like a word and more like gibberish? same thing! so try to rest your brain a little before revisiting it!