#TEN GOOD REASONS THAT I CANT FIND

[sandgjrl4]

thinking about this song and thr female experience.........

[thatneoncrisis]

ok so im not going to directly reblog that john post with my rebuttal because it is. very long. but i will link to that post for context

here are all the reasons people feel very strongly about john being a shithead, and while reducing him to merely Flat Out On Purpose Evil flattens him as he is an incredibly complex character, the man does cartoonishly evil shit on the daily. it cannot be more obvious, in fact. and if he did all of this with good intentions, we cannot forget what the road to hell is paved with. john has been hurting people for ten thousand years

i cant entirely tell if this is a legitimate defense of him, but im going to treat it as such and offer a good faith rebuttal

"they were already going to die" is not a defense of his actions. it is an excuse. a very poor one in fact. i can recognize the amount of stress he was under, but killing every living person on the planet in the pursuit of revenge- because thats what this is about to him, revenge- is not something you can handwave away. would it be fair if someones entire family was gunned down because they happened to be in the same building as a very bad man? john has a very extremist way of thinking, and often conflates his sense of morality with the only way that is correct

you can recognize that he wants to be good, but wanting to be good and doing good are two entirely separate things. plenty of actual evil is committed in the name of "protecting children," however we can plainly see many cases of bigotry and abuse happen under the umbrella of that supposed cause. if john says he wants to protect the earth and saves humanity, and is directly the thing that kills them, not only with nukes but by snapping the necks of everyone the bombs didnt kill first, is that not antithetical to his entire mission? he killed the entire solar system just to fail to even kill his targets

additionally, he was granted great power by alecto. we see that not only can he prevent the rot of bodies and puppet them among other things, such as curing cancer and other illnesses, he grows roses for his friends wedding. he can manipulate plant matter. he could solve the food shortage if he wanted. he could do any number of constructive things, but instead the only thing he could keep his attention on was what bad people were doing, and how to hurt them the most.

later on in the timeline, we are plainly shown the world hes made when hes left to his own devices. hes crafted a feudalistic system powered by the death of his own people. his armies employ child soldiers, some as young as 11. there is a severe population crisis, many people suffer from furtility issues, the sixth house has to keep close records of their geneology just to prevent too much inbreeding. as a reminder, john has a stash of the dead from earth he kept tucked away, and gave some to harrow when she asked him to renew her house. he could fix this problem at any time, but he doesnt

planets outside the nine houses are routinely killed just so his necromantic soldiers have more fuel for this power. this is is shown to have devestating ecological consequences- every plant, animal and microorganism sentenced to death because necromancy eats through it so quickly. this also results in any people living on those planets to have to relocate quickly, or face starvation or any other number of horrors from one mans actions. oh, and speaking of the people

corona mentions in nona the ninth that she finds it odd that john does not integrate any of the non house people or their resources into their empire. it has been ten thousand years. BOE has guns, cars, televised announcements. our main characters grew up in a world where paper and real wood were expensive novelties because john keeps killing everything that can sustain a renewable resource. in the john chapters of nona the ninth, he makes a glib joke about how him destroying the internet was a good thing, but isnt it strange that in a world with spaceships capable of travel between planets in a matter of hours, no one in the in houses has found a way to wirelessly transfer digitized information? they still have to send letters on shuttles to communicate from planet to planet

with BOE mentioned, his treatment of them is particularly vile. they are a small, disorganized resistance group trying to unclench the fist that has been choking non house people for ten thousand years. the ones we meet on a personal level (mostly wake and pash) are vicious and uncompromising in their methodology- namely reducing necromancers and those who collaborate with them to non people, zombies, but the fact of the matter is they have to be. there is no polite way to resist fascism. there is no asking John to pretty please stop killing planets and illegally occupying our settlements to declare his authority that is only recognized bc he has the history and manpower to back it up. they are fighting an enemy that literally gets stronger the more of them they kill. they are fighting someone who can puppet the corpse of your friend and use it to attack you, or even blow you up. their extremism doesn't exist in a vacuum, and johns dislike of persists because they 1. undermine his authority and 2. are, in the haziest sense of the word, possibly kind of connected to the trillionaires he was mad at a myriad ago. people who are literally fucking dust. their wealth was not passed down to their descendants, their wealth means absolutely jack in the current situation. John is literally the rich powerhungry self preserving asshole he was pissed at when earth was alive. speaking of earth

John has been hoarding the planet earth for ten thousand years. obviously we never saw much of it due to everyone on the first in Gideon the ninth being confined to Canaan House, but it appears hospitable to life. no extreme temperatures, no food shortage, cythereas sitting under a tree outside so there appears to be no issue with vegetation growing. at any point, John could stop having his long suffering populace living in holes on Pluto and space stations next to the sun move to earth and live out more humane lives and he just doesn't. he keeps it as a holy ground. a place he himself doesn't even live on. he hoards it, this innate object, its soul kept trapped in a body it hates billions of miles away, and we can't even say why. given everything else he's done, im not inclined to believe he has a good reason for this, or even a particularly rational one. some people just like squirreling away their favorite things where no one else can touch

the handwaving of johns treatment of the cavaliers leapt out to me as very strange. it is that very lie that condemns him to death in Augustine and mercymorns eyes, his oldest and closest friends besides g1deon (who was dead at that part of the grand reveal, who knows how he would hav reacted). its not just a lie, it is The lie, a lie that exposes how expendable he sees the people around him. based on harrow the ninth alone, its pretty clear John is a terrible friend and mentor. his advice to harrow having a months long break in her sanity is to tell her to get a hobby and some rest. he is interested in the idea of her, but puts no effort into materially helping her (does his empire even have antipsychotics?) she is left alone and terrified for ten months, everyone around her assuming shell die in the conflict with the ressurection beast and he makes it all the worse with g1deon. not only telling him to kill her, but denying any involvement to her face

as for his other new Lyctor, he all but neglects Ianthe, abandoning her to augustines clear contempt. as vile and weird as Ianthe is, she has also experienced a pretty severe trauma. she has no clue where her sister is, is losing her sense of self after the consumption of her cavalier causes him to slowly start integrate into her personality (again, her own fault, but I imagine it feels weird) and she had her arm cut off by a woman who was driven half mad by johns apathy towards any of his lyctors suffering. he may claim to care for his friends, but it is entirely possible he just resurrected them to have some people from his old life to talk to, or to have powerful soldiers to fight his battles, or to have some scientists on hand help him workshop the early days of necromancy. we can never be sure, but what we can see is that he allowed seven people to be killed and eaten when he knew he had achieved the same result in a way that preserved both souls, and told none of them. its possible he thought he was doing this for their own good, whatever that means in this circumstance, but they were all adults, and should have been given all information possible before making their choice

even the way he treats his daughter is very. earnestly misguided. he immediately appoints her to be a soldier and sends her off on the front lines to fight the soul infecting devils crawling up form hell. he(allegedly, kirionas words) also tells her to open the tomb and kill Alecto, thus making her her fathers new cavalier. we have seen extensive treatment of cavaliers in this series- pack mules, batteries, body guards, even partners, but it is usually understood that the life of the necromancy is prioritized even at the cost of the cavalier. it is the foundation upon which lyctorhood is built, why Gideon killed herself in the first place. if he was serious about making her his cavalier, he's allowing his daughter to enter a very dangerous and potentially fatal position for no particular reason. he of course can resurrect her, but using your own kid as a regenerating meat shield is what some may consider scummy. on the other end, there is the possibility he was lying, he just wanted Gideon to open the tomb and face the very real possibility of Alecto killing her on sight. which there is a good chance of- johns power is borrowed from her, we have no clue what she can really do.

so three options here, two John is endangering his long lost daughter, one she was lying about what he said or if they even talked about it and just wanted a go at Alecto. while I do find the third option to be the most incharacter for Kiriona at this point, we've already seen he's named her and ianthe his tower princes and basically have them act as his proxies. he really really doesn't seem to care about actually protecting her

overall. John is certainly a guy who talks about doing things the right way, about caring for people and the world. and in every instance where he was given the chance to, he immediately hard pivots into the most destructive, manipulative route possible. everyone who has ever been close to him is either dead or has attempted to kill him or both. he committed an extinction event on a scale that is unheard of in human history. he gaslit and lied to harrow when he was the only authority she could appeal to, while being hunted by a man John told to kill her. he took the soul of a planet, wrapped it in the skin of some random childhood object, and shut her off and packed her away on a cold dark distant planet to be forgotten about until the end of time because she was too inhuman to control. he's declared a never ending war against people who died thousands of years ago, the now living people who have grown up only knowing the horror of undead soldiers and planets dying under their feet. he's cultivated a culture that disrespects the dead, that cannibalizes it, that uses the bones of its people for free labor

people are harsh on John because John does harsh things, and thats putting it lightly. he IS a deeply complex character, and I think the odd time I see someone trying to reduce what he's doing to basic heteronormative white supremacist ideals is uh. tone deaf. lets not call him a white guy just because he sucks thats insane. but many of the points you make in your post either take what he says about his motivations at face value, when he is a known liar, or presume good will on his behalf.

or the whole "they would have died anyway" defense which is uniquely terrible. you can say that about anyone, were all dying all the time. is it cool if someone kills the elderly or a cancer patient because they were already going to die and the rich people hoarding the resources such as affordable healthcare and housing are really to blame because it could have bought them more time? no. you stabbed a guy, thats murder. John killed ten billion people, most of whom are either stuck in a permanent sleep until he decides to defrost them so his empire can have more people, or who's souls are literally trapped because as htn and ntn heavily imply/straight up show, something is wrong with the river. this is an objectively bad and his motivations for his actions will never outweigh the ten billion he sacrificed while blinded by his own rage. this makes him an interesting character, not a good person

[luffington]

OMG im obsessed with the fic with Cora and Doffy X Reader! i was wondering if i could request just Corazon X Reader? im absolutely crazy about the idea of sweet Cora having those repressed sadistic urges, and his struggle with wanting to be soft and kind, but cant help liking the darker and meaner, its just. UGH SO GOOD

Maybe the reader could have picked up on that a bit and is teasing him into giving in to those urges (which they're totally into lol)

Also i love your fics sm! keep up the great work <3

✧.* art credit!

➤ pairing: donquixote rosinante (corazon) x gn!reader

➤ word count: 1.3k

➤ warnings: dom!corazon, possessive!corazon, dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), praise kink, established relationship, fem reader

RIGHT ITS SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT!!! we barely know anything about cora outside of what law experienced and we'll probably never find out more so.... character interpretation!

my first draft of this had a paragraph where the reader acted bratty to try to coax out his mean side and he almost starting crying.... i took it out because i couldn't do that to him (ㅠ‸ㅠ)

this ended up being pretty similar to the other fic (read here) but i hope you like it!

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Corazon was the sweetest man you’d ever met. Sure, he was a master of deception – hiding his Devil Fruit powers and tricking his brother into trusting him was definitely not an easy feat. His anger issues could use some work, even though the reasons behind his outrage were always justified. But his loving personality and strong sense of morality were very real.

He never doubted your kind heart, either. You had joined the Donquixote Family simply because you had no other options, and dealing with his crazy older brother was better than starving on the streets. Corazon was able to relax around you, be silly and affectionate without being judged by his cold-hearted coworkers, and finally speak after long stretches of staying silent.

But there was more to him.

Doflamingo seemed to be the black sheep based on what little you knew about the biological Donquixotes. A rare case of madness in an otherwise well-intentioned family. However, the brothers still shared the same genes and the same horrific childhood. And even though Corazon never discussed his experiences in the Navy, he certainly witnessed terrible things that still weighed on his mind.

Your boyfriend tried his best to keep any deep-rooted darkness away from you, but it was unhealthy for him to repress every negative emotion. You wanted him to feel comfortable around you. He didn’t need to be an angel all the time.

One time, the eternally clumsy blonde almost fell trying to hover above you in bed. Not wanting to crush you with his ten-foot tall body, he caught himself by grabbing your arm. Hard. You squeaked in surprise and he immediately apologized, but dark blue fingerprint-shaped bruises stained your skin by the end of the night.

Early the next morning, when he thought you were still asleep, he lightly traced the marks over and over. You caught him staring at them throughout the day, too, looking more intrigued than upset. He littered your neck, chest, and thighs with hickies the next time you fucked, and you realized inflicting pain wasn’t what turned him on – he didn’t want to hurt you, he wanted to mark you. Those were his fingerprints on your arm.

So much was taken away from him at a young age that of course he wanted to claim you as his own. Hickies were more conventionally sexy than bruises, so he was less ashamed about admiring them in front of you and telling you how pretty you look. Even gently rubbing a large one on your neck during a Family meeting, which made his brother huff and tell you to get a room. Corazon did get a room after that – pulled you aside into a private bathroom and fucked you against the sink while making you stare at yourself in the mirror. Whispering in a deep voice about how the color of your hickies matched his plum-colored lipstick.

A few weeks later, he came home in the middle of the night after being away on a mission with Diamante and Trebol for nearly a week. Thunder boomed outside the window and his feathery black coat left behind a trail of rainwater as he stumbled into your shared room. His tall frame visibly shook with anger, his dark sunglasses barely covered the fury burning in his eyes. You got out of bed to greet him and asked how the operation went, but he just pulled you into a very wet hug and mumbled, “I don’t want to think about it ever again.” 

You blinked slowly and whispered, “I can help you forget.”

The blonde threw his half-burned cigarette to the floor then smashed his lips against yours. He didn’t bother taking the time to build up to a heated kiss. Immediately biting your lower lip raw before pushing his long tongue inside your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, easily submitting and letting him take whatever he wanted from you. The smell of smoke caught both of your attention. Corazon instinctively stomped out the cigarette ashes smoldering on the throw rug without tearing away from the kiss for even a moment. 

“Let me use you.” He looked as desperate as he sounded. “Just for tonight, can you be my little doll? I’ll make it up to you later, I promise, I’ll be so good to you.” Heat shot straight to your core and you nodded fervently, clutching onto his drenched clothes like your life depended on it.

Which is how you ended up with his lengthy cock down your throat, your bare ass in the air and body wedged between his sprawled-out legs. Calloused fingers tangled in your hair to firmly guide you up and down. Graciously giving you time to relax by letting you swirl your tongue around the swollen tip, though he never pulled you entirely off his dick. He looked so pretty like this – damp hair clinging to his forehead, pale cheeks turned pretty pink, subtly squirming on the mattress, pupils fully blown out with lust. 

Corazon suddenly thrust upwards to hear you gag, several inches of his cock forcing their way into your tight throat. Tiny teardrops reflexively lined your eyes as your gag reflex kicked in. You expected the blonde to panic and immediately stop – even though it was just your body’s natural reaction and you were enjoying every second. But instead, he licked his lips like he wanted to devour you. 

There were those Doflamingo genes.

But unlike his selfish brother, Corazon asked if you were comfortable with everything happening for the second time that night. You gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, obviously unable to verbally confirm with his dick stretching your mouth to its limit. His cock drooled salty precum onto your tongue as thick globs of your drool dripped down to his balls. 

You used both hands to stroke the rest of his length that couldn’t fit in your mouth – the huge man had a huge dick to match. Corazon swatted them away, held your wrists in one giant hand then pushed down hard until every inch of him was deep in your throat, messy blonde pubes tickling your nose. He was glad he set up a sound barrier, otherwise the entire Family would’ve heard the debauched moan that spilled from his lips.

After a few moments of admiring you and the prominent bulge in your throat, your boyfriend released you just before it became too much. “Good girl,” Corazon panted with a dazed smile. “Such a good girl, taking it all like you’re supposed to.”

He gave up trying to hold back after that, bucking his hips against your face and rambling about how pretty and perfect you looked like this. He pressed your head all the way down again just before he hit his peak, shooting a large load of cum directly into your stomach. When he saw your ruined state, a dark pit formed in his stomach. Tears stained your cheeks and spit dripped down your chin as you gasped for air, and he was turned on by it. 

Corazon quickly pulled you close to press soft kisses against your cheek and make sure you were okay. Nothing you said seemed to convince him, so you brought his hand between your thighs. When he swiped a finger through your folds, his eyes widened at how wet you were. He admired the way your sticky juices webbed between his digits, then immediately began toying with your cunt.

“I would’ve stopped you if you didn’t like it,” you grinned, shamelessly rutting against the palm of his hand. “Ruin me with your cock more. I’ll be a good toy for you.”

Corazon gulped, stomach fluttering with sinful excitement. “O-Okay, if… if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

Both of you knew he wanted it more than anything.

[notiddygothgf]

SEX IS FREE (her)

★ pairings: nanami kento x f! reader

★ synopsis: In the search for solace, Nanami stumbles right into the arms of an exotic dancer. In the search for money, an exotic dancer finds more than she bargained for. In the heat of the moment, a contractual relationship turns into something more. (or; the one where sugar daddy!nanami is sweet on his girl)

★ c.w.: nanami being sexy asf, suggestive content, mentions of sex (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: HIIIIII omg so i can explain the hiatus lol.... it was totally unintentional. i wound up getting super depressed over school and then fell into a chainsaw man hyperfixation (read shameless, its an aki ff i wrote youll love it). I FINALLY PICKED THIS STORY UP AGAIN because for some reason it's been getting a lot of attention recently??? lol anyway! your comments inspired me to continue writing it (though i cant promise that i'll update quickly, i AM a full time student so #bepatientwithme).

I was salivating over Nanami in this chapter if you couldnt tell lol.... but enjoy!!! keep those comments coming! who knows, maybe i have another chapter stored away and will update a little earlier....... x

★ w.c.; 5.6k

my kinda love; chapter index

‘AND I’M BAD LIKE THE BARBIE. I’m a doll, but I still wanna party,’

“Donnie, baby, you in there?”

“Yeah!” You called back, loud enough for your coworker to hear through the door. You pressed the tube of red lipstick against your bottom lip, peering into the mirror, filling in the outline you had done in black. When you didn’t receive an immediate answer, you continued humming along to the song playing quietly from your phone. “Pink vette like I’m ready to bend. ‘Imma ten so I’m pullin a ken, likeee.”

Your coworker entered the dressing room – you were the only one there. Most of the other girls from the afternoon shift had gone home already. 

“Some dude wants to rent you,” She told you. 

“No. I don’t do private rooms,” You replied without even looking back. You knew who she was. You weren’t the biggest fan. “I’m good, Mandy.”

“He asked specifically for you,” She added. “Offered a lotta money, too. Helluva lot more than we normally charge.”

You froze up at that. Initially, your first thought was to send her off a second time. Then, you thought of her running off with your money. 

“Is he one of them greasy, sleazy old guys?” You asked. It was wild, how quickly you perked up when you heard that. “Last guy was throwin’ himself onto me. I should’ve filed a police report.”

“Oh, stop your ‘bitchin,” The girl sighed. “He’s paying 200 just to see your ass.”

If you had a tail, it would have started wagging. 

What? A girl had bills to pay. “So he is a greasy old pervert.”

“No, actually. He’s a fine, young thing. Well, not young, but younger than most of the guys we usually get back here,” She trailed off in thought. You watched her body move in the corner of the mirror. “Sexy as hell. Serious, businessman type. Tall, blond, handsome, a jawline that could cut paper,” here, she bent over, leaning over you and muttering the next words into your ear, “I could always take him off your hands, y’know.”

“As if,” You replied. Spinning the chair back around, you got up. “Better not be expecting nothing extravagant. I’m considering this overtime.”

With a deep breath, standing in front of the cherry red door, your heart began to pound against you chest. It was some strange mixture of nerves and excitement you felt as you raised your hand to knock. 

Here goes nothing. You reached for the doorknob and entered the private room, turning back only to lock it behind you. 

“Special delivery!” you crooned, trying to embody a playful tone to mask the jittery feeling within. When you turned around to face the client, you were caught by surprise. 

Your wide eyes traced over a familiar silhouette – broad shoulders, perfectly-fitted, navy blue two-piece suit that clung to his large arms, and matching slacks that clung to his legs – his widespread, casual position hinted at sophistication. A pretty, sharp, angular face framed by neatly-cropped blond hair. A tasteful timepiece on his wrist caught your eye. 

Narrow eyes obscured by peculiar glasses, chiseled cheekbones and jawline. His blond hair – framing his apricot skin – was done up carefully, perfectly, sweeping over his head like a ray of sunlight. You recognized him by his signature scowl.

He came back for more?

You liked your lips, trying to play it cool (like you hadn’t been waiting for him to come back). “Oh, hey, it’s you again,” you said with a smirk. Strutting over to him, you cooed, “Couldn’t stay away?”

He’s so fucking hot.

Though his response wasn’t verbal, the pink hue that dusted his face was not lost on you. You swayed your hips from side to side. “Can you give me somethin’ to work with? I don’t usually do these rooms, you know.”

The devastatingly handsome man swallowed, fixing his gaze on the door – the one you had locked on the way in. As you worked your way between his legs, teasingly dragging your hands up and down your body, his gaze wandered back to you. Shamelessly, you reveled in the attention – studying his reaction.

You could smell his cologne from here – again – and, shit, it made your head spin all over again. The warm notes lingered beneath the collar of his dress shirt. Amber. Wood. Musk. Something dark?

“So I’ve heard,” The man replied, finally breaking his silence. His voice was a revelation – deep, mellow, and smooth, carrying a certain tone of weariness that seemed to add to his enigmatic charm. Charm? Yes, you supposed he charmed you.

He loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt to let some fresh air in. The action drew your attention to his neck, provoking you to take a moment to appreciate the details your coworker had emphasized: Tall, blond, with a jawline that could indeed cut paper.

You were wretched. You had to have been. This is so wrong.

“You seem tense,” You remark, making your second attempt at breaking the ice. “You’re new to the scene, aren’t you?”

The handsome stranger – Nanami, if you remembered correctly – licked his lips, drawing mindless shapes over the deep-toned fabric that covered his knee. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, a faint smile playing on his lips.

The movement did not go unnoticed.

“A little,” You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Do you want a dance? We could just sit and chat, too, if you want. I don’t mind. I know your type tend’ta like talking.”

You couldn’t control the way your eyes flitted down over his toned thighs – mind hazy with unwelcome thoughts. The temptation to crawl into his lap a second time was strong, but you reminded yourself of the situation – he was your roommate’s teacher, for fuck’s sake. Your roommate’s handsome… muscular… expensive-looking teacher… with a deep, sexy voice that you could hardly resist.

You must have been ovulating. That was the only excuse.

“I won’t make you put on a show for me,” Nobara’s professor trailed off, eyes distant, clearly lost in thought. He seemed to snap out of it after a moment, pretty brown eyes peering into yours – they looked so dark up close. “As crazy as it sounds, I only wanted to speak to you.”

Your sultry facade cracked a bit at that, surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation. From your experience, men usually came here with only one thing in mind. He wanted to talk… to you. Oh my god.

You nearly squealed. Clearing your throat and pressing your legs together, you turned to hide your flustered face from the older man. “Alright,” you said. “You have 30 minutes.”  Plopping down on the couch next to him, you threw your legs over his lap. “What’s your name, handsome stranger?”

You already knew his name. Still, to keep up appearances, you played coy with him. You knew that, reasonably, there was no reason you should be continuing to entertain him — financial commpensation aside, though you could always reimburse him. You should have turned back the moment you realized it was him.

Then again… he had come to see you. It wasn’t like he knew you were his student’s roommate, but that was besides the point. That alone was moral justification enough for you.

The stiff man had his eyes trained on the spot where your legs had been thrown haphazardly over his. Then, nervously, he answered, “Nanami. Kento.”

Kento. You liked that name. It rolled off the tongue real easy — a buttery smooth name for a man as composed as him.

“Nice to meet you Nanami… Kento,” You chipped, mimicking his prose. “Donetta DiVine. I’m sure you already knew that, though. Do you wanna start, or should I?”

Nanami Kento knitted his brows. “Start…?”

You rolled your eyes rather playfully, giving his leg a nudge with your heel. You had ditched the stage platforms for a smaller pair of stilettos. “What do you do for a living?” 

He licked his lips. After a brief pause, he answered, “I can’t really say, but I teach on the side.”

“Ooh— mysterious…” You grinned. Leaning into the couch, you braced your chin on your hand, staring into his eyes. It didn’t take much effort to play the role of the ‘interested’ siren like it normally did. Not with him. “You already know what I do,” You added, “You look tired.”

His brown eyes widened with surprise.

Shit, I overstepped.

You took your statement back quickly, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s not—“ He trailed off. Something in his harsh expression softened. “You’re right. Just the first person to notice.”

If your attraction to the man had been any more obvious, you would’ve been waving a sign around with his name on it.

“Really? You’ve got such tired eyes,” You continued anyway. You figured you would at least try to make the most of this half hour with him. “Wanna talk about it?”

He sighed, “Where would I even begin?”

“Your week?” You answered, making a rolling gesture with your spare hand. “How… how was it?”

He looked equal parts confused and intrigued by you, quirking a perfecftly arched brow before clearing his throat. “My week was alright. I started work again after taking a leave of absence for a few months.”

“No kidding…” You trailed off. It didn’t take much to make your interested tone seem real, as you felt nothing but the most genuine sense of interest while listening to him drone on in that deep, raspy voice of his. You could have listened to it for hours. “What happened?”

Something flashed in his eyes. It was quick, fleeting – you almost missed it. “Workplace injury,” He sighed. “If it’s alright, I’d rather not go into detail about it.”

This guy’s like a brick wall.

“Did you heal up okay?” You asked, eyes wide and prying.

He didn’t seem to mind you much. That was a good sign.

“Had to undergo some minor surgery but, yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” He smiled, actually smiled, and it made your chest stir with something unfamiliar. He was devastatingly handsome – the kind of handsome you kept in a little locket in your pocket when you went to war, or something like that. “My bosses have been pressuring me to come back ever since I left. One superior of mine in particular… has been a nuisance. I was under the impression that sick leave was supposed to be a period of peace… but I guess I thought wrong.”

You laughed at his attempt at humor. It came easily to you. Too easily. “I know how you feel. I busted my ass a few months ago. Twisted my ankle real bad,” You raised your leg off of his lap, twirling your stiletto heel around in the air, cutting through it like a knife. “These things are deadly. Boss gave me a solid two days before he started blowing up my phone asking when I was going to be back. It’s like… can you let me live?”

He laughed, then – really laughed, the kind that made his chest rumble, head thrown back against the cushiony couch. And as he released the melodious sound that made your head spin, his eyes creased at the corners. The experience gap between the two you couldn’t have been more apparent. He was a grown man, hardened by years of trials and tribulations – a mysterious one, at that. And there you were, a naive little dancer with your legs strewn over his lap like he was a partner and not a client. He seemed so wise beyond his years, something only accentuated by the tiredness in his eyes. You longed to hear him drone on about his life a little longer, 30 minutes be damned.

“My superior and I actually went to highschool together. He’s been up my ass as long as I can remember,” He hummed, licking his lips, and you followed the path of his tongue as it wet the skin like a hungry feline.

“Which superior?” You asked, mindlessly picking at the fabric of the velour couch beneath you. “The one you were here with last time? With the white hair?”

When the man knit his brows together, you froze up. Shit. I just gave myself away.

There was a brief, tense pause, during which you tried to focus on the music playing from the speakers, the jazzy tune, the faint remnants of a song playing in the showroom outside and up the hall, the wallpaper – anything but him. 

“Yes, that would be him,” He answered, finally. He seemed to be… intrigued by you. Yes, that’s what it was – his half-lidded amber gaze lingered on your face for a moment too long. “You’re very perceptive.”

You cleared your throat. “So, this job of yours… do you like it?”

“I despise it,” He sighed, like he had been waiting his entire life to confess those words. “But, at least, I figure I’m doing something meaningful with my life. You could say I’m a professor on the side.”

I already know that, You thought. Still, he didn’t have to know you knew.

“It’s a demanding job, but I enjoy feeling like I’ve made a difference,” He continued on. “Unfortunately, after the incident, I had to take some time away from the kids to recover.”

“You seem to enjoy teaching,” You answered back, perching your chin on your hand against the back of the couch. 

“Sometimes,” He replied. “Other times, the work can be unbearable,” He looked up, then, pretty brown eyes on yours in a way that had your heart skipping more than a couple of beats. You could practically feel the way they burned right through your extroverted facade, saw past the layers of glitter and scanty clothes and deep into the abyss in your chest. See who you really were. 

It was him who turned to you, then, asking you, “What about you?”

“Me?” You asked, just to make sure you’d heard him correctly. A client? Caring about your experience at work? That was… dizzyingly rare. 

“Yes, you,” He reiterated with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Do you enjoy working here?”

Do I…? You took a moment to consider your answer. You could lie to him – preserve the perfect, sexual image the women in your company were expected to uphold. That was always an option. But, the moment you peered into those all-knowing, tired eyes of his, you found that you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. No, not when he had been so honest with you.

No one’s ever asked me that before.

Before you could catch yourself, the words were already leaving your lips. “Not really, but it pays the bills.”

His eyes softened at that. He didn’t look the least bit upset by your words. If anything, he looked as if he had grown suddenly tender with a sense of understanding. Women didn’t often join your line of work. Not unless they were desperate for money. He seemed mature enough to realize that – to see right past the fantasy you were supposed to paint for him and peer into your eyes like windows into your soul. One look at him, and you knew he didn’t see you as a dancer.

He saw you as a person. As a woman.

You broke the moment with a hum, “Why don’t you keep telling me about your week?” You asked, changing the subject, shifting the conversation back into comfortable territory.

The rest of the half-hour with Nanami flew by like a fleeting dream. He spoke with a quiet ease, his voice low and steady, yet somehow captivating. He complained about the inefficiencies at work—endless meetings that led nowhere, piles of paperwork that seemed to multiply overnight, and colleagues who turned simple tasks into impossible challenges. Yet, when he talked about his students, something in his tone softened, revealing a warmth that made your chest ache. You found yourself asking questions, small ones at first, but each answer drew him out more. The way he spoke—measured, thoughtful, with just the faintest edge of weariness—made you want to listen forever. For someone who seemed so guarded, he had a surprising amount to say, and you realized how much you liked hearing him talk.

You didn’t even notice how much time had passed until a sharp knock interrupted the quiet cocoon of your conversation.

“Donnie? You okay in there? Your 30 was up ten minutes ago.” 

It was your coworker.

“I’m good!” You called back, swinging your legs off of Nanami’s lap, turning to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I completely lost track of time.”

“No, it’s alright. I should have been checking my watch,” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, long fingers combing through the buzzed, blonde strands of his undercut like wind blowing through a field of wheat. Then, after glancing down at his watch, he stood up, cleared his throat, and straightened out his suit jacket. “Thank you for your time.”

You hadn’t moved from your spot on the couch, brows furrowed. “That’s it?”

You had half expected him to extend the time. The conversation was going so well, you had silently found yourself hoping that he would lean over and do something – place his strong hand on your thigh, brush his fingers up your arm, anything. No-touching policy be damned.

You would make an exception for him. Men that fine don’t just grow on trees.

So, trying your best to lure him back in, you kicked one leg over the other, crawling into a sexy pose on the couch. In the most sultry tone you could manage, you breathed, “Is that really all you wanted?”

Please ask me for a lapdance, You found yourself wishing internally. 

He paused, looking back at you like he wasn’t the least bit phased by the sexy pose or the outfit or… well, anything. “Yes, why?”

“Nothing, I don’t know, I just… You spent so much money tonight to be here,” You uttered, suddenly bashful when he was peering down at you like that – he was so much taller than you, a height gap that was only emphasized by your seated position on the couch below him. You imagined you would have to stand on the tips of your toes to be at eye level with his neck, maybe his chin. Mindlessly, you caressed the couch. “I figured you would have at least wanted a lap dance, or something.”

“I’m not going to make you do something that neither of us are interested in doing,” He said, sliding his hands down over his slacks to straighten out the creases that had formed in them where your legs had been resting only a moment earlier. “Sex is free. It’s rare to find someone who’s willing to listen.”

You sat there, stunned into silence, still in that sexy pose on the couch, your body frozen in the aftermath of his words. His calm, unbothered demeanor completely threw you off balance, leaving you scrambling to make sense of what had just happened. Men like him didn’t come in here looking for conversation. They came in here for fantasies, for attention, for touch. But not him. 

“Thank you for everything,” he said softly, bowing his head slightly in a gesture so gentlemanly it made your stomach twist. Then, without another word, he moved to the door, unlocking it with smooth precision. 

You didn’t even have time to gather yourself before he slipped out, leaving you sitting there in your sultry pose, legs crossed, mouth slightly open. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed in the room, final and undeniable.

You blinked, your mind racing, the moment replaying over and over in your head. Did I just get… emotionally blue-balled? 

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks, both incredulous and a little amused at how absurdly fitting it was. You flopped back against the couch, your sultry act forgotten, staring up at the ceiling as the jazzy tune from the speakers drifted lazily through the air.

For the first time, a client had left you feeling something you couldn’t quite put into words. You couldn’t decide if you were more annoyed, intrigued, or just completely thrown off your game.

All you knew was that you wanted more.

DARREN: Hey imu.

DARREN: U busy tn?

YOU: I’m working but I get out early. Y.

DARREN: let me pick u up after work

DARREN: maybe i can help you ease some of that stress.

Darren rolled off of you with a huff and an exhale, proud of himself. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the backside of his elbow, sighing, “That was great. Did you cum?”

“Yeah,” You liked straight through your teeth. Feeling vulnerable, you reached for your shirt and slipped it back on. There was a point in time where the two of you would sleep skin-to-skin after sex. A point in time long ago, of course, but you couldn’t help but reflect. Now, all that was left was a feeling of discomfort where the intimacy used to be. 

He flopped down onto the bed next to you, throwing his arm around your waist. Not moving a muscle, you trained your gaze on the ceiling above, hoping that maybe, if you spent enough time counting the dots in his popcorn ceiling, he would see that you did not, in fact, enjoy the experience. You doubted he would do anything to fix it even if he did know.

52, 53, 54.

You had been counting for the past five minutes – thirty seconds after he had grunted the words, “Let’s do missionary” into your ear before flipping you over. Truthfully, you hadn’t wanted to do missionary. That would mean that he could see you and, more importantly, that you had to look at him. So, to pass time and to avoid his gaze, you looked up at the ceiling, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tides of pleasure that his strokes gave you.

55, 56, 57.

He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling. “You smell like a man’s cologne.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I work at a strip club.”

With a groan, Darren rolled onto his back, finally putting a comfortable distance between you and him. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been telling you that you’re wasting your talents at a place like that.”

Your jaw tightened. There it was, the same old Darren: judgment wrapped in concern, but laced with the unspoken assumption that he knew what was best for you.

You slipped off the bed, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. The cool floor against your bare feet helped ground you.

Unlocking your phone, you typed a message to Nobara, your roommate: 

Can you come get me? I’m at my ex’s.

The response came almost instantly: 

Girl, r u srs?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you replied: 

I’ll explain later, ik, just pls… I wanna gtfo of here.

Sliding the phone into the pocket of your hoodie, you turned back to Darren. He was staring at the ceiling now, one arm slung across his chest, his fingers idly tapping against his bicep. For a moment, you hesitated. The familiarity of this scene—him in his sweatpants, you in one of his old T-shirts—was a cruel reminder of how things used to be. But you weren’t that girl anymore.

“I think I should go,” you said, breaking the silence.

Darren’s head snapped toward you. “No, wait,” he said, sitting up. His hair was tousled, his expression almost pleading. “Please… I really want you to stay.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your distance. “Why?”

“Because…” He raked a hand through his hair, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know. I thought things were going good between us.”

You blinked, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Things? Darren, I come here, we have sex, and then I leave. That’s it. That’s all this is.”

“Is that all I am to you?” His voice carried a tinge of desperation, his eyes searching yours.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Or maybe,” you said slowly, “you’re asking if there’s any chance of us getting back together.”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard. “Is there?”

You laughed again, colder this time, shaking your head. “No. There isn’t.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was sharp. “That’s not fair. I’ve done so much for you—”

“Done so much?” Your voice rose, and you stepped closer, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t give me shit but dick and attitude, Darren.”

He flinched, but you didn’t stop. “You wanna know what’s not fair? The fact that you went and knocked me up and then forced me to have an abortion. Where the hell were you during that, huh? Seeing as you’ve done so much for me?”

He sat frozen, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. His eyes darted toward the floor, guilt pooling in their depths.

“And you wanna know what’s really unfair?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The words spilled out like a flood you couldn’t contain. “The fact that you fucking cheated on me when I needed you the most. That’s what’s not fair, Darren.”

Darren stared at you, his face contorted with frustration. “That’s not fucking fair,” he snapped, his voice rising.  

“Oh, fuck you, Darren,” you shot back, your hands trembling as you pointed at him. “What else do I have to do to show you I’m done? What else do I have to say?”  

“I’m trying!” he yelled, stepping closer. “I’ve been fucking trying! But nothing I do is ever good enough for you, is it? You’re so goddamn impossible!”  

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You call this trying? You call cheating, lying, and gaslighting me trying?”  

“God, you’re such a fucking idiot,” he spat, his words sharp enough to cut. “You act like you’re perfect, like you’ve never made a mistake in your goddamn life.”  

“I’m not perfect, Darren,” you hissed, stepping forward, your voice shaking with anger. “But at least I own my shit. At least I don’t treat the people I love like they’re disposable!”  

“Oh?” he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “You think you’re so much better than me? You’re the one who keeps coming back. So what does that make you, huh?”  

The room was thick with tension, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he muttered under his breath, “Pathetic.”  

Your blood boiled. “What did you just say?”  

“You heard me,” he said, his tone dripping with venom.  

“Fuck you, Darren!” you screamed, shoving him hard against the chest.  

His expression darkened. “You don’t get to do that,” he snarled.  

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and pushed you away. The force of it sent you stumbling back, and you hit the edge of the dresser, pain shooting up your arm as you fell to the floor.  

“Wait, I…” His face shifted, panic flickering in his eyes. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched.  

You scrambled to your feet, holding your arm where it throbbed. “You know what? I’m done.” Your voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “I’m done, Darren.”  

“Wait—”  

“No!” you shouted, cutting him off. “Go fuck yourself!”  

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Don’t let us go. We had something special. You know that.”  

You stared at him, disbelief flooding your chest. Then you laughed—a cruel, hollow sound. “If you thought this was anything more than sex, then you’re the fucking idiot.”  

He opened his mouth to argue, but you were already grabbing your stiletto boots from the floor.  

“We can make it work,” he said desperately, following you as you stormed out of his apartment.  

“Make it work?” you echoed, spinning around to face him as you reached his car. “Make it work?” You hefted one of your boots in your hand. “Make this fucking work!”  

Before he could respond, you hurled the boot at his car window. The glass shattered on impact, the sound ringing out like a scream in the still night.  

The car alarm blared, its shrill wailing cutting through the silence. Darren stood frozen, his mouth agape.  

“Shit,” he muttered, rushing toward the car.  

You grabbed your other boot and slung it over your shoulder. “Fix that, asshole!” you yelled as you walked away, the sound of the alarm trailing behind you.  

“Her!” Darren called after you, but you didn’t turn around.  

You kept walking, the cold air biting at your skin, the adrenaline coursing through you keeping you upright. Your arm throbbed where you’d hit it, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t look back.  

You made it about halfway home before the exhaustion hit you like a freight train. Your legs wobbled, and you collapsed onto the curb, cradling your arm as the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over.  

Your phone buzzed weakly in your pocket. Nobara’s name lit up the screen.  

“Where the hell are you?” she demanded as you answered, her voice sharp but tinged with worry.  

You gave her your location, your words slurred with exhaustion and pain. “I can’t— I just can’t walk anymore.”  

“Stay put,” she said firmly. “I’m coming to get you.”  

By the time her car pulled up, you were slumped against a lamppost, your eyes half-closed. Nobara jumped out, wrapping her jacket around your shoulders as she helped you to your feet.  

“What the hell happened?” she asked, her tone softer now.  

You shook your head, too drained to explain. “I’m hungry. I’ll tell you later.”  

“Let’s stop and get you something to eat,” She didn’t press further, guiding you into the car. As the city lights blurred past, you stared out the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a bad dream.  

The car was warm, the quiet hum of the heater and the golden glow of streetlights spilling through the windshield easing the tension in your chest. You cradled your injured arm as Nobara maneuvered through the drive-thru, shooting you occasional glances.  

“You want the usual?” she asked as she pulled up to the intercom.  

“Yeah. Large fries, nuggets, and a Coke,” you murmured, leaning your head back against the seat.  

She placed the order, and soon you were pulling into a parking spot under the dim glow of the lot’s overhead lights. The smell of greasy goodness filled the car as she handed you the bag, cracking open a box of nuggets for herself.  

“So,” she said, dipping a nugget into a cup of barbecue sauce. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened back there, or do I just have to assume you went full-on ‘Carrie’ at prom?”  

You snorted, the first genuine laugh you’d had all night. “Something like that.”  

“Well, shit.” She popped the nugget into her mouth. “Guess I missed a show.”  

You sighed, staring at the fries in your lap. “It’s over. For real this time.”  

“Good,” Nobara said firmly. “That guy was a walking red flag.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Speaking of red flags…” You smirked as an idea popped into your head. “You’ll never believe what happened at work today.”  

Her eyes narrowed as she dunked another nugget. “Oh, this should be good. Spill.”  

You leaned back, a grin playing on your lips. “I got booked for a private room.”  

Nobara froze mid-bite. “I thought you didn’t do those?”  

“I don’t,” you said, shrugging. “But they offered me a shit ton of money. Guess who it was.”  

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Who?”  

You couldn’t help but draw it out for dramatic effect. “Your teacher.”  

Her jaw dropped, and the nugget in her hand fell back into the box. “No way, Bitch.”  

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face.  

“What did he want? Is he, like, a total pervert or something?”  

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, actually. He just wanted someone to talk to.”  

Nobara blinked, clearly baffled. “Huh.”  

“I know, right?” you said, grabbing a nugget. “Easiest money I’ve ever made.”  

“Damn,” she muttered, chewing thoughtfully. “I never took him as the emotional type.”  

“Don’t go telling your friends, though,” you warned, wagging a finger at her. “He told me some pretty heavy shit.”  

Nobara tensed, her expression flickering with something you didn’t catch as you reached for your Coke. “Like what?”  

You laughed, shaking your head. “Like hell if I’d tell you.”  

“Oh, come on!” she said, pouting dramatically. “I won’t tell anyone!”  

You smirked, leaning back in your seat. “I’m not risking it. Client confidentiality or whatever.”  

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” she groaned, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.  

You both sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the car filled with the sound of crinkling wrappers and occasional laughter.  

“Hey,” Nobara said suddenly, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “You’re okay, right?”  

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I will be.”  

She smiled, a small, genuine one. “Good. ‘Cause if you ever go back to that asshole, I’m slashing his tires.”  

You laughed, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Deal.”  

As you both dug into the last of the nuggets, the weight of the night seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of greasy food and a friend who always had your back.

a/n: and there she is! my first update in like a year lol. lmk what you thought! tell me what you would like to see in the story, who knows, i might be able to incorporate it in! Thank you all for your lovely comments. I loveee reading them.

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. I can't find the artist, but if you know them pls dm for credits!!! please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @ynjimenez , @soraya-daydreams , @nonksity , @hinata7346 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @sad-darksoul , @sasuke-slut , @yuunie135 , @bratkuna , @aydene , @mshope16 , @pretentiousteentrash , @galactict3a , @kokos-property , @moonriseoverkyoto , @lyn-soso , @arilostie , @violetmatcha , @markleeisdabestdrug , @erensdior , @hp-simp505 , @fushiguro-kyuuuuuu , @bontensbabygirl , @switch-godess , @honey-yuh , @ddotsie

wanna join the taglist? | my kinda love; chapter index

[aradassbadass]

cellular sentiment | ceedee lamb ꨄ iv

‘& shii took everything not to give yo lil ass exactly what you wanted. now call me and lemme see hear it forreal’

you stared at the message stomach in knots. part of you wanted to be excited knowing that it was something in him that yearned for you just as you did him, but the nervousness overpowered that feeling entirely.

you throw your phone on the bed in frustration.

he wants me- or at least it sounds like he does. what if its just a joke. no he’s grown and this isnt high school anymore guys dont just flirt with you as a dare anymore. but guys like him, guys that can have anybody they want, usually tend not to go for somebody whose status isnt similar to their own.

falling back onto the pillows your towel falls off of you leaving your bare body exposed to the air. nipples going frigid and you glance down at yourself- something you often try to avoid. you grab at the pudge of your stomach and sigh.

these moments tended to happen where youd find yourself being overly cautious about your body. usually itd be when you were shopping for clothes seeing as to how you didnt find yourself in a lot of situations that pertained men. you didnt seek out relationships, you never had, and whether it was due to your intense schedule or your subconscious fear of rejection you didnt take much time pondering on it. this for some reason really bothered you.

your phone began to vibrate throwing your train of thought out of the window. you stare at it as it rings body stiff and unmoving.

i cant do this right now.

declining the phone you turn on do not disturb.

you know ignoring the situation wont make it go away entirely but hopefully this will deter it for now.

ꨄ

it had been 5 days since you had last talked to cedarian and you would be lying if you said this little escapade didnt hurt. a sea of emotion still clouded your better judgement but you knew you couldnt keep it up much longer.

the calls & messages from him did not cease after that night. he felt bad that much you could tell and it made you feel ten times worse.

im sorry i shouldnt have said that

can u please answer

i shouldnt have said that

fuck please answer i js wanna talk

answer me please

im sorry goodnight

hey js got out of practice i hope you have a good day at work im sorry again for ts

please answer me

hello

goodnight im so sorry

every single message from monday on was akin to one another. you wanted to respond but you felt bad for all the time you didnt so you continued till ignore him or that was until now.

you sat in your car outside of your house as the phone rang on carplay. you groaned and hit the wheel in frustration- not at cee but at your childish antics. you sighed and clicked the green button on the screen heart thumping as you did.

the other end of the line was silent at first then came the rasp of the voice you missed so much.

“hey.” a word so simple yet it felt so loaded with emotion.

“hi.” you say in response, internally kicking yourself.

“i-i um i dont know where to begin- im sorry for what i said. it was inappropriate- really inappropriate for our friendship and i-i dont know why i even sent that. fuck im sorry these few days have been hell without talking to you.” he says voice laced with emotions- sadness and regret being the most prominent.

it tugs at your heart strings and you feel worse than you did before seeing how you made him feel. “cee, you dont have to apologize. none of this is your fault. i freaked out when i read the message and started over analyzing shit because i couldnt process my own feelings towards the situation. fuck, im sorry none of this is your fault thought.”

the other side of the line is quiet and if not for the screen still displaying his contact you would have thought he hung up.

“over analyzing what?” he quizzes and you could all but picture him somewhere eyes wondering as he chews on his bottom lip.

“the fact that you could feel even remotely attracted to me. you are you and well im just me. i-i dont know cedarian i just kept thinking someone like him- someone who has the world at their disposal could even feel something as meaningful as desire or anything towards someone like me. it just made me relive all the times i was asked out as a dare or some stupid joke. i really do like you cedarian, you are one of the only people i still have with me and i-it all felt too good too be true to think that you actually liked me too.” you say the last part quietly.

the line is quiet again and you suddenly feel stupid. “see, i knew it was too good to be real.“ you say voice shaky as tears spill from your eyes.

“what, no, no. stop crying please god stop crying i feel the same way about you. no cruel jokes or anything. you dont see yourself like i do- you are beyond beautiful.” he says words beginning to soothe the ache of your heart.

“ you dont understand how your voice is my favorite thing to hear after a game- win or loss. you dont see how when im on long flights home i go through the album of screenshots i have of just of you. you dont even know how good it felt to finally hold you in my arms after wanting to do that for so fucking long. when i say it took every ounce of self restraint i had to just hold you and nothing more when i heard you call out for me i meant that. i dont ever want you to have to want for anything as long as there is breathe in me because you deserve everything.”

hearing this your heart skips a beat. you feel an immense sense of relief at the words and a new found yearning for him, something just short of primal.

“cee,” you say voice barely above a whisper.

“just say the words baby.”

“i need you.”

[compress1repress]

patrick loses a bet w art and ends up wearing a cute lil tennis skirt for a practice match, but it backfires horribly bc patrick is feeling his oats and art cant fucking focus for shit. like hes WHITE KNUCKLING the racket

"patrick. please stop"

"what? this is so breathable i should wear this every time 😋"

[the most deliriously horny hes ever been in his life] "please for the love of god STOP"

tashi walks by appreciatively and is like hey zweig. good form [nice ass]. maybe it gives her ideas and she goes online lingerie shopping. idk i just think his thighs would look good in garters. smudge some eyeliner on him while youre there idk. im just spitballin here boss

Woah. Clearly this got to me bc i received this five days ago and now I've written a 12k word fic that is only a part one. Like this doesn't even get into the eyeliner and garters of it all yet. I took some liberties but hopefully got the essentials :D hope it's okay!!

thank you for this ask <3 the part 2 will be started soon

-> AO3 VERSION -> PART TWO

cw: nsfw, mdni, i think you can tell from the ask what might come up, just general filth, light feminisation, 12k word count

im sure I'll have more to say tomorrow but for now here it is:

“She won’t be back until this evening,” Art calls out to Patrick after hanging up the phone.

“Why not?” Patrick’s laid flat on his back along the length of the couch, taking up a very unnecessary amount of space.

“Lily wanted to sleep over so Tashi’s going to stay for dinner before she comes back,” he explains, joining Patrick in the sitting room.

Tashi had taken Lily to her cousin’s, she had two children, one Lily’s age and one a little older. Usually Art would go too, and he’d sometimes have to play with Lily because she got too shy. They’d send her off with the other kids but she’d come back ten minutes later, pulling at Art’s sleeve and he couldn’t say no. That’s probably why Tashi had even agreed to this last minute sleepover, it’s a pretty big deal that Lily actually wanted to stay over. It’s also why she’s staying for dinner, just in case Lily changes her mind.

Art hadn’t gone because Uniqlo was sending over some outfits for their brand deal, and he had to sign for the delivery. That was the reasoning they gave Patrick at least. Really it was because it felt strange leaving him in their house alone, not because they didn’t trust him there.

They couldn’t exactly drag Patrick along with them to every event, they knew that, and he must know that too, but every time he’s left alone for a while he gets weird. He gets sad. Art and Tashi don’t explicitly talk about it, but there’s a shared understanding between them.

“So, we’ve got like four hours of an empty house?” Patrick muses, clearly trying very hard to keep his face neutral. 

“We’re not fucking,” Art smiles down at him.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” Patrick tries but Art raises an eyebrow at him, “alright, why not?”

“Tashi said so,” and she’d been very clear on the phone to Art about it.

“Okay, no fucking,” Patrick nods, a smirk growing on his face, “but she didn’t say anything a-”

“No blowjobs, no hand stuff, and no touching under clothes,” Art cuts him off, moving to sit on the armchair since Patrick is taking up all the space on the couch.

“Well, we don’t have to take our clothes off to have a good time,” Patrick sits up, looking at Art with a hopeful grin.

“No dry humping either,” Art can’t help but snort at the disappointment on his face.

“Jesus, she really thought this through,” he flops back down, sighing, a look of both frustration and admiration on his face. 

“I think she just knows that you’ll be trying to find any possible loophole,” Art snorts, and he can tell Patrick is still brainstorming solutions, “c’mon, she just wants us to wait until she gets back.”

“Fine,” Patrick relents, “but if I do come up with an ingenious loophole, we’re taking it.”

If Art’s being honest he had also hoped Patrick would find a way around it, then he could probably get off now and just blame it on Patrick later. That way Tashi would probably punish Patrick and he’d get to fuck her while Patrick watches.

Instead he decides to exercise some restraint, because he wants to be good for Tashi. It’s not like she was being mean, she just didn't want them to use up all their energy before she got home. Plus, he’s not that manipulative, not all the time. 

Although, really, if he knew for a fact that Tashi would believe that it wasn’t his fault, he’d start riling Patrick up now, get him to think he was the one seducing Art into breaking rules. 

Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure both Tashi and Patrick would see right through him. 

“Sure, but how about we just watch a movie for now?” Art suggests.

“Yeah, alright, movie mashup?” Patrick asks.

It’s this thing they used to do when they were young, a tradition that had come back now they lived together again. If they wanted to watch a movie they’d both just name the first one that came to mind then try to find a middle ground between the two. It was their way of assuring they didn’t have a fight because technically they’d both equally chosen the movie. Some days it worked better than others, and occasionally they named the same film anyway. 

Although, once when they were fourteen, Art had picked A Bug’s Life while Patrick had wanted Weird Science; they decided The Fly sounded like a mashup of the two (insects + eighties science? They never said the method was flawless), which ended up being a little traumatising. Art still has a slight fear of fingernails.  

“Okay, I’ll count down,” Art waits for Patrick’s nod, “3…2…1…”

Art says, “E.T.” at the same time Patrick yells, “Sharknado.”

“Sharknado?” Art questions through a laugh.

“It’s fun,” Patrick defends.

“What’s the mashup, then?” Art asks.

It only takes a few seconds, because they had so much practice, and because this one is easy. Spielberg and sharks, duh.

They smile at each other, both getting it at the same time, “Jaws.”

“That might be the most satisfying mashup yet,” Patrick grins, “but are you sure it’s not too scary?”

“We’ve both seen it before,” Art rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should sit as close as possible, just in case,” Patrick is so obvious.

“Patrick, we’re not fucking,” he warns, again half-wanting Patrick to keep pushing. 

“Fine,” he groans, “just innocent cuddling then, for old time’s sake?”

He guesses that is what they used to do on movie mashup nights, pressed up against each other in one of their single beds. Sometimes one of them would have an arm around the other, because it was comfier that way, and neither of them ever really thought twice about it. It was hardly the height of their physical affection with each other, they’d done more on tennis courts in front of everyone.

Art hasn’t answered so Patrick adds, “seriously, I don’t have a sexual ulterior motive.”

“I know, but now I have a feeling you’re trying to lure me out of the comfy armchair so you can take it for yourself,” Art’s lying, he just wants to see what Patrick will do.

“You’re so cynical,” he gets up walking over, “guess we’ll just have to share.”

“You won’t fit,” Art shakes his head, letting him try anyway.

Patrick attempts to sit in Art's lap but he’s so tall, and the armchair is pretty small. He sits on one of Art’s thighs, his legs curled up the best they can.

“There we go,” Patrick reaches an arm around the back of the chair to keep himself steady. 

“You do realise your entire body weight is on my left leg,” Art complains.

“You want a more even weight distribution? I can do that,” he shuffles, bringing himself to sit directly on his lap, his back against Art’s chest.

Art’s hands immediately wrap around Patrick's torso without even thinking, “I’m not watching this entire movie with your ass directly on my dick.”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t control yourself,” Patrick shrugs, not so subtly pressing himself further against Art.

“I’m not worried about myself,” he bites lightly at Patrick’s shoulder, “but also, I won’t be able to see the screen with you sitting like this.”

“Okay, final offer,” Patrick moves again, attempting to find a position that is less compromising and also doesn’t involve crushing Art with his body weight.

Patrick's legs now hang uncomfortably over the edge of the chair, and when he tries to adjust by resting his feet on the arm, he practically knees Art in the face. 

"Maybe if I try the other side," Patrick shuffles again, on his way to switch sides, he swings one leg over Art's thighs, facing him as he straddles him.

"This isn't working," Art grabs Patrick's waist to hold him there, "your legs are too fucking long." 

Patrick can't hide his grin at the position they're in but he tilts his head towards the couch, "yeah, we're gonna need a bigger boat."

Art laughs, "you know that's one of those misquotes, like it's actually 'you're gonna need a bigger boat' not we're."

"Who fucking cares," Patrick teases, "and if you're going to correct me, you should at least be right."

"It's true," Art says with a little more passion than necessary.

"No, you're thinking of the Star Wars quote," Patrick's also getting genuinely into it, "where Darth Vader doesn't actually say Luke, I am your father or whatever."

"Yeah, that's another famous misquote, doesn't mean I'm wrong about the Jaws one," Art's hands squeeze tighter.

"Alright, let's bet on it," Patrick suggests.

"I'm not betting about a stupid movie quote," Art snorts. 

"Because you know you're wrong," Patrick's got this smug look on his face that always works on Art.

"Fine, I bet you $100 that it's you're not we're," he shrugs.

"I'm not betting $100 dollars."

"Exactly, because you know that you're wrong," Art grins, satisfied. 

"No, I'm not betting that because it's got no stakes for you," Patrick explains, then leans in a little closer "and it's boring." 

It successfully pisses Art off enough that he needs to prove a point. He can be creative and interesting.

Suddenly it hits him. 

"Give me a second," Art's reaching his hands around Patrick at his thighs, one hand below his ass and the other at the small of his back, standing up bringing Patrick up with him. 

He briefly lifts him up, turning around and then depositing Patrick back onto the armchair where he lands with a bounce.

Art watches the way his legs slightly spread as Patrick looks up at him, his eyes a little darker.

"What are you looking at?" Art asks, acting like he has no idea.

"Nothing," Patrick regains composure, smiling, "stop stalling. What's the bet?"

“I have the perfect thing,” Art walks to the corner of the room, where an opened package rests, “you know that delivery I signed for?”

“Yeah?” Patrick confirms, curious.

It was the Uniqlo delivery he had signed for earlier, and whether it was because they had just sent the whole new line, or if it had been intended for Tashi he wasn’t sure, but part of the order had been a tennis skirt. It was too big for Tashi, and not her style either way so he wasn’t sure what to do with it - until now.

“This came in it,” he holds up the skirt, it’s white and pleated so it flares out slightly, a tasteful logo embroidered at the hem.

“A skirt,” Patrick sits up, clearly Art’s got his attention, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that the loser has to wear this skirt while we play some tennis,” Art watches Patrick grin in response, he examines the skirt, “looks about your size.”

“Really, I think it’s more your size,” Patrick seems thoroughly amused, walking over to Art with a hand outstretched, “so, loser has to wear this the whole time, one set?”

Art shakes his hand, “deal.”

“Honestly, Art, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that,” Patrick points to the skirt.

“I don’t have to worry, because I am 100% certain that I’m right,” Art is actually probably 90% sure at this point, but no way is he backing down from a chance to get one over on Patrick.

“Alright, pull up the clip and prepare to eat your words,” Patrick grins, eager. 

They use Art’s phone, eyes glued to the little screen, skipping to the crucial moment. They watch him, terrified look, cigarette in mouth, turn to captain Quint and then: ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat.’

“Fuck off,” Patrick knocks Art’s phone out of his hand, but Art doesn’t even care. Victory feels so sweet. 

Art musters up all the condescension he can, smiling at Patrick, “honestly, Patrick, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that.”

Patrick just flops down onto the couch groaning.

Art laughs again, “what do you think you’re doing? We’ve got tennis to play.”

Patrick looks up at him, eyebrows raised, “what? Right now?”

“When else are we going to have a free house?” Art shrugs.

"Fine," he gets up again, "bet I'll still beat you anyway."

"Not sure you're in a position to be making any more bets," Art grins

They both get changed, Art lets Patrick get dressed in the bathroom, joking about ‘giving him some privacy’. Patrick goes reluctantly, but he doesn’t complain, one thing about Patrick is he’s very loyal to the rules of a bet. Art is having too much fun, it’s maybe a little childish but it’s leftover from when Patrick would always win these type of things, so he thinks he’s allowed to gloat just a little. Patrick would be doing the same in his position. 

Art waits for him by the back door, both of their rackets in hand, eager to get going. When Patrick emerges, Art doesn’t even look, not properly, all he can concentrate on is teasing Patrick. 

“It’s actually pretty comfortable,” Patrick comments.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll get a nice breeze,” Art just jokes back, “c’mon.”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for Patrick to go out first.

Patrick slips past him out the door, snorting and grabbing the racket from Art’s hand on the way, “chivalry isn’t dead.”

“I pride myself on being a gentleman,” Art watches Patrick give an uneven curtsy.

“Or maybe you want to walk behind so you can look at my ass,” Patrick calls over his shoulder, walking towards the courts.

Art chuckles again but once Patrick has fully turned around and he’s not focusing on being as smug as possible about winning the bet, he finally actually looks. At first he just notices how mismatched the outfit is, the black sleeveless top not going at all with the white of the skirt.

Once his eyes reach the skirt though, he can’t stop looking. It’s something about the way the hem brushes against the back of his thighs, just barely long enough to keep everything covered. If there was a gust of wind or if Patrick bent over, even a little, he would probably be exposed. Something swirls in Art’s stomach.

Nope. This is not going to be a thing. It’s just because he knows they’re not supposed to fuck, and anything forbidden becomes instantly hotter. Or maybe it’s a power thing. Yeah. He’s just getting horny over Patrick losing a bet and being forced to do what Art said. Still, to be careful he avoids looking the rest of the walk down.

He’s concentrating so much on not thinking about it that once they get to the courts he obviously doesn’t hear Patrick asking him a question.

“Hello, Earth to Art,” Patrick’s waving his racket, then smirking, “anything in particular making you so distracted?” 

“Nothing, I was just wondering if I should take pity on you,” Art keeps his eyes firmly at Patrick’s face, “how about we just do one game instead?”

Patrick looks at him suspiciously, “oh no, a deal’s a deal, I’ll play the whole set.”

“It’s your funeral,” Art shrugs, mustering up the best performance he can but Patrick is still eyeing him. He forgot how good Patrick is at reading him. It’s really fucking annoying.

Art serves first which should be good because he plays better that way and his serve is a strong point. His first serve is strong, and Patrick has to move quick to hit it back, lunging sideways to reach it. The movement makes the muscles in his thighs tense, fully on show for Art to see.

“0:15,” Patrick calls out. 

Art has entirely missed his return. It’s so stupid and it doesn’t even make sense. He’s seen Patrick’s thighs before. He’s literally seen him naked. He’s always worn shorts whilst playing, often incredibly tiny shorts that showed just as much skin as this, and sure the sight of it sometimes turned Art on but never like this. 

It’s just new, that’s why, he hasn’t seen Patrick in this before so it’s a little distracting that’s all. It’s fine. This is meant to be Patrick’s punishment for losing.

Art ignores Patrick, just focusing on the ball in his hand and the service box. It works, he hits the ball hard and fast into the top left of the box and Patrick tries and fails to hit back. 

“Shit,” Patrick grumbles, swinging his racket in annoyance. He does a quick turn to head back to baseline and the speed makes the fabric of the skirt float up a little. What the fuck is that?

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he can’t help but yell.

“Um, do you have amnesia or something?” Patrick calls back.

“I don’t mean the skirt, I mean,” he gestures with his racket, “what’s underneath it?”

“Oh, yeah, well my boxers were longer than the skirt so I thought I’d just borrow some of your panties instead,” Patrick sways his hips, “much more fitting, don’t you think?”

“They’re not panties, they’re briefs,” he defends, “and you can’t just steal my underwear.”

He doesn’t care about that, he’s just mad about how much it’s getting to him and it’s not like he can yell at Patrick for being too fucking hot right now. No, that would give Patrick too much satisfaction. But really, it’s unfair. The skirt and now the underwear, Art’s underwear that look even tinier when Patrick’s wearing them.

“It’s not stealing, it’s sharing. We already share a toothbrush so I figured it wouldn’t matter,” Patrick shrugs.

“We don’t share a toothbrush,” he snaps but then Patrick’s got this amused look on his face, he’s messing with him, “fuck off.”

“Hey, if it bothers you this much I can always just take the underwear off,” Patrick suggests.

“No,” Art replies quickly, because he wants him to keep wearing the underwear or because he’s scared about what would happen to him if Patrick was fully naked under the skirt, “let’s just keep playing.”

They do keep playing, and Art loses the first game, badly. 15:40. He just can’t focus. His eyes drawn to Patrick, the way the skirt fits, the hem at his legs. This delicate floaty material, and the thick expanse of his thighs, the dark hair against the white of the skirt. He keeps looking, making sure that he’s still covered whilst also desperately hoping to get another glimpse underneath. The game is both slow torture and incredibly quick, he’s not sure he’s ever lost one so fast. 

It’s Patrick’s turn to serve now, which is even worse. He throws the ball too high so he has to jump to hit it, which is definitely on purpose. It makes the skirt float up, revealing the tight black underwear again, the bulge definitely bigger now, the fabric straining more. Or maybe Art’s just projecting. Either way he can’t react in time. 15:0.

“Art, you do know you’re supposed to hit the ball back, right?” Patrick mocks, “have you forgotten how to play or is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just tired,” Art gets back into ready position, “probably getting bored because you’re taking so long to serve.”

Patrick grins especially wide and Art gets the sense that he’s messed up, only encouraging Patrick further. 

Patrick throws the ball up to serve, but ‘accidentally’ throws it backwards so it lands behind him, rolling to the back of the court, “oops, I better go pick that up.”

For his own sanity Art should look away but he’s not thinking clearly anymore, just watching Patrick reach for the ball. As he bends over the hem rises, first just brushing lightly, exposing a few more inches of skin. Then a brief moment when he fully bends over that Art can see his entire ass, his own underwear against Patrick’s skin.

This is the problem, it’s the perfect in between. Showing enough skin that Art can’t help but be turned on, but also covered enough that Art has to use his imagination. Imagining standing behind him right now, Patrick trying to pull the material back over himself but Art would push it back up, ripping down the underwear and just fucking into him. 

“I hope I didn’t show too much, I’d be so embarrassed if you saw my ass just now,” Patrick’s laughing, and Art hadn’t even realised he was stood up again.

“I wasn’t looking,” Art insists and it just makes Patrick chuckle harder.

“Nice grip,” Patrick comments, looking at Art’s hands.

Art looks down himself, both hands on his racket, gripping so tight his knuckles have gone white. He loosens the grip, has to actually shake his hands with how stiff they are from holding that tight.

“Just serve,” Art orders, and Patrick does.

Art loses this game even worse. 40:0. Not a single point. 

Patrick tries to serve again, “it’s my fucking serve,” Art snaps, not wanting anything to prolong this stupid bet any longer than necessary. Maybe he should just give up, lose on purpose so it can just be over. 

“Oh, my bad, that game was so quick I didn’t realise I’d already won,” Patrick knows exactly what to say to keep Art playing, there’s no way he’s throwing a game against Patrick. 

Art tells himself that he’s going to play better this game, and he actually manages another point before he loses his concentration again. 

Patrick’s prancing around, enjoying himself too much, talking about how he has “so much more movement in this skirt,” or how it’s just “so breathable.”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be humiliating for Patrick. It should be him embarrassed, and distracted while Art won the set with ease. Patrick unable to hit back, spending the game self-consciously pulling the skirt down and begging Art to take mercy. 

Instead, Art’s the one stood all flushed and embarrassingly hard, unable to get more than a couple points. It’s 15:40, and Art’s just hit his first serve into the net. If he misses his second, Patrick will win yet another game.

Patrick is swaying his hips, twisting side to side so the skirt flies up a little, “honestly, I don’t know how people who wear skirts don’t spend the whole time twirling around.”

“I need to serve,” Art tries to say but Patrick either doesn’t hear or just ignores him.

“This is so great, only downside is I can’t tie my shoelaces without giving everyone a show,” he starts to bend down, as if testing out how much he can without the entire skirt riding up.

The side profile is just as bad as being behind, the skirt slowly slipping up, showing more and more of the meat of Patrick’s thigh. Before it can get any higher, Art cuts in.

“Patrick,” he’s aiming for stern but it comes out all pleading, a borderline whine as if begging him to stop. 

“Problem?” Patrick is so pleased with himself, but he stops bending over.

“Just get into position,” he just about manages to not add a please to it.

“Which position would you like?” Patrick asks, dripping his words in suggestiveness. 

It’s so stupid and so completely the opposite of subtle, even for Patrick’s standards, but it’s like opening Pandora’s box. Like giving permission for his imagination to run wild. 

Art can’t take it, all these thoughts rushing to flood his brain. He wants Patrick on his knees, skirt fanning out all pretty across his thighs, eyes all glassy as Art fucks into his mouth. He’d stroke at Patrick’s curls, he’d swipe a thumb under his eye collecting the tears that form when Art pushes down his throat and he starts gagging. Art smiling down at him repeating, ‘it’s okay, I know you can take it’.

Maybe he’ll order Patrick to bend over, hands on the net, and Patrick will be so smug about getting him to finally crack until Art spanks him with his racket, wiping that smirk off his face. The black of Art’s underwear on him, the white of the skirt pushed up, then the pink of his ass. The visual makes him a little dizzy.

Fuck, he could sit in the chair on the sidelines, have Patrick in his lap like earlier. Art would pull himself out of his shorts, push Patrick’s underwear to the side and split Patrick open on his dick. Art would keep a tight arm around him, Patrick’s back pressed tight to Art’s front, holding him up straight as Patrick’s body goes weak with pleasure. 

He wouldn’t even fuck him, not properly, he’d just keep him held there, tight and warm around him. The skirt would drape over them both, covering it all, so they could pretend like Patrick was just innocently sitting on his lap. Only they would know that Art’s cock was actually inside him, pressing up against that bundle of nerves. It wouldn’t fool Tashi, not for a second, but maybe she’d get so horny she’d forgive them for breaking her rules.

Or, most humiliating is the way Art kind of just wants to push him down on his back and kiss him all over. Especially his legs. He wants to lick all the way up them, he wants to bite at his thighs, he wants to savor it all. Because Patrick always pisses him off, and Art often gets the urge to shove him down and teach him a lesson. He’s still pissed off now, but this time he’s got this need to make him feel good. Make him moan all pretty as Art shows off his skills, and Patrick’s thighs would be right on either side of his head. 

It’s the least filthy idea he’s had this whole time and yet it feels the most embarrassing. This thought swirling in his head where he’s not even thinking about getting himself off. Not right away at least. Just focusing on having Patrick, skirt and all, underneath him, pink all over from pleasure and Art’s the one making him feel that good. 

Art’s at his breaking point, he doesn’t care if Patrick is actually ready, physically can’t look at him to check, instead he just serves. The energy thrumming throughout him makes him hit too hard, the ball soars past the service box and Art loses the third game.

“Double fault,” Patrick calls out, overjoyed, “I guess you are tired? Maybe we should take a break?”

“Perfect,” Art mumbles out, making a beeline for one of the chairs at the sidelines.

He slumps down, taking a sip of water and staring straight ahead. He’s aware of Patrick moving next to him but he doesn’t turn, not until he feels Patrick get to the floor out of the corner of his eyes. He’s too curious, and when he looks he sees that Patrick is on all fours. Of course he is.

Instead of sitting on his chair like he’s supposed to, Patrick’s on his hands and knees reaching underneath it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Art has to ask.

“Can’t find my water bottle,” Patrick reaches further under the chair, his back arching making his ass stick out further, skirt riding up. Art’s jaw clenches.

He’s pretty sure Patrick hadn’t even brought a water bottle, and either way, they can both clearly see that there is absolutely nothing under that chair. He can’t even bring himself to yell all this at Patrick.

“Just, take mine,” he snaps, holding it out, “and stop fucking doing that.”

“Thanks, I’m really thirsty,” he gets off all fours, leaning back to rest on his knees instead as he takes the bottle from Art. 

Art doesn’t know if this position is better or worse than the last. Patrick tilts his head back, holding the water bottle above himself and squirting it into his mouth. Art watches the movement of his throat as he swallows, and the way some of the water misses his open mouth, dripping past his lips and down his neck. Worse. Definitely worse.

“Can you just sit normally,” Art watches Patrick put down the bottle and start to change position, but Art dreads what would be next so he changes his order, “or actually, how about you don’t sit on the floor at all?”

Art had meant for Patrick to go sit on his own chair, so that Art can just stare ahead and not think about him, and then maybe he can actually calm down. That’s what Art had intended, so of course that’s not what Patrick does.

"Fine, I should stretch anyway," he gets up, walking over to Art and putting a foot up on his chair.

"Patrick," he warns, his hands clenched tight at his sides, trying to ignore how close Patrick’s thigh is to his face.

"I need to put my foot somewhere sturdy," he shrugs, "my hamstrings get tight if I don't stretch." 

"Nobody has ever stretched like that," Art's words are lost on Patrick, who ignores them, lunging deeper.

The expanse of his thigh is right next to him, Art’s practically drooling, he wants to get a mouth on him so badly, to just bite at his flesh. He can’t be the one to actually give in, he doesn’t want to give Patrick the satisfaction and he needs to be able to shift the blame for breaking Tashi’s rules.

From this angle it would be so easy to slip a hand up the skirt, feel at Patrick’s crotch, see if he’s as hard as Art is. 

Speaking of that, Patrick looks down, “Jesus, no wonder you were playing so bad, that thing looks painful,” he eyes the way Art’s dick strains in his shorts, “I could help with that.”

“You need to stop,” Art’s hanging onto his last threads of restraint.

“That’s another thing about this skirt, it’s great for hiding a boner,” Patrick removes his leg and Art, foolishly, thinks he might actually be relenting.

Instead he returns, this time a knee on either side of Art’s thighs, straddling him. He sits up, hovering above Art's crotch, nothing actually touching Art’s dick yet.

“No grinding, remember,” Art reminds Patrick, so that he can tell Tashi, ‘I told him the rules, he just didn’t care’.

“I’m not,” Patrick says, but he lowers himself so that their crotches are now definitely pressed together.

Art’s hands snap up to grab his waist, holding him still, “don’t.”

“I’m just helping you cover up, look,” he tilts his head down, his skirt draped across both their laps, “perfectly innocent now. Nobody would know any different unless…”

Patrick trails off, his hand reaching for the hem, slowly dragging the fabric of the skirt upwards. It reveals that underneath Patrick definitely is just as hard as Art is, both of them pressed up together.

“Considering breaking any rules yet?” Patrick teases and Art is officially finished.

He moves one hand to the back of Patrick’s upper thigh, just below his ass, and the other to his lower back. Standing up, he once again lifts Patrick with him, and his legs instinctively wrap around Art’s waist. 

“Where are we going?” he asks into Art’s ear.

The answer is: not very far. Art is beyond desperate, he makes it a few steps before lowering Patrick down onto the court on his back. Art drapes himself on top, hips fitting between Patrick’s open legs. He finally, finally, brings their mouths together, kissing sloppier than usual.

Patrick just follows, happily licking into Art’s mouth, pulling back briefly to ask, “are we allowed to kiss?”

“Yeah, kissing’s fine,” he says into his mouth.

“You could’ve told me that before,” Patrick bites at his lip.

“I knew you’d take advantage,” Art bites back, a hand slipping up the side of Patrick’s thigh, up under the skirt. Fuck. 

“Thought we weren't allowed to touch under clothes?” Patrick asks.

“It’s not like I’m trying to undress you, it’s not my fault if my hand accidentally slips underneath a little,” Art can’t help himself, his hips pressing forwards against Patrick.

“Fair enough,” Patrick chuckles, then adds, “but you definitely said no dry humping.”

“It’s fine as long as we don’t finish,” Art’s making it up as he goes and Patrick nods in agreement, happy to go with however Art wants to bend the rules, as long as he’s the one bending them. Patrick’s pretty much off the hook now and Art can’t even bring himself to care.

He only pulls back when he realises he’s already getting close, and he just said they couldn’t get off like that. It’s fine though, he has other plans. He moves down Patrick’s body, everything speeding up and his mouth is at his knee, licking up and up his leg, stopping before his crotch. He does the same at the other side, then goes for the inner thighs, biting at the flesh. Patrick takes in a sharp inhale.

“Surely that’s not part of the rules,” he comments, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at Art.

“You’re still dressed aren’t you?” Art just raises an eyebrow at him like it’s an obvious point.

“Yeah, I guess it’s fine,” Patrick breathes out.

Art goes further up the thigh, his head now underneath Patrick’s skirt, those thighs either side of his ears. Exactly where he wanted to be. The fabric covers him so that Patrick can’t see when Art suddenly licks a stripe up his dick, over his underwear. 

Patrick gasps, “fuck,” then, “what about the no blowjobs rule?”

“It’s not a blowjob. As long as it’s through the underwear, technically my mouth isn’t actually touching you,” Art reasons, and it isn’t a particularly sound argument but neither of them care.

“Makes sense to me,” Patrick agrees.

Art licks again and he feels Patrick relax, laying flat against the court again. God, this is fucking ridiculous. His head up Patrick’s skirt, licking him over his (Art’s) briefs, on the fucking tennis court. 

He moves more vigorously, tonguing all over, from his balls up the shaft to the head. He lets himself drool, getting the underwear all wet so it slips against Patrick’s dick even smoother. Patrick’s moaning quietly, shifting his hips, trying to push himself more against Art’s face. He lets Patrick essentially hump his face, keeping up his tonguing movements, occasionally sucking instead.

Then Art sucks at his tip through the material and Patrick gasps again, “shit,” he props himself up, pulling the skirt back to look at Art all desperate, “can’t you just blow me for real?”

 “We’ve been following the rules so well, no point stopping now,” Art smiles.

“I know, but I need something more,” Patrick bargains, “c’mon, what about a little fingering? Just slip in one finger, she’ll never know.”

“She’ll be able to tell if we lie,” Art argues, “so if we behave now, then when she asks if we followed her rules we can say yes, and it will be true.”

Well, truer than if Art actually did suck Patrick off properly. 

“I know, I just-” Patrick cuts himself off with a moan as Art licks at him again.

“We’ve been so good,” Art keeps licking between speaking, “as long as you keep the underwear on it’s fine. You can finish like this, can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick breathes out.

“Shouldn’t even be doing this, I just couldn’t help myself, you looked so good,” Art rambles, “the skirt was driving me fucking crazy.”

“Art, please,” not asking for anything in particular, just wanting more. 

Art starts sucking through the fabric again, close to the head but not quite. Patrick whines, his hips bucking up.

“You need to be good,” Art reminds him, “you can cum like this.”

This time it isn’t a question, it’s an order, and Patrick manages out an “okay.”

Art presses harder with his tongue, swirling it around the most sensitive part. Patrick’s groaning, breathing quickly.

“I’m close,” he gets out, strained.

Art’s about to praise him but he can feel Patrick bringing a hand down, trying to get into his own underwear and touch himself. Art intercepts it, grabbing it and holding it down against the court.

“What happened to being good?” Art asks.

“I’m almost there, I don’t know if I can,” he’s squirming, trying to get friction. 

“You can,” Art assures, sucking again, “tell me you can.”

“I can.” 

Art focuses on licking at the tip again, it has Patrick thrusting up against him uncontrollably, and moaning louder. He switches to sucking, hard, directly at the head and now Patrick whines.

“Fuck, Art, shit,” his hips trying to move away from the intense feeling at the same time they try to press further into it, “I’m so close, I’m there, I’m going to-”

“You gonna cum?” he asks, a little smug, “you gonna be good, and finish in your panties for me?”

“Yes, yeah,” Patrick nods furiously, “for you.”

“Good girl,” spills out of Art, and then he’s bringing the tip back in his mouth. He sucks and swirls his tongue around it, and Patrick is moaning, his hips stuttering as they thrust up in sudden shock and pleasure.

Art feels a wet warmth spread across the fabric as Patrick orgasms. 

He pulls back, observing his work. Patrick's chest rising up and down, quickly. He's flushed all pink, hair sticking to his forehead. He can see the way Patrick's underwear are damp with his own cum and Art's spit. 

The sight is almost enough to make him forget what he just said. Almost. He feels himself turn pink, hot all over. 

"What the fuck," Patrick flings an arm over his face, still breathing heavy, and Art's slightly worried he's crossed some sort of line. 

Then Art watches a smile spread across his face, Patrick peaks out from behind his arm, grinning, "so you admit they're panties?"

Art laughs in relief, "fuck off," then looks Patrick up and down, "they are when you wear them."

He lifts himself up to sit properly, staring at Art's lap, "want me to help you get off?"

Art considers for a second, but if he rambled that embarrassingly just from getting Patrick off, he's scared of what he'd say if he was about to come himself.

"I shouldn't," he decides, "and you should probably shower, get rid of the evidence."

"Why do I need to hide anything, I thought you said this was all above board?" Patrick smirks. 

"It was," Art defends, standing up and reaching a hand out to help Patrick, "but it's not going to look very innocent, that's all."

Patrick takes it, letting Art drag him into a standing position, laughing, "didn't feel very innocent either."

Art shrugs, feeling a little more relaxed now he's at least partially got it out of his system. He's still hard but once he has a cold shower he'll calm down.

They decide to use the shower in the clubhouse next to the court. It's a small building, basically an oversized shed, with a few lockers, a bench, and a smattering of spare tennis equipment. It only has one shower, and they usually just head back to the house to clean up. 

It feels more convenient to use it this time, to get Patrick cleaned up and Art calmed down before they grab all their stuff to head back to the house. 

Patrick tries to lure Art into the shower with him, "it's so much more efficient to do it together, and better for the environment. Do you even care about the polar bears at all?" but Art knows it's a test of temptation that he would definitely fail.

Maybe if he can go without an orgasm he'll be able to twist the blame on Patrick still. If the need arises. Hopefully they can head back to the house and be waiting innocently on the couch when Tashi returns, so neither of them will have to take the blame for anything. 

Patrick hasn't mentioned what Art said, maybe he didn't hear it and Art's certainly not going to ask him about it. 

He sits on the bench, facing away from Patrick showering because he's meant to be calming down. Except now he's thinking about it. Good girl. And Patrick coming right after. Where the fuck did that even come from?

Art had almost finished himself, his hips pressing against the rough of the court. It was kind of humiliating, that he got off on it so much. He hadn't even intended to say it. A familiar combination of shame and arousal swirl together in his stomach.

That fucking skirt. 

He never should've made that bet. 

It's just he didn't anticipate getting so worked up. He can't let Patrick wear that again. He also can't go without it. He got one thing out of his system but his head is still brimming with ideas. 

He's supposed to be calming down but his dick strains as hard as ever against his shorts. Jerking off should be fine right? If he has no contact with Patrick whilst he's doing it? It might be bad for his health to hold it in, Tashi can't be mad at him for caring about his health, right?

Yeah, it makes enough sense in his head that he's already bringing a hand over his crotch, sighing in relief. 

Patrick turns the water off, and Art hears him step out. 

Patrick could always help out as visual aid, as long as he doesn't touch Art. The skirt is still here, and really it's only fair Art gets to cum too. 

"Maybe I should get off," he voices, "it might be suspicious if I'm hornier than you are."

Patrick snorts like he knows it's bullshit, but he indulges nonetheless, "I wish you'd said this before I showered but sure, that sounds right to me. What can I do for you?"

"You can't touch me but maybe I can just look at you?" Art suggests, uncertain, still pressing himself over his shorts. 

"You want me to just stand here while you stare at me and jerk off?" Patrick laughs in amusement, "oh, Art, I'm flattered."

"Not just stand there, I thought maybe you could put it back on?" He asks, hopeful and trying to hide his shame. 

"Put what back on?" Patrick plays dumb.

Art groans, "the fucking skirt, and you know that's what I meant."

Patrick grins, reaching for the skirt where he'd chucked it on the floor unceremoniously.

"Well, I'm not putting those panties back on, so it will have to be commando this time," Patrick tells him, stepping into the skirt and pulling it up, zipping once it's around his waist.

"That's fine, that's, yeah, fine," Art struggles out, rubbing harder at himself and he needs more, "it's fine to touch ourselves, don't you think?"

"You know the rules, you do what feels right," Patrick just shrugs, not giving Art the easy way out. 

He tries to just keep touching himself over the fabric but Patrick is there, only in the skirt and it's setting him alight again. For some reason the skirt feels more scandalous than just staring at him fully naked.

Art finally pulls himself out of his shorts, precum dripping from his neglected dick. Patrick eyes it appreciatively. 

"Should I be posing for you?" Patrick asks, half joking. 

"Stand with your hands against the wall," Art says too quick, knowing exactly what he wants. 

Patrick looks delightfully surprised at how fast he answers, and about how specific he is. He follows the order with a grin, turning to the wall of lockers, resting his hands against them, slightly bent as he sticks his ass out. 

Fuck. That was a bad idea. 

Before his brain catches up, Art finds himself behind Patrick. 

"I'm still not touching," Art reassures, even though Patrick hadn't asked.

He stands an inch behind him, dick in hand, staring at the way the skirt falls over his ass. He strokes himself slowly, trying to keep his distance. God, he wants to push the skirt up and jerk off until he comes all over Patrick's skin and the skirt at the same time. 

He slides his hand up and down his shaft a little faster, “want to cum all over your ass like this.”

Patrick hums, “and that’s allowed?”

“It’s not like we’re doing anything to each other. You’re standing and I’m jerking off, two separate things,” Art explains, “if when I cum, it accidentally lands on you, we can’t blame ourselves. You want it don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes out, “still wish you hadn’t made me shower first.”

“Hmm, you are really clean right now,” Art looks him over, skin still damp from the spray of water.

“And you want to dirty me up again, right?” Patrick teases.

Art does. Badly. He wants to get him all filthy. He also wants something else. Art's mouth is watering again. And Patrick had just showered. He's so clean right now. 

He moves a little closer.

"You just said no touching," he smirks at Art over his shoulder.

"I won't," Art promises, "not with my hands."

He lowers himself to his knees, slowly. 

"What are you doing?" Patrick's breath hitches.

"It's fine, I'm only using my mouth, and you already came so you're not getting off," Art justifies, reaching a hand to push the skirt up.

"Right," Patrick nods, "except you are literally using your hands right now."

"It's fine as long as I'm not touching your dick or fingering you, and you've got the skirt on so you're basically dressed," Art's definitely waffling at this point. 

"I'm starting to think you might not actually understand these rules," Patrick teases, "the excuses are getting real flimsy, dude."

"Who fucking cares?" Art finally gives in, bringing one hand to his own dick as his other goes to Patrick's ass, spreading him open so he can get his tongue at Patrick's rim.

Patrick moans in shock, swearing under his breath. Art swirls his tongue around his hole, jerking himself off at the same time. He doesn't know what it is about the skirt, but it makes him have this crazy urge to get his mouth on Patrick any way he can. Suddenly becoming the hottest thing he can imagine, just pushing the skirt away as he rims Patrick underneath it. 

“Fuck, you never do this,” Patrick sighs.

“Yes, I do,” Art pulls back to reply, a little indignantly. 

“Not like this,” and Patrick’s sort of right.

Art has done this a few times, got his mouth on Patrick’s hole, but usually as a way to tease him. To get Patrick worked up before he fucks him, if he’s feeling like he wants to drag it out. If Tashi wants to make Patrick squirm, she’ll direct Art into it as she touches Patrick everywhere except where he really wants.

This is different. He doesn’t even have a goal in mind. It’s not like Patrick's going to get that desperate since he already finished recently. It’s just Art couldn’t fucking help himself. Without thought he just wanted to sink to his knees and taste him, make Patrick feel good just because. 

“You don’t have to,” Patrick tells him, “might be a while before I finish.”

“I know,” he does, and he doesn’t care, “I just want to, need to.”

He licks fervently, a circle around then presses in with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasps out, not quite hard yet but Art’s sure he’s on his way. 

Art keeps going, tonguing in and out, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. 

“Art,” Patrick is shaky, “I don’t think we can justify this one to Tashi.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Art repeats, giving him a bite to the ass, “she won’t know.”

“I think that’s the wrong answer,” a voice calls out and Art falls backwards trying to move away from Patrick, tucking his dick back in his shorts even though it’s too late.

“Shit,” Patrick removes his hands from the wall, turning to the doorway, “Tashi.”

She’s standing there, hands on hips, looking fucking gorgeous, obviously. She’s got a navy dress on, it’s one of the more casual ones in her collection, it buttons down the front and the hem sits just below the knee. 

“Who’s responsible for all this then?” she glares between them both.

Patrick doesn’t say anything but Art immediately defends, “it was Patrick.”

He turns to look down at Art, “you fucking snake.”

He can’t feel too guilty, it’s not like Patrick had been silent out of loyalty to Art, it’s just that he was never as bothered about defending himself, never really trying that hard to get out of trouble. Often wanting to do the opposite, in fact. 

“Snake, yes,” Tashi speaks slow, looking at Art, “and a fucking liar too.”

“I’m not,” Art tries and it makes Tashi laugh.

“Really, because from where I was standing it seemed like Patrick was the one who had enough sense to think about the rules, even with your tongue in his ass,” Art can see Patrick grin a little at Tashi’s words, “meanwhile, you were the one saying ‘who fucking cares?’”

Shit. Had she been standing there that long?

Art can’t even say anything, just sitting there, boner tenting his shorts still.

“Although, I’m sure he’s not entirely innocent either,” Tashi walks over to Patrick, feeling at the skirt, “why are you wearing this?”

“I lost a bet,” Patrick shrugs at her, amused now that the surprise has worn off.

“Why do I get the feeling that you made a bet that you would purposely lose, because you knew he’d cave seeing you in a skirt?” Tashi says to Patrick.

He smirks, “no, I wish I'd thought of it but this was also all him.”

Tashi for a moment seems impressed, looking at him vaguely proudly before her face shifts back to stern.

“That’s two strikes, Art. You’re not doing very well today, are you?” she tilts her head at him, “what did you think you were going to achieve by intentionally sabotaging yourself?” 

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it would be funny, I didn’t realise it would make me so…” he trails off, “I just wanted to embarrass him.”

“Right, because Patrick is famously easy to embarrass,” she snorts, and she’s absolutely right, he doesn’t know what was going through his head to think that Patrick would actually feel any type of shame from wearing a skirt, “and you seriously thought you wouldn’t get turned on by it? Are you stupid or just lying again?”

Art just ducks his head, face flushed.

Patrick laughs, “I think he was genuinely surprised about how horny he got.”

She looks down at the skirt again, thumbing the fabric, “so, what exactly were the rules for this punishment?”

“Loser has to wear it for one full set,” Patrick informs, letting her play with the material.

“And how far did you get?” Tashi asks, knowing that there was no way they actually managed it.

“Three games before Art was shoving me down on the tennis court and having his way with me,” Patrick grins, and Tashi’s eyes light up too.

She eyes Art again, “so you can’t even follow your own rules, huh?”

Art still doesn’t know what to say other than, “I tried.”

Tashi ignores it, “and you’re telling me that you’d already disobeyed me by fucking before that little scene I walked in on.”

“We didn’t technically fuck,” Patrick starts.

“We were good, we followed the rules,” Art interjects.

Tashi looks to Patrick for confirmation, he nods, “yeah, we were fully clothed, no touching, just his mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure I banned blowjobs,” she raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a blowjob, I had underwear on the whole time,” Patrick smiles wide, “and Art didn’t even cum.”

“Jesus Christ,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, and looks over at Art, “and you still haven’t cum yet?”

He shakes his head and she nods in approval.

“That’s good,” Tashi thinks for a moment, “I think you should both finish the bet.”

“What?” Art asks from the floor.

“A chance for you to redeem yourself, prove that you can stick to your word,” she watches his blank face, “c’mon get up.”

He scrambles up quickly, still uncertain, “are you sure?”

“Yep,” she says, curtly, turning to Patrick, “you get dressed, and then both of you get out there and finish playing the full set.”

Patrick grabs the shirt he’d been wearing earlier, putting it on immediately, “alright.”

Tashi eyes his skirt, “when I say ‘get dressed’, that includes underwear.”

“Well, mine are kind of ruined from earlier,” he looks way too pleased with himself, “I’m happy to go without.”

She shakes her head, biting her lip, “no, you really should wear underwear with a skirt like that.”

Then Tashi does something which makes Art’s entire brain short circuit. She reaches under her dress, pulling down her panties, stepping out of them gracefully as she takes them off. She holds them out to Patrick, “here, you can borrow mine.”

What the fuck.

Art gets at least some satisfaction from the way Patrick seems just as affected as he is, Patrick stumbling on his words, “I, how, what?”

“Go on, you put them on the same as any other pair of underwear,” she’s smiling big, extremely pleased with their reactions, slightly condescending in her tone.

“Are they going to fit?” Art asks, and it feels like his ears are ringing with how dizzy it’s making him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she faces Patrick, “you’ll make it work, yeah?”

He nods at her, still in a slight daze. Taking the pair and stepping into them, he’s not as graceful as Tashi, needing to put an arm against the wall for balance. He manages to get them on but the skirt covers them before Art can get a proper look. 

“Show us,” Art can’t stop himself saying.

“Not yet,” Tashi orders, and Art sighs.

He tries to imagine it. The pair isn’t Tashi’s tiniest or the most lacy in her collection, they’re what she would consider casual, but Art would still call sexy. They’re navy, matching her dress, the front is made of cotton which is a good thing, much more forgiving to stretch over Patrick’s cock. God, he must be straining against it still. The material covering his ass is lace, just about see through. Art can’t fucking do this.

Tashi is walking to the doorway, Patrick following, but Art just stays planted still. 

“Tashi,” he pleads, “I can’t.”

She looks back at him, not giving him any pity, just smiling at him, “you can, and you will.”

In other words: you made your bed, now lie in it.

Standing on the other side of the net from Patrick feels even worse than before. He was already horny beyond belief before even stepping foot on the court and now he’s got Tashi sat on the sidelines watching them both. Patrick seems to have recovered from the shock and is now back to moving around the court like he fucking owns it. Like he’s never felt hotter.

Art feels like he blacks out the entire first game, Patrick is serving and he’s trying to hit back but honestly he’s not sure he’s even on the planet anymore. He keeps getting glimpses of the blue lace under the skirt. It had felt impossible when it was Patrick wearing his briefs, but it being Tashi’s panties is infinitely worse. 

Again he needs to bend Patrick over, push the panties to the side and fuck him. He needs to get under Tashi’s dress and eat her out. He can’t work out the logistics of it, how he can fuck Patrick whilst also having Tashi in his mouth. Maybe if he lays down on his back, Patrick could ride him and Tashi could sit on his face? But then he wouldn’t be able to see Patrick in a skirt falling apart on his dick. He wants and needs and can’t have. 

Patrick in panties. Patrick in Tashi’s clothes. Patrick in lace. Tashi sat with nothing on under her dress. 

He can’t breathe. He needs to be put down.

The score is 40:0, and Patrick’s throwing the ball up to serve.  

Art tries, he really does, he actually manages to hit the ball but it sails right into the net. Patrick wins another game.

“Nice form,” Tashi is calling out at him.

“Thought you hated my serve,” Patrick raises an eyebrow at her.

“I do,” she very obviously rakes her eyes up and down Patrick’s body, biting her lip as part of her performance. It’s a stupid innuendo. Art’s dick twitches.

They both grin at each other. How can they be so playful about this while Art feels like he’s going to bite a hole through his cheek.

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” Patrick points his racket at her in a joking accusation.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, slouching back in the chair, spreading her legs wider, keeping her eyes on Patrick.

“See how she objectifies me,” Patrick’s addressing him, but Art can’t possibly respond, he just stands there looking between them like a deer in the headlights. It makes them both laugh.

“Woah, it really is that bad,” Tashi tilts her head at him in amusement, “it’s your serve, Art.”

He nods, taking a ball from his pocket. He can do this. He clings onto the guise of playing a tennis match like a lifeline. Just think about tennis. Nothing else.

He plays minutely better, but still loses, 30:40 this time. He probably only gets those points because now Patrick’s distracted too, trying to catch a glimpse up Tashi’s dress.

Patrick’s up to serve again, and if he wins this game it will all be over. Art will be put out of his misery. He’ll also lose to Patrick, six games to his zero.

Again he tries to pull it together, and Tashi’s been calling out to him too, encouraging him. Except it doesn’t work because everytime he looks over at her he just starts thinking about how she doesn’t have any panties on. Then when he looks away he’s got Patrick in front of him, making him think about how Patrick does have panties on. It’s honestly torturous. 

He manages to get it together for one second, remembering Patrick’s backhand is a little weaker than his forehand. He hits a ball to Patrick’s left, and it works because his backhand isn’t precise enough, and the ball flies out as he hits it too hard. 40:15.

Tashi must notice what he’s done, she gives him a little nod of approval. 

“Patrick, I want you to win on a backhand,” she calls out to him, “you’ll get a treat if you do.”

Fuck, okay. If Patrick wins the next point, he’s won the set. If he wins it with a backhand, he’ll also get a reward. Art has to at least try to stop it.

Patrick serves, and Art puts all the will he has left into hitting it back. It’s a powerful shot, it flies towards the back corner on Patrick’s right. He’d have to run pretty fast to get it anyway, and he’ll definitely have to be fast if he wants to make it a backhand.

Inexplicably, Patrick manages it, darting sideways quick enough to get on the other side of the ball, hitting a backhand. The speed of his movement and the force of him skidding to a stop makes the skirt fly up. Art is fucked. The ball soars towards him, just about making it over the net, landing in before bouncing right past Art. It’s over.

He watches Patrick drop his racket, turning to face Tashi, bowing to her. She grins, beckoning him with her finger. Art just watches.

Patrick stands in front of Tashi, she smiles at him, “give me a twirl.”

He snorts, but does it, spinning around so the skirt fans out, “cute,” Tashi comments.

Cute is one word for it. Art has the urge to start gnawing at Patrick’s leg.

“So what’s my treat?” Patrick asks, and Tashi spreads her legs wider, pulling up the material of her dress a little further. 

He gets the idea, lowering himself to his knees. Art watches Patrick kiss up Tashi’s legs, pressing his lips at the soft brown of her inner thigh. He doesn’t know who he wants to be more. To have his lips against Tashi or to have Patrick’s against his own thighs. Or maybe he wants a secret third thing (to plow into Patrick from behind and watch as he eats Tashi out).

Art grinds his teeth, making himself ask, “can I?”

He doesn’t ask for anything specific. Doesn’t know what he’s allowed. Just wants something.

“You can watch, for now,” Tashi gestures for him to come closer.

For now. He can work with that.

Art doesn’t know where to stand, next to Tashi so he can look down at the sight of Patrick on his knees? No. He moves behind, getting to look at Patrick’s ass, and to see Tashi’s face.

Patrick adjusts his position, leaning forward into Tashi so he’s more on all fours than just his knees, except his hands grab at her outer thighs pulling her cunt closer to his mouth. When he finally gets a tongue on her, her eyes flutter shut for a second, before opening to look at Art. Again he’s paralysed with making a decision. He can’t pick where to look.

He eyes Tashi’s face, relaxing with pleasure. Then trails down to Patrick’s head buried between her thighs, and then down again. The whole reason he’s in this predicament in the first place.

The skirt does nothing to cover him up now, and Art stares at the lace clothing his ass, also not doing much to keep Patrick’s skin hidden. From this angle he can see the way Patrick’s dick spills out of the fabric. 

Art’s fists clench at either side, not allowed to do anything but stare. He enjoys watching a bit, it’s an infuriatingly arousing view, but that’s the problem. His patience has already been worn down to knife’s edge, he’s spent all afternoon inundated with arousing views. 

Tashi must see the desperate look on his face but she doesn’t say anything, she just puts a leg over Patrick’s shoulder, and a hand on the back of his head. She sighs at the new angle.

It’s Patrick who takes pity on him, without even seeing his face. 

He pulls back from Tashi to ask, “can Art join?” and when she hums uncertainly he adds, “he did come up with the skirt idea.”

Tashi looks at Art, then down at the skirt, then up again, “yeah, alright, he can join.”

Art moves quick, getting to his knees behind Patrick. He’s about to pull his shorts down when Tashi stops him

“What are you doing?” she asks and he just stares at her blankly. He doesn’t really know, other than that he needs his dick to touch something right fucking now, “did you think you were going to fuck him? We don’t even have any lube. And did you think you’ve earned that?”

“I don’t know,” he sounds desperate but he’s given up caring.

“Keep it in your pants,” she orders, “you’re allowed to dry hump and that’s it.”

He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she gets stern, “don’t give me that look. You’re lucky I’m allowing anything.”

Fine. It’s something at least. And he can grab Patrick’s ass as much as he likes. He does just that, rubbing his hand over it, feeling the lace, and the warmth of his skin. He brings his hands to Patrick’s hips and presses his crotch against him. Sighing in relief at the pressure against his dick, imagining that he was actually sinking inside him right now. 

He can hear the sounds of Patrick’s tongue lapping at Tashi’s pussy, it makes him thrust his hips forward. The movement pushing Patrick forward too, and Art can’t stop thrusting against him.

“Art,” Tashi scolds, “stop that.”

“I can’t,” he scowls and she glares at him, he slows down, “fine.”

He grips Patrick’s hips tight, probably leaving fingerprints, keeping Patrick still as he rubs against him. Still thrusting but now Patrick doesn’t move with him.

He could probably cum like this, could do it very easily. It just doesn’t feel fair. Yes he broke some rules but he never even got to finish from any of it, so really, doesn’t he deserve a bit more than to pathetically hump at Patrick’s ass.

Tashi’s letting out more and more sighs, and he can hear Patrick moaning against her, trying to push back against Art, fighting against his strong grip.

“C’mon Tashi, he clearly wants me to fuck him,” Art pleads.

“And whose fault is it that you can't?” she asks with an arched brow, “if you had prepared then maybe you would’ve brought lube down here.”

“I’ll go and get some now,” he bargains, although he’s not sure he could pry himself away.

“No, you don’t deserve it, you broke the rules,” she smiles, mean, “if you had behaved then maybe you would be inside him right now.”

“If I had behaved, we wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place,” he snaps.

Tashi doesn’t say anything back because it’s sort of true. If Art had been good there would be no skirt. No tennis court sex at all tonight.

Patrick pulls back, “just one finger, I need something.”

“Fine,” Tashi relents, bringing his head back against her.

She gives Art the go ahead with her eyes, and he’s sucking at his own finger, wetting it. He stops humping to pull the blue panties to the side, circling the damp finger before pushing in. 

Patrick groans, and the vibration of it makes Tashi moan quietly too. Art keeps pumping the finger in and out, still humping at Patrick, but just more at his thigh now rather than his ass. It’s better than how he pictured it, Patrick dressed like this, clenching around his finger and moaning into Tashi’s cunt.

Patrick doubles his efforts, licking at her faster, and Art can tell she’s getting close. He’s just so good like this, taking Art and pleasing Tashi. He can tell that Patrick wants more from the way he’s pushing back on Art’s finger. Tashi’s eyes flutter shut from pleasure, and Art takes the opportunity to slip another finger into Patrick. He would've gotten away with it if Patrick didn't let out this loud, surprised, moan.

Tashi’s eyes open, first looking down at Patrick, then at Art. He smiles at her innocently, but she notices the two fingers now pumping inside Patrick.

“Did I say you were allowed to do that?” she asks, rhetorically.

“He just looks so good, he deserved it, I could tell he needed it,” Art defends, not stopping his fingering.

Art’s a little shocked when Tashi laughs. 

“God, what is it about this skirt? It’s got you misbehaving, and it’s got Patrick being good,” she strokes a hand through his curls. 

Art raises an eyebrow, because Patrick hasn’t exactly been good. Just better than Art.

Tashi smiles, correcting herself, “alright, well it makes you want to treat him like he’s good anyway.”

Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly it. 

Patrick must start sucking at her clit because she’s making these telltale signs that she’s close, her hand gripped tight in his hair. 

She grinds her hips up against his face, “fuck, makes you want to call him a good girl,” then she’s shoving Patrick’s face against her, trembling as she comes.

Oh fuck. It takes everything in him not to come too. Tashi breathes out, slumping against the chair, almost boneless.

Tashi pulls Patrick away from her before she gets overstimulated, resting his head against her thigh. Patrick grins, “you guys really are similar.”

“What?” Tashi looks between them both, this alert searching look she gets when she’s missing information, Art stays silent so she looks down at Patrick again, “I don’t get it.”

Art fucks his fingers into Patrick faster, hoping to stop him talking, he moans but carries on.

“Art called me that too,” he says all smug, “turned bright red after.”

Art flushes. 

“Yeah, he looks pretty red right now too,” Tashi gives him this delighted look, “this skirt thing really has you fucked, huh?” which is unfair considering she’d also said the same thing.

“Patrick’s the one who came immediately when I said it,” Art argues.

“That’s not a shock, I’m only human,” Patrick chuckles, “what’s interesting is how much the two of you apparently want me to be your good girl.”

He wonders if Tashi feels as embarrassed as he does. Probably not.

“Art you can take your dick out,” Tashi’s telling him, and he wastes no time removing his fingers from Patrick and pulling his shorts and underwear down at once.

“Look, I can take a lot, but there’s no way I can take Art’s dick right now without some lube or a hell of a lot more stretching,” Patrick jokes.

“He’s not going to fuck you, I  just want him to come on you,” both boys moan a little, “knew you’d like that.”

Art doesn’t know what to do with himself now he can actually touch his dick against Patrick, he just grabs his hips rubbing his length on him. Already so close.

“You can touch yourself too, Patrick,” Tashi strokes at his hair, and Art watches Patrick reach into his underwear, pulling himself out.

He starts stroking himself quickly, “I’m almost there, already.”

“That’s okay, you’ve been so good already,” Tashi says sweetly and it makes Art shiver when she says good, on edge and full of shame, “I think Art’s close too.”

She just keeps talking, “look how pretty Patrick is for you, how he presents himself for you,” she says to Art, “what else can he do to get you to come?”

“I don’t know,” Art can barely think, reaching a hand around himself now.

“Arch your back a little more, Patrick,” she orders, and Patrick does, sticking his ass out even more, “and do you want him to come at the same time as you?”

Art nods frantically, not really understanding why Tashi's giving him what he wants all of a sudden.

“C’mon Patrick, you’ve got to hurry up if you want to come at the same time,” she leans down to whisper, but Art can still hear, “I know Art’s the one losing his mind but don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you get off on it too.”

"I get off on the fact that me wearing a skirt and panties gets you both off so much," he insists.

"Right, you get nothing out of this," She smirks down at him, "doesn't affect you at all to think about Art coming on you while you're in my lacy underwear, and a fucking mini skirt." 

Patrick moans pressing his face into Tashi's thigh.

"I should buy you your own set, I think you'd like that, maybe get Art to pick it out" she then looks up at Art, "Patrick would wear it for you, he'd be so good." 

And Art gets what Tashi's doing. She's trying to get him to say it. Art's not going to, he has a different idea instead. 

"You guys are fucking obsessed with getting me in girls underwear," Patrick manages to say, "think Art would die if I had a whole outfit on."

"No, I'd be ready next time," Art keeps jerking himself, now determined, "I'd fuck you properly, and Tashi would get her strap and she'd fuck you too."

Patrick groans again and Tashi's eyes snap up to meet Art's, an understanding passing between them. 

"I think you're the one that's obsessed, Patrick," Tashi looks down at him, "we could do it just like this, except I'd shove my dick down your throat while Art takes you from behind."

Patrick bites at Tashi's thigh.

Art lets go of himself, reaching around to replace Patrick's hand with his own, jerking him off. He can't bite at her anymore, his mouth falling open. 

"We'd ruin you, ruin all your outfits and keep buying more," he leans himself over Patrick, jerking him off and grinding at his ass again, "and you'd let us, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Patrick moans into Tashi's lap, "gonna come."

"Art are you close too?" Tashi checks.

"Yeah, just want him to finish first, won't come on him until he does," Art keeps stroking.

"Patrick, you want to come?" She asks him.

"Already fucking said I did," Patrick grumbles out.

"Come on, don't be rude, I know you want to be good," she strokes his hair, "say it to me."

Patrick keeps his mouth shut.

"Patrick I'm going to stop touching you if you don't say it," Art warns, slowing down his movements. 

"Want to be good," he mumbles into Tashi's thigh, it's a start but not quite what they want.

Art speeds up again, looking at Tashi, she whispers to Patrick, "a good what?" 

He groans, shaking his head as much as he can in this position. 

"C'mon Patrick, I know you want to finish, I can get you over the edge if you just tell us what you are," he squeezes Patrick's dick not moving his hand.

Patrick still doesn't speak, so Art swipes a thumb over his tip, it's too sensitive and Patrick moans but he won't come from it, not without Art jerking him at the same time. 

Tashi watches with a grin, as Art swipes again making him whine. It's too much.

"What are you?" Tashi asks, and Art thumbs the head once more.

Patrick whimpers, then "I'm a good girl," he gasps out, and Art immediately resumes jerking.

Patrick thrusts forwards, spurting all over Art's hands, drooling in Tashi's lap as he trembles with it.

Art brings the hand, covered in Patrick's fluid to his own dick. He pushes up the skirt a little, then it only takes a few swipes and he's coming. White ropes shooting over the skirt, the lace underwear, and Patrick's ass. 

"Fuck," Art gasps out, the sight of it all sending another wave of pleasure through him, a little more dripping out of him onto the blue panties.

Art falls back catching his breath, and Patrick just stays with his head against Tashi. Probably hiding his face. There are some things which still embarrass him. 

Him and Patrick both breathe deeply for a while, Tashi looking pleased with her work.

She eventually breaks the silence, "what was the bet even about?"

Patrick mumbles out, "I don't remember anymore."

Art laughs, "it was about Jaws."

"Movie mashup?" Tashi asks.

"Yeah," Art smiles, "honest to God, we were just going to watch a movie while we waited for you."

Tashi laughs too, "we should watch one now."

"Mashup on three?" Patrick lifts his head up finally, then counts down, "1...2...3..."

Patrick picks Rocky, Art goes for Little Shop of Horrors, and Tashi lands on Bride of Frankenstein. 

It's a weird selection, with a somewhat perfect mashup.

"Rocky Horror Picture Show?" Tashi suggests.

"It is on theme," Art snorts. 

"Yeah, maybe we can get some inspiration for Patrick's next outfit," Tashi teases and Patrick groans.

"This is unfair, does nobody remember how embarrassing it was that Art got so horny he forgot how to play tennis?" Patrick complains.

"No, all I remember is you calling yourself a good girl and drooling in my lap over a handjob," Tashi jokes.

Art enjoys the fact that the teasing is off him for now, even though he knows he's probably never going to be able to live down the worst set of tennis he's ever played in his life.

All because he thought it would be funny to force Patrick to wear a skirt. 

They put on the movie, but end up falling asleep on the couch before it's over. Patrick goes first and before Art drifts off himself he can practically see the cogs turning in Tashi's head, plotting something. 

He can't help but feel they've both given her a secret weapon, a cheat code to get them under her thumb. He smiles to himself as he's pulled into deep sleep.

----

an: um. idk what the hell just happened guys. sorry about this one, hope you enjoyed :) part 2 with tashi buying patrick some proper lingerie.... I will start working on that

[into-f0lkl0re]

kk arnold nsfw hcs !! i loved the fluff ones cant wait to see what else you have instore :)

hey pook!!!! i’m so glad you liked my headcannons!!!!!

warnings:nsfw obvi and my horrendous spelling😛

kk arnold nsfw headcannons

————————————————————————

• MUNCH (i feel like we already knew this but like she loves to eat if ykyk)

• she has a strap but i feel like she only would use it if she was pissed off (she has ten fingers and a tongue for a reason)

• when yall first started dating i feel like she was prob really nervous

•she just wants to make you feel good

•like pleasuring you gets her off

•we already know she needs reassurance and needs to feel validated

•knowing that she is the one making you feel good.

•at first she was constantly asking if things felt good

“baby does this feel good?”

“how am i doing?”

“baby what do you want me to do?”

•she still does all of that stuff now but her confidence has grown

•she knows your body and she knows every reaction

•she knows your close by the sound of your moans

•i already said she’s a munch but she just loves eating you out

•you’re her favorite meal

•she loves looking at you from in between your legs

•EYE CONTACT!!!

“baby look at me”

“look at me or i’ll stop”

“who is making you feel this good”

“say my name”

•she wants you to be loud

•like if you cover your mouth she will take her fingers out of you just to use that hand to take your hand off of your mouth

“i wanna hear you”

“wanna hear those pretty little noises so bad”

•she doesn’t get possessive (she def does she just says she dont-like be so fr rn)

•she def gets super jealous and like to the point where paige and ice and everyone find it so hilarious but yk what’s gonna happen when yall get home

•jealous kk = strap

“do you wish paige was fucking you right now?”

“let them hear how good im making you feel”

“who’s fucking you this good? lemme hear”

•i feel like she doesn’t tease much (unless she’s jealous ofc)

• after care!!(she orders food for yall and you guys just cuddle)

•after yall are done she is regular adorable lovey kk again

•she kisses your head

“you know i love you right?”

“ilysm baby”

anyway that’s it!!

you hope you guys like it!!! send more requests this is fun!

big forehead kisses 💕

-faye

[the-sussy-imposter2]

ii am crashing out so hard please tell me about your gunky goopy guy (slime) doesn't really matter what au he could fit in so many people..........

You are so right. He is extremely edible, and thats exactly why i have two aus specifically about that happening (im using this post as an excuse to rant about my slimecicle nom aus, buckle up and strap in)

Im specifically gonna talk about an au that i havent talked about here yet, because we already kinda know about vore-ogins smp. This one, is called AWOOTS.

Yes. The name is dumb. But it specifically stands for "A Way Out of This Slimy Situation" which is the title of the fic and i find it kinda sums it up pretty well. Basically, charlie, a human peasent in a hidden medieval mountian kingdom, gets trapped away from home and forced to survive in a world where everything is out to eat him. Including the thing that saves his life.

A pack of 20 foot tall shadow wolf creatures rampage his town and take him and a few others back out into the wilderness as a later snack. Charlie manages to escape their den, but cant outrun them once they realise hes gone. In comes 70ft tall Slime to the rescue (yes theres two slimes in this au, idk why i do this with every fic but i like the dynamic they have :] also hes based off c!slime if that gives an idea of his character) and charlie is fucking terrified, for valid reasons. Slime, being the nature gaurdian he is, beats the crap out of the shadows and then goes to check on charlie (who is actively bleeding out) and of course notices his injuries. Charlie is scared, tired, and woozy from blood loss, and the last thing he sees before passing out is the back of slimes throat as he gets swallowed whole.

Next thing he knows, he wakes up on a bed of moss feeling better than he has for the last ten years of his life.

TLDR: charlie gets trapped outside his walled in kingdom and finds a giant slime who saves his life. Slime has healing abilitys, but because of the magic that's used, healing is super painful, so he uses the numbing acid in his stomach to provide anesthesia before properly healing charlie. Charlie consequently decides to stay with slime because going off on his own is a death sentence and slime literally wont let him leave on his own even if he wanted to. (He is a giant puppy who gets incredibly attached to him.) And all while this is happening, Schlatt and Ted back in the mountian kingdom believe charlie's dead, and are actively grieving him to varying amounts of success (schlatt is guilt stricken because he thinks he couldve saved charlie but no matter what he did, it wouldve ended the same way)

Anyways yeah, thats AWOOTS. By the time charlie gets back home, hes gotten accustomed to slimes show of affection (eating him and going to sleep) and so when he tries to explain to Schlatt and Ted that "yes, the giant slime monster that ate me is actually my friend" you can imagine how well they took it.

Anyways HERES SOME ART!! Slight blood warning for #5 !!!

I think the best thing about this au is that before i realised there was a nonesexual vore community, i managed to get a whole slimecicle fan server (it was mostly just the people in the art channel) invested in this story, and nobody seemed to clock that it was about vore. Like actually, there is fanart of these guys (WHICH BTW IS SO GOOD OMG) and no one even batted an eye when i explained how and why Slime ate charlie

Oh i also posted about AWOOTS on my main tumblr blog before i found nsx vore, which is why i havnt talked about it yet in case someone sees the two posts and connects the dots, but like, people took it really well, so that was nice :]

Anyways yeah. Really long post, but this au has a special place in my heart, and to summarize it in a paragraph or two wouldnt properly explain it (i literally had three hour long rant sessions explaining the events of this fic, i could- and HAVE talked for hours about it) i hope this was satisfactory for you pop 🙏

[yanderemommabean]

Hey beans! Bit of an update-

This post will include mentions of abuse so, please, don't read if that will harm you in any way!

Sorry for the lack of posts lately! With how weird my school is with testing and clinicals, I've had hardly any real time to feel like I could sleep AND create. On top of that, I am still in the unfortunate position of living with my abuser, along with the rest of my family who seem to be going downhill.

While I'm hoping I can get a job to save up to move out of this state, that's going to take time, and its time I fear I don't have some nights as just the other night while bringing home groceries, I was met with my step dads gun directly in my face, and him being mad I was "Coming home late at ten at night" when it was, in fact, only 9:15 and I made myself known as I walked up the stairs.

My grandma is also a big issue, she's draining as usual but its taking more of a toll on me by the day. I no longer get food stamps either which is a reason she wants to start in on me every day I walk out of my room. The verbal abuse is one thing but she's threatening again and if I stand up for myself I'm seen as the bad guy.

My mom who used to be a person I thought I could turn to is now down a rabbit hole about "Woke" culture and now sees anyone in the LGBTQ community as brainwashers, yet when I remind her I am bisexual, she seems to backtrack a bit and say "Well no, not you, you're a good one"

She's also back into worshipping the Christian God, which I have absolutely no issue with, but she's telling me that I cant have my tarot cards or my own craft in my room like I'm some 15 year old who doesn't understand religions, and not 24 and choosing my own way in life. She keeps insisting that I pray, that I thank God, that I'm a sinner, anything to make her feel like she's scaring me into "Changing". I keep telling her she's driving a wedge between us, but it seems to be for nothing.

Every day I feel like my support net is crumbling, and I feel like this trip to save up is going to be fruitless as I don't have my own car, I have to find a way to get the doctors I need if I even get to the state I'm moving to, and so on and so on.

Any who, I'm going through a lot and can't seem to catch a break but I love you beans! I hope you're all doing good and having a wonderful day!

-Mommabean

[playgrl0]

it's always been you / hanma

wc: 2,533

when hanma picks up his phone and hears your sniffles at the other end of the line, he knew right away what the reason for your tears were. he tells you to send him your location and stay where you are and that he's gonna pick you up. with a deep sigh he grabs his zip up hoodie and leaves to come and pick you up.

you went on a date with this ´funny looking´​ guy, as shuji would say. he has no idea what you see in him and he doesn't like that you hang out with him. at all.why? hanmathinks that he makes it pretty obvious that he likes you romantically. he doesn’t hide it at all, he constantly flirts with you and is extremely touchy, just like a boyfriend would be.

but hanma is your best friend, not your boyfriend. he never told you straight up that he's in love with you though. and you’re probably the most oblivious human on this planet, which is pretty amusing to him, so he wants you to figure it out yourself. when you first told him that you're talking to and hanging out with another guy that isn't him, he felt like committing arson. you told him that the reason you started talking to him was because you wanted to get over another guy that you were crushing on, and forget about him. so, you're using a guy to get over another one, and none of those boys are him? committing arson wouldn't be enough at this point.

about ten minutes after your call, hanma finally arrives at a bus station a few houses away from where that boy lives. you’re sitting on the bench, face finally dry from the few tears that were streaming down your face not too long ago. the sound of hanma’s bike catches your attention and you watch how he parks the bike, gets off, walks over to you and sits down next to you.

“d’ya want me to beat the fuck outta him?” he speaks up and takes off his zip up hoodie, “i think he’d look better with a few bruises and blood streaming down his face. that fucking asshole.” he mumbles as he puts the hoodie over your shoulders and then pulls out a cigarette and starts smoking. you only shake your head no as you put the hoodie on properly and keep staring straight ahead, which hanma finds weird. it's so unlike you to be quiet, even when you’re upset. that guy must've really hurt your feelings and hanma plans on hurting him way worse once he took care of you. “you wanna tell me what happened?” he asks and takes another drag from his cigarette. you sigh, “long story short, he said that i'm not good enough and he prefers a girl he's been talking to behind my back.” you quietly answer him. oh how hanma would love nothing more than to beat this guy unconscious. not good enough? you? the most amazing person he has ever met? and he knows, hanma knows that he should comfort you right now but since he's hanma, he cant help himself and let out a comment he's been waiting to say to you the second you called because he knew this would happen.

“i told you he's an asshole but you didn't listen.” he shrugs and earns a slap on the back of his shoulder. “thanks for nothing. drive me home.” you grumble and get up from the bench and walk over to his bike. he follows you with a smirk gracing his lips. “the fuck are you smirking at?” you ask pissed, arms crossed over your chest. he chuckles as he puts the helmet he specifically bought stole for you on your head. he makes sure it's secure and chuckles. “you’re not actually pissed at me and i'm not taking you home. you’re sleeping at my place tonight. hop on the bike.” he gets on and waits for you to get on as well. you sit on the bike behind hanma and wrap your arms around his middle. once he feels your arms holding tightly onto him, he starts driving you both to his place. you lean your head against his back, as good as the helmet allows it, close your eyes and think about everything that has happened. you knew from the beginning that dating this guy wouldn't end well. you knew that he was an asshole, shuji was right. fuck, you dont even have feelings for that guy, at all. you only wanted to distract yourself. at this point you’ll try everything to forget about him. to forget your feelings about shuji. right now it's hard to ignore those feelings. your stomach is filled with butterflies as you hold onto your best friend. you shouldn't feel like this about him. you shouldn't feel your knees weaken every time he smiles at you, your heart beating faster every time he touches you. it's so wrong. he's your best friend and that's all he’ll ever be.

“we’re here.” hanma's deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. he stops the bike in front of his apartment building and gets off. he turns to you and gently removes the helmet from your head, then holds your hand to help you off the bike. and once again, your heart beats faster at his touch. you finally make your way into his apartment where you remove your shoes first and then walk into his bedroom where you flop face down onto his bed. you hear him chuckle behind you and he lets himself fall beside you. he's laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling while you're still on your stomach, face buried in his pillows. “how’re you feeling? wanna talk about it?” he breaks the short silence. you turn your head to look at him, his beautiful side profile makes your heart flutter, and you feel yourself starting to grow frustrated once again. why is he so handsome? you turn away again, “i'm pissed but i'm okay. i'll just find another guy. no problem.” you mutter into his pillows. hanma turns to look at you and is met with the back of your head. without realizing it his hand travels to your head where he starts to comfortingly scratch your scalp. it's something he’s always done to you, ever since you two were little. he does it when he knows you’re not feeling well, it helps you calm down and feel better. you turn your head back to him with a smile. “if you keep doing this i'll fall asleep.” he removes the hand and grins back at you. “you’re not going to sleep until you tell me what's going on with you.” “what do you mean?” you frown. a sigh leaves hanma's lips, “i mean, what's up with with you and wanting to desperately date someone? you never cared about relationships like that and it's so unlike you to just go out and date random idiots.” you turn to lay on your back as well and stare at the ceiling. fuck, what now? do you tell him the truth or should you lie? lying to him wouldn't even work anyway. he knows you too well and he knows when you’re lying. you suck at it. “earth to y/n?!” hanma pulls you out of your thoughts once again and pushes your shoulder with his. “c’mon, talk to me.”

you sigh deeply and sit up, leaning against the headboard of his bed, he follows your moves and looks at you, waiting for you to finally speak. "okay,” you sigh again. “i've been dating all these boys because i thought i could find the right one and that he would help me forget about my feelings that i have for someone else.” hanma hides his disappointment really well. it’s been hard for him to see you dating one guy after another and then telling him right into his face that you have real feelings for someone else. someone that isn’t him. fuck. but this isnt about him right now, its about you and he needs to make you feel better. if there’s one thing in this world that shuji hanma hates, it's seeing you upset. “oh. well, why do you want to forget about that other person so badly? why not just confess to them?” he casually speaks up. “yeah, no! i’m going to stop you right there. i definitely won't do that. it’ll ruin everything.” you mumble the last part quietly but he still hears it. “ruin what?” he frowns. “ugh, our friendship! it’ll ruin our fucking friendship!” you burst out, feeling super frustrated at this point. and what does hanma do?

he fucking laughs.

you look at him with the hardest death stare. “what’s so fucking funny?” you huff. hanma finally calms down and wipes an imaginary tear from under his eye. “a friendship? i’m literally the only friend you have. you have no friends other than me, idiot.” he finishes his sentence with a small chuckle and lays back down, both arms resting behind his head. your face heats up at his words. no, its fucking burning. you feel like your skin is about to burn off your bones. did you say too much? does he know now?

“i do have other friends, bastard!” you stutter over your words. “the sweet old lady that lives across from you and the little boy from the playground dont count. i’m your one and only.” he has the most proudest and widest shit eating grin on his face. “fuck you!” you throw one of his pillows at him and press another one on his face, trying to not actually suffocate him. he easily snatches the pillow from you and throws it right back at you. you catch it and bury your face in it. when you don't remove your face from the pillow again and don't say a word for a while, hanma grows nervous. did he say something wrong? he softly pinches your leg, “what’s wrong?” you finally remove the pillow and lay down next to him with a deep sigh. “you caught me.” you mumble defeated. “what do you mean?” he is more than confused right now. “that i like you.” the words leave your mouth faster than you wanted to. they just slipped out.

the both of you are staring at each other now, both of your eyes wide open and in shock. “shut the fuck up! i’m the guy you've been trying to forget about?” you dont think you’ve ever seen him so shocked at something before. “no! fuck! i didnt mean to..ugh! no, yes! yes, it's you. it’s always been you.” you ramble on while hiding your face behind your hands. hanma is a smiling mess right now. he just watches you being all flustered and listens to your rambles. he didn’t think it would be impossible for you to catch feelings for him, he just never thought that it would actually happen and he is more than fucking happy right now.

he quickly rolls on top of you and removes your hands from your face. he is met with your beautiful eyes that are staring right back at him in shock. this isn’t the first time in your friendship that he's on top of you or that you've been on top of him, but you just confessed your love to him and now he's laying right on top of your body and you feel like you might explode from feeling so embarrassed. you wish you could just sink right into the mattress and then disappear completely.

“cat got your tongue? what happened to your rambling?” he breaks the silence, smirking. “fuck off!” you whine, turning your head away. you know him too damn well so you know that hes gonna tease the fuck out of you now and hes going to have the time of his life with this. he suddenly grabs your chin and turns your head back to look at him. “i know you’re fucking embarrassed right now and i find it hilarious,” the smirk never leaves his lips and you roll your eyes at him. “but, i like you as well. i’m pretty sure you knew that though.”“shuji?? i did not know that?!” you squeal. “oh? i thought i was being pretty obvious. you’re just blind i guess.” he chuckles. “but anyway, i do like you as well. and now that you know that, please stop going out with other men before i end up murdering them all.” you both break out into a fit of laughter. hanma lets his head fall into the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around him.

the laughter dies down after a short while and he mumbles against your neck, “please be my girlfriend?” he asks a bit careful and removes his head from your neck to look at you. “yeah,” you answer, smiling like an idiot. “i’ll be your girlfriend, yes!” you happily pull him into a hug, his head buried in your neck again. “thank god you said yes, i would've actually went on a murder spree to get rid of every single man.” “i know you would.” you laugh again as he pulls his head away from you again, his hand softly brushing over your warm cheek. “so, i can kiss you now that you're my girl, right?” he grins. “of course!” he wastes no time and presses his lips against yours and in that moment you feel like this is not only the happiest moment of your life, but also the most beautiful one. you thought and dreamt about this very moment so many times more than you would like to admit to yourself, but the reality of having his lips move softly against yours is a million times better than any of your dreams have ever been. his lips are surprisingly soft and warm and they're moving perfectly against yours, his tongue brushing over your bottom lip every once in a while. you don’t want this moment to end, ever, and neither does hanma. he’s kissing you gently but with a small hint of desperation and his big, calloused hands cupping your cheeks. he deepened the kiss and you pulled him as close to your body as you possibly could and both of you wanted more, more of each other, but your air is ran out so you finally pulled away and now you’re looking into each others eyes again while panting softly.

“fuck, if i knew kissing you would feel this fucking good, i would’ve hoped ​one of those guys you dated would hurt your feelings way sooner.” he earns a slap on the back of his head for that. “you could’ve confessed as well, why’d you wait so long?” you snap back. “ah, that’s a story for another time. i want more kisses.” he wastes no time and presses his lips against yours again.

he kisses you over and over and over again. throughout the entire night. “you’re mine now. forever.” he said.

he’ll never let you go.

tags: @ranscutedoll @bertholdts--butt @zazcie @getcozylove @hoshiko @nanaosaki3940 @nanamikentoseyebags @sin-and-punishment @peachebmad @wakashawty @shamelessperfectionhideout @vmlnrz @saintokkotsu @satanlovesusall666 @kiirsteinn @noritopia @gothamgurl2024 @unknownspecies

<3 @ playgrl0

[jewish-vents]

i finally got up the energy to watch the john oliver segment on the west bank (i normally like his stuff/opinions but anything about i/p is such a fucking landmine for me these days) and by the end of it my fiancé who was sitting next to me was like “we can stop. we can turn it off if it’s making you this mad” but i was so rage-invested that i watched until the end.

i HATE that the entire segment is ostensibly about the current status quo in the west bank (judea and samaria for anybody with any historical fucking knowledge of the area) and never mentions the palestinian authority ONCE. he accuses israel of apartheid as if they are the only people with any control over what happens in the west bank and as if the pa is like. a fairytale that doesn’t actually exist and have real sovereign powers over their areas in the west bank. it’s so gross!! it made me feel so gross!! because without discussing the pas role in the current status quo (or even WHY the current status quo is the way that it is) you CANT have a real conversation about the west bank. it’s just so disingenuous. you can criticize what is happening there without presenting a one-sided narrative that only addresses israel’s role and places all the blame on them. he DID mention the 6 day war but FAILED to mention WHY it was fought/who it was actually fought with, making it seem like israel just attacked the poor palestinians and annexed their land for no reason!! not because they were attacked by multiple surrounding countries on the holiest day of our fucking year!! mentioning that or even acknowledging israelis as having any humanity apparently makes you one of (((them)))

there were a lot of moments that were good, and then so many that were thinly veiled condescension towards any jewish audience members—like he DID mention christian zionists and how gross they can be, and then essentially chastised jews for taking support from them?? which. ok buddy that’s not really an issue you’ve demonstrated yourself qualified to speak on. i know my synagogue works with a local christian zionist organization and it’s probably because who the fuck else is willing to help us!!! really!!! you point out that our only allies don’t actually want to help us (like we don’t fucking know that) without an OUNCE of reflection as to WHY jews might be working with people who openly state that they want us to be converted by j. chrizzy during the rapture. you don’t have to tell us why that’s bad we fucking know!! please call me up when you have any other organizations with money and political power in the us who are willing to do even the slightest fucking thing to assist jewish communities!! i’ll die waiting!!

it’s just. the lack of concern for presenting a nuanced depiction of what is happening in the west bank all while pretending to be presenting a nuanced and well-researched (lmao) depiction of the west back. yes they did some things right (citing israeli sources, finding israeli and palestinian people talking about it instead of secondary sources, no al j. in sight) and that actually makes me ANGRIER because it shows that they could have spent the proper time breaking this down! they clearly have the research skill for this over there! there is NO WAY, in all their time spent on b’tselem (source they actually cited which i was impressed by considering i didn’t know non jewish americans knew abt them) that they didn’t run across a single article about the pas role in the current status quo in the west bank. you can’t break down what areas a b and c are without also understanding the pas role in that. there’s just so much that’s not there that should be and it’s so infuriating because you know that it was a choice. they know about the pa. they know why the wall was built and why the checkpoints are in place. they just don’t fucking care. he cites the number of israelis killed in a period of years and then points out that ten times that number of palestinians were killed in the same timeframe. which is so gross!! let’s not compare piles of corpses to determine moral superiority thanks!! and presenting those numbers devoid of any context other than “many of them [palestinians] were killed by israeli security forces” only serves to minimize israeli suffering and concern for their safety while ALSO minimizing legitimate palestinian suffering by lumping in victims of anti-arab hate crimes with terrorists killed by the military. it’s gross and patronizing and for all the jokes he makes about shit he can’t talk about as a british american he is sure running his fucking mouth

i just wish people would stop trying to condense this conflict down into something that’s easily digestible and consumable in less than 30 minutes. there are horrible people on both sides and refusing to acknowledge that stops the conversation before it can start. all this did was further villainize israel in the minds of armchair expert leftists (since john is like a king to them) and contribute absolutely nothing meaningful or interesting to the conversation. it’s just regurgitated uncontextualized pseudo intellectual bullshit. i’m an english teacher i can sniff a pile when i see one. i rlly wish leftists would just. leave us alone already. new year is coming up and i’m trying to find it in my heart to forgive you know? but fuck that. i’m so sick of goyim talking down to us about this issue while simultaneously being the most misinformed fucks (whether by choice or sheer stupidity) to walk g-ds green earth. i guess i’m just tired.

.

[princesssmars]

another one of my dreams that i have to write out because it flabbergasted me and two of my friends. but this time about hazel from bottoms.

ok, reader is the new girl at school. in my dream i was kind of a loser (accurate) but because i can write what i want (and i've read @ptolemaeacles cheerleader headcanons ten times) im changing it.

so reader is trying out to be cheerleader! it helps you make a few friends, isabel being the best one because she’s amazing, beautiful, and a little weird in a really endearing way. she finds you interesting, given your natural talent for dancing and how despite doing vulgar dance moves on the football field, off of it you can be a shy and sweet person!

because of this isabel, brittany and you are pretty much always together. and since they're popular and seen everywhere, that means you are seen everywhere!

which means hazel cant take a fucking break.

walking to sit with pj and josie during lunch and means almost having a heart attack when she sees you handing out flyers for the next school event, looking so ethereal in your cheer uniform she nearly trips over herself.

or when every morning she sits two rows over from you in math class, not so sneakily staring at you for minutes at a time while doing her worksheets.

despite being close to a genius, she thinks there's no way in hell you have ever noticed her. never seen the way your eyes will drift to her when she's sitting in the bleachers while, you're practicing, how you're heart will race when the teacher is calling names for project partners with the chance that the brunette could be in your group.

so sure you had a crush that was going nowhere, but you had a nice bunch of new friends, so people we're starting to like you!

all except one.

mrs. fucking barnes.

for whatever reason, your second period english teacher had decided on your first day to make your senior year a living fucking hell.

put a good amount of effort into an essay? you get a d minus!

want to share a comment you had about the book the class is reading? shut up silly, jeff is going to popcorn read and stutter over a basic sentence!

but one friday, you decided to skip class and the next week she went ballistic.

now, since moving to town, you had noticed that the people here were a little odd, regularly seeing a normal interaction or conversation go to the extreme in seconds.

so, when you're hovering over the toilet in the girls bathroom, a small thought in your brain that loves to say what if's asks: what if somebody bursted in here right now?

when you finish and stand up to pull your jeans up, only to be interrupted when the stall doors bust open with a loud bang! you think for split second that god can literally hear your thoughts and is making you pay for whatever sins you've committed.

those sins must have been fucking murder to make up for how mortified you felt standing in a cramped girls bathroom stall, your pants down with three people staring at you/

the first, mrs. barnes, wearing a look thats a mix between anger and regret.

the second is nettie brown, a girl you recognized from your art class who you remember complimented your heels and you did the same for her coat.'

and then, standing in front the sinks with eyes that look as big as fucking saucers, hazel callahan herself.

your brain catches up to your body and you manage to splutter out a string of curses and yells, forcing the door back closed as the teachers splutters out an excuse about someone telling her you had started doing weed in the bathrooms.

you hear her and some more shoes shuffling out of the bathroom, taking a minute to gather your bearings before you leave the bathroom. when you open the door again you rest your hands on the counter, your eyes closed as you take a breath. when you look up to your reflection, in your peripheral you see a figure standing awkwardly at the back of the bathroom, blue eyes avoiding looking at you.

"hazel?" you ask under your breath, turning around to look at her dead on. she flinches to attention like a child called to attention.

"uh...i just wanted to make sure that you were alright, what she did was really fucked up."

"oh," you mouth, grateful that after something so embarrassing this girl who you barely knew was waiting in a crappy bathroom to make sure you were alright. if it was possible your crush on her just grows. "thank you. that means a lot to me."

her face lights up so brightly you think it could light up a city.

"no problem! i mean, really who cares that much about weed, anyway? i've never cared about bush anyway-"

the room gets silent.

as she quickly rushes out an apology and leaves, all you can think about is how its weird you've been shocked like this twice in a span of ten minutes, and that you have got to ask hazel callahan on a date.

i made this a lot cuter than it was in my dream. i was in the bathroom, looking at these really nice coats on the counter ?? when the door opened, hazel just said "y'know ive never minded bush" and the sheer confusion made wake up.

i put my senior year english teacher in here because. i still hate that bitch.

[ravennaortiz]

Hello Loves!

This is the event page for my December 2025 event! These stories will come out in December. The plan is for these to be darker more out of character stories for our guys.

I will accept requests until 5/24/25 for this event!

When sending in your request please include that it is for the Dark Days event, character name and the prompt! Please feel free to message me with any questions! Below you will find Characters and the prompts! Please feel free to elaborate on them if you wish! I am also open to other ideas if you cant find a prompt that works!

Curious as to what to expect? Click here to see past Dark Stories!

Who You Can Request!

SOA

Chibs

Clay

Half-Sack

Happy

Jax

Juice

Kozik

Opie

Tig

RatBoy

Mayans

Angel

Bishop

Bottles

Coco

Creeper

Ez

Gilly

Guero

Manny

Nestor

Prompts!

Running doesn't matter. I'll hunt you down if I have too

You were beautiful in the photos I took....but even better in my arms.

No one else makes me feel this way! I can't lose you!

I did this out of love. I'm doing this for love!

I'd cut your tongue out if it would stop you from flirting with anyone else.

I'll let you know when you've learned your lesson.

Who were you talking to?

Give me your phone. I'm going to go through it.

Don't cry. He didn't love you like I do and he never could. Let me help you heal.

You are so cute when you are asleep

Don't worry, the blood isn't mine.

I will mark/claim you in front of everyone.

Why are you crying? Aren't you happy to be with me?

I claimed you with this tattoo.

This hurts me more than it hurts you babe.

Beg.

You think it’s funny to flirt?

You really should have known better.

You can trust me…..I would never hurt/lie to you

I wouldn’t have lost it if you didn’t push me! You make me act like this—do you even hear yourself?

Oh, so now I’m the bad guy? Typical. You always twist things to make yourself look innocent!

I made you who you are. Don’t forget that.

You’re overreacting. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

No one else would ever put up with you. You should be thanking me

If you really loved me, you would do this for me.

I noticed how long you spent getting ready today. Who are you trying to impress?

Oh, so you had time to hang out with your friends, but not with me? That’s cool… I guess I’m not that important anymore

Why is there a stranger in my bed?

You’re no longer of use to me

Do you know how easy it was to get inside your house?

You were screaming too loud. I had to make it stop.

Don’t bother calling the police. I cut the lines ten minutes ago

Guess what? I can see you

I’ve been watching you for weeks. You never even noticed, did you?

Let’s play a game… how fast can you run?

You scream, you die. Understand?

Do you think locking the door will stop me?

You’re not seriously wearing that out, are you?

You don’t need to go out with them tonight. Stay with me instead.

Don’t you want to make me happy?

Everyone thinks you’re a whore.

I could be gentle, but where’s the fun in that?

Oh? Are the handcuffs a little tight?

Run. Please. I do love a good chase.

I’m in control here

Did you move my things?

I should kill you for what you’ve done.

A little girl shouldn’t be roaming around here by herself

I need to know where you are at all times.

Say that again, and I swear I won’t hold back this time.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Killing you would bring me nothing but joy

This would be much easier for you if you just held still.

This will be the last time you lie to me.

What do you mean you kissed them?

How dare you speak to me like that!

That's right, princess. fight back. make it difficult... give me a reason to get rough.

You're mine, and if you ever forget that, I'll remind you.

You will always be my property.

You look so pretty when you're helpless.

Why did you stay out so late?

If I can’t have you, no one else will.

Who keeps calling you?

I paid a good sum of money for your body tonight.

You belong to someone else. I know that. It doesn’t matter because you will submit tome tonight.

[rebornofstars]

@i-love-zelda-16 WAVES MY HAND. ME ME MEMEEEEE LET ME RECOMMEND YOU SOMETHING. I LOVE LONGFICS AND THERE ARE SO MANY GOOD ONES

i did make a short recommendation post for novel-length LU fics a while ago (50-100K), but adjuration is longer, right? so i'm assuming youre looking for something longer.

Follow the Lights by @cluelessmoose is highly adored and for GOOD REASON. this one is wild-centric and stuffed to the brim with DELICIOUS hurt/comfort. wild gets put through the absolute wringer. it's so good

The Most Sincere Kind of Lie by @seekingseven ... i haven't read this one, i'll admit, but i want to SO BADLY YOU HAVE NO IDEA. it's been on my tbr for months. everyone i know who has read it has loved it. if you do read this one please tell me what you think 🙏😭

Call Them Brothers by @wutheringmights is not for the faint of heart but it hits SO INSANELY HARD. i've read most of it and all my thoughts on it so far have been some form of exultant but horrified swearing. everyone i know who has read this one is absolutely RABID about it and SO AM I. feral. so far gone. i'm speechless

Their Melody by @mlnovaoff is GOD TIER SINGLE PARENT LEGEND AND I HAVE BEEN UTTERLY OBSESSED WITH THIS FIC FOR YEARS. the plot is really really REALLY well done. i can't overhype this one enough

How To Kill a God by glau (cant find a tumblr) is also very high on my to-read list, and but first they must catch you by @cosmicepithet IS A WIP TO KEEP AN EYE ON !!!!!! i literally discovered it last week i think? and i havent had time to sit down with it yet but the concept is SO good and i'm so excited to see what happens 🥰

anyway thank u for giving me the opportunity to dump a bunch of links (heh) on you and i hope u enjoy reading!!!!! there are so many hundreds if not thousands of talented people in this fandom and so many incredible works. it's a joy and a delight to be here 🥰🥰🥰 and if you can stick around for like ten billion years (joke, i HOPE) one day i will be posting my own longfic yestermorrow. and hopefully u might like that one too 🎉

[a-new-wish-6-3]

Another reason why peri has problems with dev.

A lot of people already mentioned peris Lack of experience, his good relationship with his parents and the babying which leads to dev not treating peri nice.

But i want to add one more thing which a lot of people dont take actually in Account. And that is that dev is the first Person peri ever met who was younger than him and its been a long time since he met someone close to his own age, making him socially indept. After all peri is the only fairy born in a tousand years. With the closed fairy in age beeing his dad.

If we go with timmy, peri had someone close to his age until he was 6-8. Than cosmo and wanda quit and moved to fairy world. There we know that no humans are allowed and that other species dont really live there. So peri is the only kid in the entire world.

Could have peri have at least had friends from other species ? Humans, pixys, anti-fairys are out. But maybe he made friends in school.

I think the school we say is one of many and as people grow older they go into seperate school. I am no Expert in fairly oddparents but i know we saw cosmo at least two times in school. One where mama cosma showed him around 6 years old in a Montage and one where we saw cosmo old school bullys. What both have in Common is that there where only fairys around. Which makes sence to put all species together to learn reading, math, etc and than seperate because they have different powers, cultures, body, historys, etc. So peri ( and irep ) would start eather homeschooling or continue to learn in an completly empty school with no other students besides himself. Considering cosmo and wanda lack of some knowledge i can see him going to school ( irep can learn from anti cosmo ).

The godparent school is the one where i am 100 % sure that peri was in an empty school. Not only did cosmo and wanda didnt know he was studying and becoming an godparent, but no other species is allowed to take this curse.

Meaning peri had one older kid in timmy only until he was 6-8 and some clasmates the same age as his until maybe 5 and than spent the Rest of his years in a world where every other Person was an adult.

Peri only worked with people much more mature than him. That is why he never expects that some things children do are stupid and they will not say what they need. Dev will just demand things and not tell him what he really needs because figuring out your Problem and beeing mature enough to find an answer or at least be able to pinpount where it cames from is not a ten year old skill. Cosmo and wanda talked to timmy about his problems and where able to get to his problems by reading between the lines if he didnt want to outride tell them what upset him or didnt know himself why he was mad. Peri expects dev to be able to tell him what he needs, which is not a skill neglected kids have and beeing able to read such Moods require experience which younger or at least closed aged people. If you never had friends you will be socially indept.

In short peri treats dev like an adult. He explains things outride and expects dev to understand and is lost if dev isnt capable of explaining his anger to him. So he cant know what dev is thinking or how to treat a child in general.

Peri never had a real childhood or close friends. He only had his parents which is great in Forming bonds with adults but takes away his ability to Adapt to younger or even same aged people.

That can also be why he hates beeing babyed. If you are the only child with a Buch of adults you will want to be an adult just so you could fit in somewhere. Showing himself more mature than he actually is and even hiding some of his childness ( like hazel did ). Except peri did this forever. Quiet sad actually. Thank god his parents are such goofy people, showing him it is okay to keep some childishness even as you grow up. Otherwise peri would never been allowed to even act like a child.

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: Dino x fem!reader

Requested: no

Genre: angst, fluff

Warning(s): cheating, angst, sadness, mentions of pregnancy (do inform me if there's more)

Summary: You were the light guiding Chan for the most of his life. now that you are not there anymore, he cant help but feel your absence as he reminisces his past and all those times you were there to ground him no matter what.

Word count: 6k

Other works

disclaimer: this is not the exact representation of the subjects in real life. I just use them for my inspiration.

special thanks to @spamgyu for helping me out 😭

a/n: I would greatly appreciate it if all of you could take a moment to comment on this fic. As an author, I find great value in your feedback, as it allows me to better comprehend my readers, and I thoroughly enjoy interacting with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don't hesitate to talk about this fic or send me an ask.

[permanent taglist] [only for those interested, don’t fill the form otherwise]

Chan's life was determined before he had a chance to consider it. His family wasn't well-off. They struggled from early on to get food on their plates. He knew from when he was a child that he had to support his siblings because his parents refused to do so.

So that’s exactly what he did. He got into SNU with a full scholarship, secured a good job, and built a stable life with six figures coming in annually to his bank account, providing enough money to support his siblings’ dreams.

But what did it all get him?

Nothing!

He sacrificed his teens and his twenties because his father felt the need to be a raging alcoholic, and now he stands in the middle of Gangnam in his beautiful flat with its polished floors. But he lacks the most important thing in life: happiness.

To be truthful, he lacks a lot of things, but happiness takes the cake. If someone asks him, he lacks friends too. But our dearest Boo Seungkwan would like to disagree about that. In Chan’s defense, friends are absolutely not equal to friend (just a difference of ‘s’, as our dear ‘Kwanie’ said. Plus, his multiple personalities make up for the said lack of ’s’, which further raises the question as to why the man does not go for a checkup, as it seems he has self-diagnosed DID. We shall never know).

Chan is happy about his brothers doing what they like, though. It’s not that hard to not be happy when he literally raised them. Sacrifices need to be made, he has realized; some just make more than others, and there is nothing one can do about that. He accepts that he is indeed grateful for the friend he has made, the one who has stayed with him and accepted him as he is.

Now, it may sound sappy, and Chan swears he will never tell this to Seungkwan, but he has indeed helped him through the thick and thin of life. All those late-night drinking sessions and ugly crying have brought him to this stage in life where he thinks of the boy as more of a family than anyone else. He helped him when Chan’s life was falling apart, and he also was there to scold him back to the right track when no one believed in him, not even himself.

Although he lacks happiness, he is fine with that (he at least has Boo Seungkwan). He can live with being sad; he already has!

This is where you came in, the reason for Chan’s genuine smiles, from back in college to five years ago. It was a pretty serious relationship that you both had. Chan loved you. He had plans of making you his wife. For God’s sake, he was in a relationship with you for almost ten years! But somewhere along the way, he messed up. He became the exact thing he had hated all his life.

He became a person like his father.

You, being the nice kind, tried your best to stop him from spiraling down the rabbit hole of bad habits. But alas, it takes two to tango, and if he didn’t want to be better, no one, not even God himself, could do it for him.

It took losing you to realize how messed up his life had become.

--

“Chan, I’m heading out. Dinner’s in the fridge—please actually eat it this time. We don’t need two meal skippers in this household,” you quipped, watching as Chan chuckled and gave you a quick giggle inducing peck before returned his attention to the document he’d been typing for the past hour.

“Sure thing, Your Majesty. Your command shall be dutifully followed!” he exclaimed with a mock salute, drawing out another laugh from you. With a playful ruffle of his hair and another peck on his cheek, you left the apartment to begin your night shift at the hospital.

Chan, unlike you, has just started his new job after completing his MBA. It’s been tough, but he’s persevered, and soon enough, you both will be able to enjoy the luxuries he could only dream of growing up.

Your fifth anniversary is approaching faster than ever, and now Chan finally has the means to fulfill your dream of a trip to Europe. The pressure of this new job is more than the last one, but getting those tickets would be a walk in the park now.

Quickly finishing his document and mailing it to the head of the department, he immediately goes to check those flight ticket prices and hotel prices. He releases a happy sigh the minute he realizes that it’s exactly what he had expected the prices to be. So, without wasting a single moment, he buys those tickets. He knew this gift would make you happier than ever.

The next month, you had been notified about the expensive purchase only because you had to get a leave from your job, and you obviously can’t disappear for two weeks unannounced. He, in reality, had no plans to inform you about anything, but he couldn’t interfere with your job either.

But at the end it was worth it, the look on your face the minute you were informed about the trip. Oh, if only Chan could frame it and keep it away from the world, only if he could keep you near him and never let you go. But he didn’t think of that then. No, he was happy he had told you earlier.

The happiness radiating off you as you kept going on and on about the clothes you needed to buy, all the foods you were going to try once there. It was what helped him keep going throughout the day, even though the work became tiring with every passing minute.

If only he could have stopped time and lived in that moment forever.

—

One thing he never realized is how demanding his job would be once he got into a higher position. The calls kept him up at night; they came at the most ungodly of times, and Chan was expected to pick them up, because he always did.

You never complained; it was fine by you. If anyone understood him, it was you. Both of you had highly demanding jobs, and nothing could beat the expectations your colleagues had on you both.

But what he had not counted on was those calls interrupting your trip. During the entirety of your anniversary, he was glued to that phone of his, never once able to leave it. It was one problem at the office or the other.

Again, you kept your mouth shut, enjoying your own company as your boyfriend busied himself with work in the hotel room.

That was the last trip you both had gone on. You figured that it was too much to ask from someone who had so much work to do. But still, you understood his hunger to do better in life. You understood that someone had to compromise in the relationship and wholeheartedly accepted that it had to be you.

Coming to think of it, it was not supposed to be like this. Never! Both of you were supposed to communicate and figure out what your relationship was supposed to mean. But somewhere along the line, it just became regular sex and nothing else. When you talked about this with your friends, all of them had the same reaction.

‘Leave him!’ they had told you, ‘he wouldn’t change, he prefers his job more than you.’

It was a regular thing now. But you were scared. All the years you had invested in the relationship, you never wanted it to become what it had. You had held out hope that one day Chan would notice you. He would realize he had a girlfriend who also needs his attention as much as his job.

It didn’t take too long for those dreams to come true, though.

—

One night, you sat down with the man, asking him about the changes in his life. You begged him to look your way beyond the times he made love to you. It was an intense conversation, filled with words that neither of you actually meant, but hurt you both equally.

That night brought you both another few years, or that’s what you think. It became better, both your lives and the relationship. You both would talk more, spend time with each other, laugh with each other, and go about your days with lovesick smiles on your faces. Although none of your jobs became less hectic, it still was as painstaking as ever, but the scenery in your shared home was peaceful. It was both of your comfort zones.

What neither of you realized, this peace that you both had brought back into your lives, was fickle. In order to keep it like that, both of you had to put in some effort.

—

It slowly became visible to both of you how much more effort this relation of yours needed. Both of you saw the way your paradise was crumbling down bit by bit. Nights became lonely for you. Chan, being the perfectionist he is, would be stuck up in his office until the rays of sun hit the glass windows, reminding him of the fact that he indeed had stayed the night in his office. The hectic job took everything away from him. It stripped him of his identity, and slowly it was also stripping his happiness and sanity away. It was like the darker times had hit both of you again.

It was then that he suddenly passed out on the streets due to extreme fatigue and was brought immediately into the nearest hospital, which was the one you worked at. Lo and behold, you were the nurse on emergency room duty that day. This was the first time you saw the love of your life in that state; you saw what this new job had done to him. How it had taken this happy and healthy person you knew and turned him into this sick, unhappy, and overworked person. Your helplessness mocked you in your face. At night, you stayed by his side after the doctors had given their verdict about him being too overworked. You took care of him like never before, making sure to make him take an ample amount of rest.

Sadly, the industry is ruthless. As soon as the employers became aware that their once highly valuable employee’s usefulness had diminished, they ultimately opted to terminate him. Although Chan claims there were some more internal politics involved in this sacking, there was no way he could have evaded it.

Both of you soon realized it was the best thing that could have happened to him. While being the worst experience he could ever go through in his corporate career.

You stayed by his side through every hurdle though. You never once let him feel the need to be more than what he already was. But life was giving both of you a hard time.

It took Chan another month to get a new job. But only this time, it was a better, more important position in a better company. This is when life took off for both of you again. With Chan back on track, equipped with the newfound knowledge of not working more than necessary, he was on a roll. Almost unstoppable.

This change also affected your relationship, but positively this time. Chan and you would go on constant dates and enjoy each other’s company way more than ever.

—

It was nearing your seventh anniversary. Both of you had talked about getting married and starting a family enough times for him to know this was the perfect time for him to propose.

So, on the day of your seventh anniversary, he had planned to take you to this fancy Italian place. He claimed that you deserved only the best. No one could ever argue with him about that. You, along with Seungkwan, had been by his side for so long that he had forgotten the time when he didn’t have you both. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would change that fact. With that it brought him to the most important question of that year.

“But what ring do I buy her?” the stressed boy asked his best friend.

“Wow, I wasn’t informed about the fact that y/n suddenly had become my girlfriend!” Seungkwan exclaimed sassily.

“Dude, you can calm down. She is still my girl, ain’t no way you are getting her. Find a girl of your own,” the shorter boy retorted back.

Why am I being asked about her preference for a ring then, huh?”

“Because she said, and I quote, ‘if you buy me an expensive engagement ring that I can’t even wear out because it looks too expensive, I will castrate you’,” Chan said seriously, bringing out a seal-like laugh from the back of Seungkwan’s throat.

“Do something meaningful for her then, you dumb fuck,” making Chan almost cringe at the scolding. Without letting the boy talk, his best friend continued, “Put in some effort and do something that shows you care, without having to spend a copious amount of money. I have no idea what you should do, but bro, if it were up to me, a girl would for sure get a ring no matter what!”

Now, this made him think. It made him think hard. But even after all that thinking, he couldn’t come up with a good idea for an alternative for an engagement ring.

It was not until the next Saturday when he was sitting on the couch waiting for you to choose a movie for the weekly movie night, did he stumble upon the perfect idea for a ring? Like any usual person, the man was scrolling through TikTok when he found out that one could make rings out of clay.

Perfect!

If you didn’t want a diamond ring, you shall get a clay ring. For you might catch the sun lacking one day, but not Chan, never Chan!

—

This kick-started the learner phase of Chan’s life once again. He would visit the pottery classes every week because he needed to excel at the art to mold the perfect ring. One suitable for daily wear and also because this hobby brought him more peace than ever.

He made some friends here; they were fun to hang out with. You had met all these new people flooding into his life. He would parade about the with his hand on you showing you off proudly.

“Who wouldn’t?” he would ask whenever someone pointed it out. This question had the power to make him start ranting about you at any given point. So much so that after a point, people stopped asking him about you, no matter the context.

Because, oh boy, was he in love.

--

It took him one year and some friendships to finally complete learning everything there was to learn about pottery. In the course of that time, he had littered your shared house with his creations.

Oh, you wanted to buy a new bowl because you saw it on Instagram? No fear, Chan shall make it this instant. Oops, your favorite coffee mug broke? Chan has come to your rescue with a better, scientifically cute, usable, and overall better mug for you.

The creative spark of the boy never dimmed down, nor did his extroverted nature. Every other day, he would be out with his new friends, so much so that even Boo Seungkwan noticed. You both had chats with each other about the changes in Chan’s life over a cup of tea whenever Seungkwan would come over.

To say that you both were happy about him enjoying life would be an understatement. You had seen the pain the man had gone through in his life. It only made sense for him to have the best of the best experiences when he had the opportunities.

But again, as people say, one should do everything in moderation. It seems that Chan could do nothing in moderation. He would work himself half to death. In this case too, he started drinking and partying himself half to death. The outings that were done to unwind after a long hard day became parties that were making the day even longer.

The friends that helped him overcome the pressuring environment of his office became the ones who would pressure him to go way out of his comfort zone, all for the wrong reasons. People say twenties are times when people experiment with their life and gain new experiences.

The same was applicable for Chan too, the only difference being he was learning different ways of spiraling down holes that are hard to climb up from. The hilarious part being, these were the holes that he had carefully dug out himself.

It’s not like you never stopped him, because you did. The minute you realized these new friends were pushing Chan’s limits in the wrong way, you didn’t waste a second to tell him.

“I think you should calm down with this partying and stuff. It’s unbelievably bad for your health,” you had told him one night when he had come home drunk out of his wits.

“I know how to have fun, not my fault you don’t!”

The boy had shouted at you before collapsing on the couch. Realizing it was a waste of time to even try and talk to him in this state, you tried again the next day when he was far more sober.

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” you ask Chan, to which he shakes his still-hungover head and winces. Sighing, you continue, “Chan, you can’t let them get to you like this. Moderation is the key here. Please don’t overdo anything, I beg you!” You hugged him, trying to coax him to understand where you were coming from. He obviously hugged you back and promised you to keep your advice in mind the next time they asked him out.

He didn’t. He swears he tried to. But the peer pressure got to him. Before he could even back off, they had already hauled his ass to the bar. He never wanted to disappoint you. So he chose to accept the most coherent plan his drunk mind could formulate: the plan to lie to you.

—

Your seventh anniversary had come and gone a year ago. The only gifts he could provide you that day were a fancy dinner and a solid promise that he would indeed get you the greatest ring you will have ever seen in your whole life. Now the time had come. The time to prove his skills. Those skills he spent an entire year honing.

During this cute date at home, he produced a small wooden box from his pocket. After you had enjoyed the homemade meal he had whipped up for you and you both were cuddling on the balcony, he proposed to you with stars in his eyes and hope in his heart.

He shocked you with the ring. Like your relationship, it was delicate, yet made with lots of love and care. You obviously said yes without hesitation. After all, you loved this man, and he loved you too. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever go wrong if he was with you.

--

It seems that no matter how hard you try, life always seems to have other plans for you.

The month right after you accepted his proposal, you received an invitation for a two-year-long workshop in Germany. Such opportunities don’t come every day, so you were elated.

Without wasting any time, you called Chan, informing him about the opportunity you had received. But like every coin, this great opportunity had its drawbacks too.

With the prospect of studying and learning under some of the greatest doctors and nurses came the hardship of leaving your fiancé behind. Chan didn’t like this one bit. He could barely stand to be away from you for a second, let alone two years.

But seeing the excitement on your face and hearing the joy in your voice, he couldn’t bring himself to ask you to stay back. He knew you had sacrificed a lot for him, compromised at times when you could have been happy if he hadn’t made decisions that ruined his life.

--

So he put on a happy smile and told you that if you didn’t take this opportunity, he would pack your bags himself and kick you out of the house. This assurance gave you the confidence you needed. Without wasting any time, you sent an email accepting the proposition to join the workshop.

The next five months passed in a whim. During this time, he had asked you to marry him before you went away, but with a peaceful and determined smile, you had told him, “I will marry you once I come back, like that, we won’t have to spend too much time as newlyweds. Plus, I will be smarter than you too.”

“You are always smarter than me. I can never surpass you,” was the answer you had received, along with a sweet kiss, making your heart swell like a balloon.

Life was starting to feel better again.

Chan had finally made his boundaries very clear. The boy felt extremely guilty for lying to you, though he never confessed to you about doing so. He made sure his actions proved his redemption. He ensured to let these new friends of his know that going out too much with them was affecting him in ways that he didn’t appreciate. Although they did sometimes win against him and force him to go out, it was not as bad as it was before.

—

Soon the day came when you had to fly away to Germany. To say that Chan was sad would be an understatement. He was devastated when he saw you off at the airport with Seungkwan. He had cried the whole way home, making Seungkwan scold him as if he were a baby.

“Now if you keep behaving like this, do you think she would be happy?” the older boy questioned him.

“No, but I miss her already,” Chan replied in a whisper while wiping his tears harshly.

“Be nice, be happy for her. You can talk to her all the time. It’s not the Stone Age,” Seungkwan said with an exasperated sigh, making the younger one stop his sad boy antics at once.

But it was not like Chan was okay. He started working overtime at the office, desperately waiting for you to call him when you got free. And call you did, religiously at six o’clock in the evening.

You both made the decision to talk at that time, regardless of any circumstances. This went on for six months. He tried his best to follow the routine of overworking himself before you would call and save him from killing himself with work.

But with all these works, his willpower also started to crumble down. The old ways came back to him. Before he realized it, he became a party animal. He made new friends at these clubs and bars he started frequenting. He thought you wouldn’t pick up. But you did. You saw how your boyfriend was slowly changing. It was not that obvious at first, but slowly you realized he was getting drowned with work.

Being the lovely girlfriend you were, you asked Seungkwan to take care of him. The boy tried his best to do so. But alas, he was not that successful.

It seemed to both of you that Chan had spiraled back into his overworking session. What you both were unaware of was that it was more than that.

Chan was not just overworking; he was over-drinking and over partying too.

—

One faithful night; he met Eva, his pottery class instructor. She was pretty. They talked the whole night, catching up like old buddies and having fun.

She brought a change to his life again. She started being there for him during times when he would lose himself. She was a great friend, so great that in no time you had the chance to meet her.

You had come back for a week’s vacation. Seungkwan thought it was important for all the friends to meet up because it had been a long time since he had seen you. This meeting was supposed to consist of only you, Chan, and Seungkwan. But Chan asked to bring in another friend he would like you to meet. It was Eva.

You liked her; she was nice. You wanted to be friends with her. Her sweet personality was something no one could resist, a great example of a sweetheart through and through.

For once, you were actually proud of your boyfriend’s choices in life. Your visit was over even before it had started. Suddenly, the week was over, and you were packing your bags to return to Germany.

This time, Chan was not as scared of things going downhill anymore. He knew that within a few more months, you would come back, and he could happily start the wedding preparations. He also knew he had a solid group of friends to have his back. Most importantly, he had learned the art of living without you. Not that it was happy, but now he could enjoy spending time by himself.

—

Time flew faster than ever. In no time, it was Chan’s birthday. Your program would finish that same month, so sadly you couldn’t visit him. All you could do was video call him that morning and congratulate him for hitting thirty before you, to which he grumpily replied, “Your birthday is in six months; I’m gonna make it hell for you.”

“Whatever, old man, get dressed. Don’t you have a job to go to?” You laughed at his grumpy face while teasing him even more.

“I miss you,” Chan suddenly called out, pouting.

“You will meet me next month, Channie. Don’t be this sad now.” Although that did make him happy, the thought of spending yet another birthday without you was saddening. But it’s not like it was going to last. You would be back in no time.

That thought put a smile on his face. Soon enough, he was skipping around the house cooking breakfast and answering numerous calls from his friends and family for being a thirty-year-old now.

Seungkwan and Eva had also planned a not-so-surprise party for him. It consisted of meeting in front of his office and dragging his ass to the bar to drink and have fun. Although the day was spent slaving away in front of the computer, that night he had a lot of fun. He talked to Seungkwan and Eva for hours, and the three of them were pretty intoxicated when they left.

The only thing he remembered from that night was the fact that Eva, being the one out of the three with the most alcohol tolerance, was the one who had made sure that all of them returned home safely.

There was just one slight problem. Eva started to avoid him. Now, in any other situation, he would not have noticed it, but the text the next morning asking him if he remembered anything from the night before had him confused. When he asked her what it was all about, she refused to answer him, opting to ignore him instead.

He had no recollection of the night before, and Seungkwan didn’t either, so it was a mystery to both of them. But then again, his gut told him the problem was bigger than what he thought it was and might come to haunt him if not solved now.

So he did the most sane thing he could think of: He asked her to talk to him about it. He knew the wedding preparations would start the minute you came back, so he wanted to make sure to fix any problem that might affect you both before it blasted out of proportion.

—

“You kissed me,” was the first thing Eva told him after sitting down, making Chan’s heart drop to his stomach.

“Huh, but I don’t remember anything,” Chan retorted.

“It’s not about you remembering or not, it really happened, Chan, and I hate it,” she said, her voice almost breaking.

“Hey, calm down. We were both intoxicated, and we didn’t do it on purpose. Any other time and we wouldn’t have done it,” this seemed to have little to no effect on improving the girl’s mood.

On the other hand, Chan’s blood pressure was rising. The last thing he needed was a big mistake from which he could never turn back. With you coming back from Germany in less than a week, he needed everything in his life to be sorted out, especially something that could jeopardize a relationship with so much love in it.

“Chan, I think I like you. I’m not sure when it happened, or how it did. But I like you. So please don’t tell me I wouldn’t have done it if we weren’t intoxicated.”

The impact of this statement was so immense that it completely shattered his world, leaving him in disarray. It was true that he liked Eva. What kind of feelings he actually held for her was a mystery to him.

So, in the spur of the moment, he kissed her.

Just a few minutes ago, it was bothering him, but once he took the step, he didn’t feel what he was supposed to. He didn’t feel the disgust and hatred towards himself he should have. It felt like sneaking out of his house when he was not supposed to. It made a rush of excitement run through his body. He could feel the adrenaline rush through him.

He felt alive. maybe it was the feeling of doing something forbidden or it was something else, he didn’t know.

But, that night, they did more than kissing.

—

Once you were back, it was all sunshine and rainbows in the first few weeks. You both were happy, spending all your time together and having fun relishing in each other’s presence.

But it didn’t take you long to notice the changes. He would be stuck late at the office but come back home surprisingly lively, or those random texts from his brother late at night asking him to come over, or even the most obvious of them all, the vibrant smell of floral perfume that you never wear.

But you held out. You had promised to give him a chance to explain himself if he came clean to you. But that day never came. You asked him about these odd behaviors, but somehow he would always evade the topic altogether.

All those questions of ‘where were you last night’, ‘when will you come home’, or ‘shall we go on a date sometime soon’, all went unanswered.

He outright ignored your presence at home. But this didn’t stop the wedding preparations. Because his siblings and your parents alike loved him, they had taken the responsibility to take care of the wedding plans.

Before he could continue with his little escapades, Seungkwan caught and confronted him. Not by you but by Seungkwan. The older boy’s disappointment was beyond words. He screamed at him for an hour straight and then he had sat Chan down and calmly said,

“Either you tell her or I will.”

“But I can’t; she will leave me if I ever tell her.”

“Then she will be right in doing so.”

“Chan, I love you to death, but either you stop this and tell your girlfriend the whole truth, or I will take matters into my own hands. She has put up with enough of your shit. Don’t hurt her more,” he had said.

“Give me some time; I will do it as soon as possible,” the younger one had strained out, fisting his hair.

“She better know about it all before the wedding,” Seungkwan had warned him before seeing himself out.

—

Chan had cut off Eva after that. He tried to change everything before actually marrying you. Then, being the kind person you are, you tried to understand your boyfriend. You really did. But this was the first time in ten years you considered leaving him.

This relationship didn’t make you happy anymore. But you had gone through so many troubles together. The effort to hold each other upright was taking a toll on you.

But you were a fighter. You had fought many battles with him by your side. You couldn’t give up on those years either. Your internal dilemma was killing you. But all of this came to a halt one day when you had come back from your night shift, only to find your boyfriend and the girl he oh so diligently claimed to be his good friend, talking in the living room.

It was not like they were trying to be quiet because you could hear every single word spoken by them.

“Chan, it’s yours.”

“Eva, I have a fiancé. I will never leave her. I already told you, I love her.”

“Oh, so you didn’t think about that before fucking me”

“It was a mistake”, Chan shouted.

“No, it wasn’t, we both were very sober”, came another shout

The conversation hit you like a truck, and with each sentence, you felt your heart shattering. The decision suddenly seemed a bit too easy to make.

You walked out of the chaos, leaving the ring behind on the shoe rack. That night, you stayed at your friend’s place.

Following that event, you called Seungkwan, informing him that you won’t talk to Chan anymore. He simply asked if you wanted any help moving out, to which you answered with a simple no.

That was the end of the relationship for you. You refused to talk or see Chan ever again.

—

Now, five years later, Chan is to be married again. Not with you; no, he missed his chance. It's with Eva. They figured the best way to raise Minhan was to be together. In a county like theirs, it wasn’t the best idea to raise a kid with two unmarried parents.

Chan loved Minhan to death. But he could never show the same love for Eva. Looking at her reminded him of the mistakes he made in life. It reminded him of the happiness he could have attained, but he lost due to his own faults.

He is happy Seungkwan is still beside him. He knows he doesn’t deserve a friend like him, so the fact that Seungkwan stayed beside him makes him feel grateful.

He knew that his wife and child would move in with him soon, but he didn’t have the courage to let them into the house yet. The house that held both your memories was a bit too precious to let go of so easily.

The next day came faster than he anticipated. As Chan stood there waiting for his bride, he saw a face that he had been longing to see for the last five years.

He saw your face, sitting there on the benches, a sad smile adorning your face. Your eyes filled with emotions and stories of the years you had spent together.

Oh, how badly Chan wanted to abandon everything and run to you. Apologize a hundred times and ask you to take him back. But he couldn’t; he had children to take care of and shoes to fill.

As he stood there saying his vows, hoping it’s you he saw walking down the aisle and it’s you he kissed, but they are called dreams for a reason. And not all dreams come true.

As he kissed his bride, he saw a glimpse of your teary eyes amongst the crowd, and a tear of his own fell. Wishing for a future he was never destined to have.

the end