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yoongihan · 2 months ago

Text

Services Rendered - BC - 2/3

pairing: escort chan x femreader

genre: smut, with little plot, a lot of talking, fluffy, but there be angst in this part

word count: ~ 13.5k

warnings: sex work, smut: pentrative safe sex, hand jobs (both rec.), oral (both receiving) ; a lot of kissing, older reader, chan goes by chris, reader shorter than chris, many more 'babys' and 'yeonins' because it's chris, the most ethical escort service ever; alcohol imbibed, but no one's drunk, more discussion of insecurities on reader's part, cursing. if i've missed something, let me know.

rating: 18+/M

summary: seeking a solution to your lack of experience, you assume the process will be business-like. you're entirely wrong.

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. i swear i thought it'd take a couple weeks and i started it right after posting the first part. i don't think the final part will take as long (she says while packing her apartment to move states literally next week). thank you so much for the kind reception of the first part. there's some book discussion in this part, those books belong to their authors. i hope you enjoy it. big thank you to @moni-logues for reading this over and making sure it actually makes sense.

part one

Part Two

You wake up at some point, way too early. The sleepy realization that you aren’t in your own bedroom gives a moment of panic, but it subsides. You also realize that you aren’t currently the little spoon, or any spoon at all. There’s another irrational moment of panic, this one about him, that he’s left, that he’s gone.

You roll as gingerly as one can toward the other side of the bed, which reveals a head of messy hair and a peek of bare shoulders. Had he ditched his pajama shirt sometime in the middle of the night? Does it matter?

Your heart rate slows though. He’s still there.

You turn back toward the nightstand and the bright digital numbers that tell you that you are up well before any person needs to be. You get out of bed, standing to walk to the bathroom. As you do, you realize that you are sore. It’s a stupid thought, honestly. Of course you’re sore, but still, it’s surprising, and unnerving. You’re sore because you’ve had sex.

You had sex.

You shut the door to the bathroom before you turn on the light and once you do, you nearly audibly groan at what the mirror shows. Bedraggled. The last vestiges of your makeup are smeared (even though there wasn’t that much to begin with), eyes a bit bloodshot, hair a disaster.

You wash your face thoroughly and pat it dry. You also decide to brush your teeth. You’re not convinced a stunning specimen like Chris would even have morning breath, but you definitely do, and maybe even if you sleep a few more hours, this will mitigate the worst of it.

When you return to bed, he hasn’t moved at all. You slide in, staring at the back of his head, wondering about the course of today.

Will it be a sex-fest? You doubt it because you hardly think you have the stamina, even if he’s studied tantric or whatever.

Will it be awkward? Possibly. You’ve had only a handful of waking hours with him. What will happen when there are long, non-seducing hours? Conversation had been fine last night, but this is so much time.

Will it be claustrophobic? The hotel room is yours until twenty-four hours plus from now. That doesn’t mean you can’t leave the hotel, but does an escort want to be seen in public with his less than perfect-looking client? Does he want to be seen with you, as though you’re a couple?

You shake your head, closing your eyes despite wanting to reach out and trace your fingers along those bare shoulders. You don’t know how much time passes; you don’t think that you really fall back asleep, but you do doze some. A pleasant dreamy fog of rest, mixed up with memories of the previous evening: a pull of emotions and impressions.

When you come back to this plane of existence, you can feel lips on your shoulder.

“Chris?”

“You expecting someone else?” His voice is deep from sleep and glazed with amusement. You rub your eyes, by the nightstand clock you can see that a couple hours have passed since your first wake up. There’s a lazy bite on your shoulder, you shiver before tentatively rolling over to see him.

The wild hair, the barely-open eyes, the flushed skin.

God, he’s so beautiful.

“Hi,” you say for lack of anything creative. “Good morning.” His head tilts to the side and sniffs once.

“You brushed your teeth,” he accuses as he covers his mouth with his hand. “That’s hardly fair.” He starts to pull back the covers, as though to leave the bed.

“It’s not a big deal–”

“Nope,” he interrupts, laughing as he slides to his feet and heads to the bathroom. “We have to be the same here. Equality, right?” He winks at you before entering, the door shutting behind him.

You sigh, embarrassed now for NOT having morning breath, before forcing yourself to sit up, back resting on the headboard. You touch your hair to make sure it’s not too crazy.

When the door opens, not more than a minute or two later, you’re already back to feeling horribly anxious at what the day will bring. He walks to your side, looking down at you.

“Equal now?” you ask softly.

He sets his knee on the bed, gracefully climbing on without even touching you, enclosing you with his presence. You stare up at him, swallowing as your throat feels dry. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes sparkling. He leans in, his hands pressed into the mattress at your sides. His lips find yours, a minty burst. It’s biting, the mint, but his mouth and tongue are soft and warm. It’s like sinking into a hot bath.

“Morning,” he murmurs, lips barely a millimeter from yours. He goes back in, drawing it out, making you sit up higher, your hands encircling him by the neck to keep him close. When he breaks for air, he lets his nose bump yours before sitting back on his heels. “Sleep okay?”

You’re muddled from his kiss, brain slow to engage. “Mmmhmm.” You move again to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You can tell he’s grinning when your lips meet his, but you slip your tongue in his mouth, curling with his. He groans, reaching to pull you on top of him instead. His hands slide along your legs to your hips, gripping tightly as you continue to taste him. It’s relaxed this morning, the tangling of your bodies. He seems not inclined to speed up, rubbing his hand up and down your back, almost in rhythm to the kiss. It’s so engrossing, being wrapped up in him, that you don’t even question when your hips start to rock against his.

Well, the stuff you’ve heard and read about morning wood certainly is true. He groans when you thrust just right; you echo his groan, barely audible since detaching from his mouth seems wrong.

He breathes your name against your mouth. “Hold on.”

The words eventually make themselves recognizable in your mind and you break away. “You don’t…want to…I thought guys were always up for it in the morning?”

“Oh, I am. We are,” he says quickly, as though he realizes that you’re beginning to feel ashamed by your assumptions and zeal. “But you might be sore? A little? And it’s by no means required.” He cups your face in his hands before you look and dart away. “Talk to me.”

“A little sore.”

“Thought so.” He kisses you softly, nose brushing yours before letting his head fall back on the headboard. “Breakfast?”

It’s difficult to switch from desire for him to considering desire for food. “I mean, we can do room service.”

His fingers trace along your ears before dropping to his lap. “Let’s go out. Do you like diner food?”

“I wouldn’t trust someone who doesn’t.”

He laughs, reaching out and squeezing your thigh. “That does seem like a good litmus test.” He stares at you for a second. “Want me to shower first?”

You nod slowly as you roll off his legs, sitting back against the headboard next to him. “You want to go out?”

He looks over at you, still comfortable on the bed in the twisted sheets. “Supposed to be a nice day. I figure, good breakfast, maybe we go to the park…” He trails off at your expression. “Do you not want to?”

“No, that…that sounds nice,” you mumble, eyes falling to your hands, folding back the sheet like that will make order out of chaos.

He leans over, mouth at your ear. “Did you think it would be sex 24/7?” His whisper and breath on the sensitive skin makes you tremble.

“I both thought too much and not enough about this weekend.”

“Meaning?”

“I worried, but tried not to imagine what scenarios might happen. I didn’t think you’d…” When you look over at him, he gives you a questioning look. “Never mind.”

“Nope, you promised to tell me. What you’re thinking.”

“That’s still in effect? I think you mastered getting my brain mushy and senseless.”

He chuckles, hand grasping your chin to turn you to him for a kiss. He lingers, enough to make you want all over again.

“Tell me?”

You want to look anywhere but at him, but his hold on you is firm. “I wasn’t sure going out like a date was something we could do.”

He stares at you for more seconds than you wish he would. “Sometimes I’m hired as a date for events.”

You suppose if you’d given yourself a moment to think about anything you know about sex work (specifically from films and books), you would have remembered that. Hopefully no one would blame you for focusing solely on the ‘sex’ part of the occupation.

“Right.”

He kisses you again. “You’re worried about something.”

“Do you want to be seen with me? In public?” Might as well just ask. He already knows you’re insecure about things.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he counters, fingers skimming your jaw and cheek.

“I’m older than you.”

“I know.”

With as insightful as he’s been already, you hoped you wouldn’t have to spell it out for him, but apparently he’s making you do that anyway.

“You don’t mind being seen with me? Even though I’m…”

He kisses you for a millionth time. “A couple things. I chose to take this job. With you. That includes being seen with you. Also…” He shakes his head. “I feel like I should make you say another positive thing about yourself.” He lets his hand glide down your neck, a caress.

“Chris…” You think for a moment before continuing, “I don’t think I’m disgusting or repulsive. I really don’t. I just know how the world sees me. And my good qualities…” He grins when you smile. “Don’t seem as admired by society as the qualities I lack. It’s not low self-esteem, but a realistic understanding of the world?”

“That seems a little like justification for not thinking you’re beautiful. And you are.”

You can’t help your immediate grimace at the compliment.

“See?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s…I don’t trust compliments about how I look.”

“From anybody or from men?”

Insightful as fuck.

You sigh. “Why ask when you seem to already know?”

His thumb traces along your collarbone as he answers: “I like to make sure my assumptions aren’t completely off.” He takes a moment, his touch lackadaisical. “So, breakfast…out?”

“Yes. If you’re sure.”

He rolls his eyes before cupping the back of your neck to kiss you. “Yes. I’m sure.” And he gets up to walk back into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door and you open your mouth to question, but he pops his head out. “Feel free to come in if you need to. I’m not shy.” He winks and disappears.

Yeah, you’re not doing that. Sex is one thing (a thing you’re still processing), but domestic daily acts together? That’s a level of intimacy you can’t fathom.

You are combing through your luggage for something to wear when he comes out of the bathroom…in only a towel.

“All yours,” he says, going to his own bag to find clothes.

You stare, which is silly, because you’ve already seen him two seconds ago with only pajama pants on. It’s the same thing, right?

It’s not. The towel leaves less to the imagination, and the scattered drops of water catching the light on his torso heighten your awareness.

He glances over at you when you don’t respond, or even move. He smirks.

You scoff, embarrassed. “You know you’re hot,” you retort when you grab your clothes and move toward the bathroom. He catches you by the arm, pulling you close.

“Thank you,” he says softly, nose to nose with you. His fingers caress your forearm as he lets go and you mutter a ‘you’re welcome’ as you dash into the bathroom, shutting the door behind.

–

“Is that enough meat?” you ask, not in a judgemental tone, but more in astonishment. He grins cheekily across from you in the booth.

“I told you. I’d share if you got the pancakes.”

“I know, but…” You gesture to his plate with toast, eggs, and enough bacon and sausage for the carnivore in anyone. “It’s…impressive. Thank you. I really do hate choosing between sweet and savoury for breakfast.” You set pancakes on the spare plate.

“Well,” he begins, setting some of his protein on your plate. “I did use up a lot of energy last night.”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the amusement and know he’s smirking again at you.

He says your name plaintively when you don’t look up or comment.

“I think you just like embarrassing me.”

“I think you’re cute like this.” He points at you with a fork. “You’re cute always, but especially right now.”

The meal is mostly devoured in quiet as you are hungry (you expended energy, too, after all), but you find out that Chris loves working out, playing sports with his friends, going to concerts, and cooking.

“I’m not good,” he assures you about cooking. “I’m not awful, but I’m not going to impress anyone.”

“But cooking is a skill. There are people who pretty much order out for every meal. Minus like cereal and sandwiches.”

“I still do that…sometimes.”

You laugh at his sheepish expression. “I do too. Some days after work, I’m too tired to even think about making something. It’s enough to decide what I even want to eat.”

He nods. “Understandable.” He puts another piece of bacon on your plate even though you’ve definitely eaten your quota of food for the morning. “Do you like what you do?”

“Work-wise? I guess. It’s enough for now. I can do the job, some days I feel like I do it well. But I wouldn’t say it fulfills me. Helps me pay the bills.”

“Is that okay?”

You startle when you stretch out your legs and hit his. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he replies simply before hooking his foot around yours at the ankle. His eyebrows lift at your expression, like he’s daring you to make a scene. “Is it okay to not be fulfilled by your job?”

“I…” His foot is rubbing your calf and it shouldn’t be stimulating, but my god, it is stimulating. “Well, are you?”

“Fulfilled?” He cocks his head to the side, thinking. “Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’ve done well.”

“This job?” you ask, swallowing before grabbing your mug of coffee. Chris, with another very unique trait, doesn’t drink coffee and is having orange juice. “Your…current work?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes warm. “This job.”

“I mean…not the acting, not like specifically…a…client…but your work overall…”

He leans closer, despite the table in the way. “I know what you mean.” He waves down the server and hands her a credit card before you can even get your wallet out of your purse.

“You…”

“My treat.”

“Tax-deductible?”

He laughs. “Sure. Something like that.”

You finish your coffee by the time he’s signed the check. He slips his hand in yours (he’d done the same on the walk from the hotel to the diner) and leads you back outside.

“Anything you wanna do?” he asks. “There’s a park a few blocks away. Some shops if you’re so inclined.”

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Us just…hanging out?”

He watches you while you both wait at a crosswalk. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. I…I feel like I might be wasting your time.”

He squeezes your hand. “I don’t feel like that. You said that you don’t take time off from work a lot.”

“I did?”

“In your interview. I figure this can be about some relaxation as well as…other activities.”

“I don’t want you to be bored.”

“I don’t want you to be bored either.” He gestures toward the sign that announces that you’ve arrived at the city park. “But…there’s fresh air, trees, and a used bookstore all within a couple blocks.”

“A used bookstore?”

He grins at the delight in your voice. “Fresh air first.”

It’s a nice park. People are out on a clement Saturday, walking their dogs, playing frisbee, and having picnics. Chris leads a meandering pace, stopping to pet dogs whenever the opportunity arises. You also indulge scratching behind the ears for several, getting licked and jumped on. You don’t want to think about the dusty paw prints left on your pants, just Chris’s big smile and laugh when he falls from a squat position because the golden retriever is a little too excited.

He’s still chuckling when you offer your hand to him (the excitable dog and his owners have already moved on). He takes it and you brace your feet to pull him up. He brushes himself off, and before you can overthink it, you do the same, wiping the stray dirt from his t-shirt. He grabs your hand after a moment, lifting it up and kissing it softly.

“Thanks.”

You want to ask if he’s the top employee at his company. How could he not be, with warm eyes looking at you like you matter. How can any client go back to their real life after time spent with him?

It’s a dream. A dream that you made happen, but still a dream.

“You’re a dog person,” you reply to his gratitude, trying to move his focus off of you.

“I am.” He doesn't let go of your hand, but draws you toward a bench. You sit next to him, clasped hands on his thigh as he looks out at the people milling about, dogs chasing sticks. “My folks have a dog, but my life is so busy that I can’t have one now. Maybe someday.”

“That sounds nice.” You stare at his profile for a few seconds. “Dog, house, white picket fence?”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know about the fence. What’s your ‘someday’? Your job sounds pretty involved.” He glances at you.

“It’s silly.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, what I want.”

“Lies.”

You take a deep breath and turn your focus on the trees. “I want a quiet life. Sure, I’d still work, but it’s mostly at home. I have a small garden where I grow things that end up on my table. The idea that what I put effort into actually is something that benefits me tangibly. Instead of just a paycheck.”

“Don’t insult the paycheck.”

“Everything I work with is conceptual, you know? I can’t touch it, see it. It’s documents and meetings, and something posted on the internet. There’s nothing to hold.”

“Makes sense. I like traveling, but it’d be nice to have more than a tiny apartment to come home to.” He squeezes your hand. “Want some ice cream?”

You look around, confused.

“It’s behind those trees,” he says, pointing. “Stay here, I’ll go get it. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Surprise me.”

His eyebrows rise. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me,” he says, before leaning close. “You trust me?”

“You seem to have me pretty figured out already.”

His brow furrows. “I doubt that.” He’s so close with his unsure expression, it’s cute. You cover the remaining distance and kiss him softly. He returns it, light and breezy. “See…I didn’t know you’d do that.”

You grin at him. “That’s because you can’t see what I see.”

The blush growing on his cheeks makes him all the more endearing. “Smooth talker,” he mumbles before kissing you again and getting up. You watch him go before looking back out at the activity.

You can’t remember the last time you sat somewhere and people watched, without taking out your phone either to scroll or work. It’s calming. Chris, his very presence reminding you why he’s here, sets your nerves alight. In all the good and anxious ways. You worry so much about what you say or do, that in this moment, it’s nice to just be.

“I got two that I like, so whichever one you prefer, I’m good with the reject.”

You startle at his voice, intently watching the final outcome of a boy, about ten years old, in a tug-of-war with his beagle.

“What did you get?”

“Chocolate peanut butter, and mango sorbet.” He carefully sits next to you, a cone of melting goodness in each hand.

“They both sound good, but I'm leaning toward mango.”

“Interesting decision,” he says, handing over the bright yellow-orange swirl.

You take a lick of it, closing your eyes to enjoy the burst of flavor before responding to his words. “Is it? Is there some psychological diagnosis about me choosing fruit over chocolate?”

“Possibly,” he replies, leaning against the back of the bench, staring out at the clearing, still inhabited by people, dogs, and activity. “Are you denying what you really want due to some social concern that you can’t have the thing you desire?” He raises an eyebrow when you laugh. “Are you assuming I would rather have chocolate and you are appeasing me over having the thing you want the most?”

“Maybe mango sounds better than chocolate right now.”

He scrunches his nose. “Unlikely.”

You laugh again at his mocking disbelief before enjoying several more bites of the sorbet. “Did you study psychology or sociology in school?”

“Neither. There was a gen ed intro class I had to take. It was cool.” He offers his cone to you. “You have to try it, to know if you made the right choice.”

The familiarity of sharing ice cream with someone you met yesterday is not lost on you; how strange this entire experience is. So you lean over to taste and it is really good. You offer your cone.

“Equality, right?”

He chuckles and tries the mango.

“I don’t regret my choice,” you say when he goes quiet, either pondering psychology classes or chocolate over mango.

“Hmmm,” is all he gives you. “I can’t complain. This is really good.”

You smile at his apparent glee for ice cream, and how the sun shines on his face, highlighting his skin, casting shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks.

The smear of chocolate by his lips.

“You…you have…,” you begin, gesturing to the mark.

He doesn’t look embarrassed, but leans toward you. “Can you get it?”

You wipe it with your thumb, offering the remnants to him without much thought. Then you see his eyes spark when his lips touch your skin. There’s a light scraping of his teeth and the ice cream feels less like an enjoyable dessert and more like a precursor to something else.

When he draws back, your eyes are glued to his mouth, your thumb still proffered in supplication as you’re frozen.

“It’s melting,” he says softly, nodding toward your ice cream cone. You blink and focus on the sorbet, eyes straying back toward him after a little bit. “So…do you want to go to the bookstore after this?”

Your thoughts are definitely not on books, or shopping, or anything public. You don’t answer, unable to figure out how to say what you want.

He says your name, drawing your gaze from what’s left of your sorbet to him. Does he know? Can he tell?

“I don’t want to go to the bookstore.”

His eyebrows raise. “No? Um, there’s…” He pulls out his phone, you assume, to look up what’s around. “There’s a farmer’s market several blocks away. And–”

“Chris…

He glances over. “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, channeling whatever confidence you have in everything but sex. “I’d like to go back to the hotel.” The confidence lasts just the duration of the sentence, and you look away immediately.

“Yeah? Why?”

Your head turns so fast, because you can’t believe he might be oblivious, not after last night, but he’s grinning widely at you, those beautiful brown eyes heated.

“You like making me spell things out, don’t you?”

“I do. I like how flustered you are about the very reason you hired me.” He stands up, waiting for you to do the same. “We can finish on the way.”

He chats the whole way back about when he was growing up in Sydney, but you can’t really focus on his actual words. Just the rolling sound of his voice, the accent in full effect. You’re thinking too much, as per usual. Worried, as usual, about how you’ll perform. It doesn’t seem to matter that everything last night went way better than you could have hoped or imagined. Your brain doesn’t allow you to relax, to take in the evidence that you can ask for this, that he might want to even if it is why you hired him.

When you two are waiting for the hotel elevator, ice cream wrappers discarded in a street bin, he bumps shoulders with you.

“Where’d you go?”

“Into the twisted, thorny mire that is my brain.”

He laughs and kisses you without warning. It’s almost perfunctory, natural and domestic. “Your brain sounds like the part of the Sleeping Beauty cartoon, where the prince has to hack his way through the huge vines into the castle.”

“That. With no castle or end in sight. And probably a bit grimier.”

The elevator doors open and you both enter as he is still chuckling at your description. “Grimier?”

“Yes. The cartoon seems too clean, you know? That much plant life would be dirty with soil and insects, and that mossy loamy smell.” You lean back against the elevator wall as the doors close. “Maybe swampy too.”

He’s still grinning when he turns toward you, lips finding yours in half a laugh. The relative privacy allows you the freedom to slide your hands around his middle, pulling him close. He’s cosily warm; the ice cream has left you a little cold and his natural temperature banishes that chill. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tantalizing. Your head falls back against the wall as the elevator dings to announce its arrival to your floor. He pulls away, hand slipping into yours to drag you toward the long hallway.

It feels both interminably long in distance as you stumble after him, but also short because…sex…again. With him.

How does most of the world’s population consider sex to be a normal (albeit enjoyable) thing?

Once you’re both inside the hotel room, he looks at you with that raised eyebrow.

“What?” you ask, wishing your missing boldness would not be missing.

“I’m half-wanting you to just pounce, I guess.”

His smile softens the sharpness of your nerves.

“Just half?”

He moves close, not touching you, waiting. “More than half…what’s got you looking so wide-eyed?”

“Nervous.”

“Why?” At this, his hand comes to your cheek, careful.

“I guess I thought, you know, having sex once would make me less awkward about it.”

His eyes soften. “Once would make you a sex goddess?”

You make a face at the absurdity. “I didn’t say my thoughts made logical sense.”

His hand molds to your cheek and jaw. “It’s okay to still be nervous. And it’s okay to be awkward.”

You know you’re pouting, but you can’t help it. “I just…I want to…enjoy and for you to enjoy.” Your face heats at that last part.

He dips his head so you can’t look anywhere but at him. “I do. I will. And I’ll tell you if I’m not and we’ll try something else.” His thumb pulls lightly at your bottom lip. “Trust me?”

“I do…” If you think too deeply about it, it’ll worry you how much you trust and admire this man, after less than twenty-four hours of knowing him. “Really, I do. It’s more me, than you.”

He lets his lips brush yours delicately, as if inviting you to make the decision to add pressure and intensity. It’s so lovely, like the touch of a rose petal. You cover his hand on your cheek with yours and lean in, prolonging the kiss. His arm curls around you, pulling you flush against him. Using his hold on your face, he angles your head, shifting from a quiet kiss to hot and wet and shiver-inducing.

“Wanna try something new?” he whispers, lips still touching yours with the question.

“Um…”

He draws back, still holding you because he rightly knows you might try and run away.

“Like…?”

He bumps noses with you, teasing. “I have a feeling you already know what you want to try.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why do you make me say everything?”

“Cause you need to. So it’s clear,” he replies, unbothered by your frustration. “It gives you the power. This is your weekend, baby.” He dives back in, the kiss as stubborn as he is. You melt against him, wishing you could be absorbed by his heat and scent. “What do you want?” It’s as though he addles your brain on purpose, just to ask questions like that.

“Orgasm,” you breathe.

“Sure. How?” His head drops to suck a mark on your neck, making your fingers dig into his arms. “You can say it.”

“Your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Never mind that you know you’re flushed from saying it. “Do…you…mind it?”

The smirk is devastating. “If someone…in your future, tells you they don’t want to…dump that person. Immediately.” He maneuvers you to the bed, chuckling at your inability to walk normally. He sits you down, so your feet are planted on the floor.

“You’re overestimating my dating life,” you finally say.

He cocks his head to the side, regarding you before dropping to his knees. You swallow, hard.

“I think, if you truly wanted to date, you could. Successfully.”

“Have you met people, Chris?”

He laughs, resting then sliding his hands along your thighs. “I have and I stand by what I said.” He presses one kiss on your knee before starting to undo the button and zipper of your shorts. “Why wouldn’t someone want to date you?”

You’re so focused on where his hands are, how he’s slipping off your shoes and socks. He massages your calves idly, like he’s barely thinking about it before tugging off your shorts.

He says your name when you don’t reply.

“I’m not answering that,” you breathe out as his hands map your legs. “It’s like you asking for me to say something nice about myself yesterday.”

“Lay back, baby,” he says, rising up on his knees to kiss you softly. “We’re back to the color system, okay? Red if it’s too much, or not good. Or if you don’t feel safe. Yellow to slow down, or change. Green if you’re out of your mind with pleasure.” His smirk makes your eyes narrow in mock-annoyance. “I really want it to be green.”

He kisses your bare knee before trailing his lips up along your inner thigh.

“Yeonin?”

You make some sound in response.

“You gotta relax.” You feel him cover your hand which is clenched tightly in a fist (you didn’t even notice) and carefully undo the curling of each finger. “You’re supposed to enjoy it.” He has that amused thread in his voice.

“I do. I am.”

His fingers slot with yours. “Deep breath.”

You do as he instructs, and your muscles relax with the exhale.

“Good girl.”

Oh.

“Hmmm, I figured,” he says softly, lips back on the inside of your thigh. There’s a nip and a soothing touch of tongue. As he gets closer, you try not to squirm, but it’s impossible. He lets go of your hand to hold your hip down. “Easy.” Then you feel his mouth on the gusset of your underwear.

The noise you let out is humiliating, but you cannot be appalled at yourself because holy shit. He chuckles, and you can feel the vibrations in your core. He hooks a finger on the fabric, his finger brushing your swollen and sensitive and wanting cunt. You whine as he pulls the clothing down your legs and off. His hands slide back up your thighs, thumbs barely brushing you there.

“Chris,” the whine is more pronounced. “Please.”

“So polite,” he says, his breath fanning out on your clitoris. It feels like an eternity, his fingers digging into your skin, breath heating then cooling, before you feel his mouth. You’d levitate if his hand wasn’t so firm on your hip, keeping you on the bed. A slow lick, excruciatingly slow. He hums, sending vibrations again, this time more intense before his lips enclose over your clit and he sucks.

You are forming words, you think, but you might be nonsense as well. There’s ‘Chris’ and ‘More’.

“As you wish,” he answers one of those ‘more please’s with that low voice, full of provocation and fondness. His fingers, first one then a second, slip in, curling up and proving how much attention he pays as he finds the exact spot. You shudder and his fingers retreat; this time you whimper.

“Not so fast, baby. It needs to build for a bit.” His explanation in no way makes you not wordlessly complain the next two times he does the same thing. He checks in with you, asking for your color, and saying the word ‘green’ is its own kind of torture as breathing is challenging. Your hand is in his hair, twisting, tightening. He’s laughing, but when you raise your head to actually see him, his eyes are black, pupils blown out, and you’re sure the image of him looking at you while giving you oral will be seared in your brain for fifty years.

Then he doesn’t back off or relent and you are sent beyond this mortal plane, the experience not old hat to you, the pleasure prolonged as he continues until you come back to yourself, breathing heavy and fingers releasing their grip on his tousled hair. He lifts his head, hand patting your thigh and wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. When you stare at him, unable to speak, he climbs onto the bed to lay next to you.

“Verdict?” he asks softly. You pull him to you, kissing him messily, trying to rid him of his shirt at the same time. He obliges, tossing his shirt to the floor before cupping your face in his hands to kiss you deeply, apparently not in a hurry like you seem to be.

“Good,” you finally speak, breath somewhat back to normal. “So good, god, Chris…” You don’t know what to say, how to phrase how much this means to you: to be given pleasure so freely, that he cares enough to get you off with no expectation of reciprocity.

But you want to reciprocate. You start to undo his jeans, and you don’t notice that he’s only smoothing your hair, pressing soft kisses on your cheek, forehead.

“You always want to rush,” he murmurs as you shove down both jeans and his underwear. It’s not a protest, his dick definitely isn’t saying no, but you look up at him even as you take him in hand.

You want to say that time is limited. That it’s less than 24 hours till he leaves, a part of that has to be dedicated to some sleep as you can’t function properly to get yourself home if you don’t. You have to rush because you don’t have any guarantee that you’ll get to experience this again.

And not with him.

So you say nothing, denying a realization of feelings that are better looked at tomorrow, when you’re on your own.

“Can you get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained as you explore his length, intrigued by how hot it is, how delicate the skin, and how stiff. “Please?”

You meet his eyes with your own smirk. “Now who’s being polite?”

His lips twist. “I’m always polite.” And he gives your nose a peck. You ignore the flutter of your heart at such a small gesture, letting go of him to grab a foil packet from the box. You roll it on him, squeezing carefully.

“That okay? Green?”

He huffs a laugh, face flushed and glowing with light perspiration. “Green.” He wraps his hand around yours and starts to press the head to your entrance.

“Like this?” you ask, not sure why side by side, facing each other is shocking to you. Sex always seems like one person is above, the other below. There’s something even more intimate about this.

“Yes?” He smiles. “Okay?”

You nod as he slips in, your earlier orgasm allowing the breach much easier than last night. You clench instinctively and he slides a hand down your side to your leg, lifting it so it’s slung over his. The angle changes and you gasp.

“Better?” He tips your chin up to capture your lips again as he draws back to thrust. You grip his shoulders, lost in the feeling of his cock moving against your walls, the rhythm of his tongue with yours. You don’t think (not much anyway), drowning in the sensations of heat, sweat, sharp inhales and exhales. He whispers compliments, words you don’t really comprehend, but with his accent, the timbre, you think it’s poetry.

His fingers bring you to completion before he lets go and comes himself.

Chris props himself up on one elbow once you both get your breath back. He’s giving you that sleepy grin, self-satisfied (you can’t be mad at him…he should feel satisfied) and content. He moves a piece of your hair out of your eyes.

“Still green?”

You snort then laugh. “Yeah, if I had strength I’d give you a high-five.”

He holds up his hand and with effort you smack it, making him giggle. “That’s a first for me.”

“Never been high-fived?”

“Not after sex.”

“Pity.”

He falls to the mattress next to you, eyes never leaving you. You stare back, breathing mostly normal now.

“It was good for you, too?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t sure?” He scoots closer, nuzzling your shoulder, leaving a kiss.

“I mean, it sounded like it was good. But…I guess I want verbal confirmation.”

He moves even closer so your faces are inches apart. “Yes. It was great even.” He kisses you without heat, only sweetness. He rolls to his back, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s early.” He glances at the nightstand clock then at you. “Any thoughts on how we can while away the hours until dinner?”

There’s nothing to hint mischief in his voice, but you still think he might be angling for more of something. You want to, but you’re also a little shaken by what’s just occurred. That he wanted to, did, and did so with skill.

“You did say there was a bookshop?”

If he’s disappointed, you can’t see it in his face. “To add to that stack over there?” The books you brought have not moved a millimeter since yesterday.

“One can never have too many books.”

“Nerd,” he teases, clasping you by the jaw to turn you toward him for another kiss. “We’ll get dressed and go then. Maybe you can recommend something for me.” He dwells on the kiss, lips tasting yours. He pulls back as your eyelashes flutter open. “Hmm…though…”

You go still entirely when you feel his hand rest high on your thigh. “Chris…”

“You can have three,” he says easily. “Should tide you over until after dinner, yeah?” When his fingers find where you are sensitive, you shudder.

“I don’t think…” Surely you can’t again. He’s gentle, attuned to your workings so well that it takes a light touch, circling and pressing.

“Sure you can. Just a little one.”

With a kiss, he muffles your sharp exhale when your stomach drops yet again and the spread of pleasure tingles through your body.

“A goddamn menace,” you huff out as he squeezes your thigh.

“Yeah, you’re really upset about it, I can tell.” He slides out of bed and into the bathroom without another word while you’re prone for several minutes before hauling yourself up to gather your discarded clothes.

–

“Oh, it’s lovely,” you say reverently when he slows you down in front of the bookstore. You were so intent on avoiding the two teenagers on skateboards that you missed it.

He opens the door and you enter into tall, overstuffed bookshelves. It’s not a big space, but every inch of it is used. There’s a small counter and till to your right, and the clerk nods in greeting. You nod back, reaching for Chris’s hand and tugging him toward the fiction section. “You said to recommend something.”

“Yeah, I have a job that I have to fly to, so I’ll need something to pass the time.” If he notices your falter at the mention of another ‘job’, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t ask, though the morbid side of you wants to, if it's this kind of job: creating intimacy with a client, a stranger. You tell yourself it could be a legitimate acting job, but it punches you in the chest anyway.

“What do you normally read?” you ask with a steady voice. You stop in front of the Bs, pulling out a copy of Wuthering Heights. “Want a great presentation of badly-parented children that grow up and treat each other horribly?”

He chuckles. “That’s such a sales pitch.”

“It’s a pretty copy, though,” you say, sliding it back on the shelf.

“I read more nonfiction.” He sees your expression. “I know, it’s boring, but a lot of it has been acting methodologies. To expand my skills.”

“Would you prefer nonfiction?” You run your finger along the spines, stopping on familiar surnames. “I have a few I could recommend.”

“No, no way. Give me something that’ll suck me in.” He comes up behind you, resting his chin on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“Okay…more recent, or stuff like this,” You gesture to the books in front of you. “Classics?” You lean back into his embrace, savoring. There’s a long list of moments from this weekend you want to carve into the stone of your memory. This is one.

“Uhhhh, maybe more recent. I’m not that smart.”

You sniff, covering his arms with your hands, holding him close. “That’s ridiculous. And besides, there are multiple kinds of intelligence.”

“There are?” You feel his words in your hair as much as you hear them.

“There’s a theory that there are nine, and less than half are what would be considered academic.” You pause. “Sorry, I get a little ranty about stuff like that. You know how there are people who are so good at reading others, registering their emotions and how to empathize?”

“My mate, Felix.” He’s so sure. “He’s very affectionate, very aware of how to care for his friends and those around him.”

“Yes, exactly. That’s its own intelligence. You can be an astrophysicist, but cannot walk into a meeting with any awareness of the people around you. Two types of intelligence.”

“So all that to say?” His words are shaded with repressed humor.

“I’m going to find one classic and one more modern book for you.”

You feel him kiss the top of your head. “So generous.” And he lets go. “Am I allowed to find something for you?”

You turn to him. “You want to?”

“If you trust me.”

“Absolutely.”

Your confident response visibly surprises him; he blinks then that devastating smile, complete with dimples, appears. He drops his head to kiss you before disappearing down another aisle of books.

You wander along the classics first, considering what you know of him, what story might immerse him. It’s easier to focus on that than on the job he’ll work after you.

You have no idea how much time passes when Chris finds you in a corner, legs crossed and seated against the shelves. There’s a stack of five books next to your knee as you leaf through one. He squats down in front of you and waits until you notice him.

He chuckles when you jolt at his presence. “I thought you were only recommending two?”

“This is my short list,” you reply indignantly at his amusement. “You might go and play sports with your friends, but I read when I have free time.”

He plops down across, offering you one book. You reach out to take it as he speaks.

“I’ve not read it, but I know the author wrote a book I liked as a kid. And I read the first page? I don’t know…I thought it sounded a bit like what you were talking about at the park. A simple life.”

A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle; a memoir of her time at her family’s farmhouse.

“Oh this sounds lovely.” You clutch it to your chest. “Thank you. I didn’t even know she had nonfiction.”

“Glad you like it…” He looks at the books. “Do you need help narrowing down?”

“No. I think I’ve got it.” You pull two and hand them over.

“Okay, I’ve heard of Frankenstein…why that one?”

“It’s a good book that happens to be a classic. It’s not terribly long in case you are intimidated by the older language. And it’s very different than any movie that has Frankenstein in the name.” You tap the other. “The Talented Mr. Ripley–”

“Also has a movie or two.”

“Yes, but I thought, with you being an actor and that’s basically what Tom is doing, you might enjoy it. It’s a series, so if you do like it, there’s more. Though it’s really dark, so I don’t know if you are into that.” You start to second-guess yourself. “Nor is it that recent…It’s from the fifties. Give it back.” You reach for it, but he holds it out of your range.

“No. These are the ones you picked and I’m intrigued.” He shrugs. “I also like that neither is like, Game of Thrones-sized.”

“You read those?”

“God, no. I thought about it when I watched the show. Then saw the number of books in the series and the page numbers and decided: not for me.”

“If you like fantasy, I can–” You start to scrabble off the floor.

“Yeonin…I’m happy with these. Thank you.” He doesn’t say anything for a second, smile still bright. “Want to browse more? Or should we go get a drink before dinner?”

“You don’t drink.”

“I don’t, but there are some really good mocktails out there.” He stands up, holding out his hand for you. You take it, letting him pull you up with ease.

You bend down to gather the books that you pulled in your pursuit of finding some for him, and start to put them back. He doesn’t say anything, but shadows the retracing of your steps, humming something you don’t recognize, but is comforting. When you're done, he plucks the L’Engle book out of your hand and heads toward the till.

“Chris…” You hurry to follow. “Don’t you…Christopher.”

He turns at that, surprised. “Oh, good thing you don’t know my full name if this is all it takes.”

“If you’re going to buy my book,” you say as the clerk takes the stack he holds. “I should buy yours.”

“No.”

You actually harumph. “Then I’m paying for dinner.”

He opens his mouth, says nothing, then closes it. “We’ll see about that.” He thanks the clerk, who seems amused by the both of you. He hands you the brown paper bag. “You can–No, I can’t even let you do that. I’ll carry them.”

You huff, “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins at you, holding the door open. “I’m okay with that.”

You wait for him to step alongside you. “I’m certainly fine with drinks, but do we need to change for dinner?” You were in what you’d put on this morning: shorts, a soft and fluttery blouse. He was in jeans and t-shirt (it sounds simple, but the way the t-shirt fits him is illegal).

“I meant to ask. Did you want to go fancy?” He stops you both at a red ‘don’t walk’ light.

You think about it, noticing how your arm is almost touching his, thinking maybe you should take his hand again, stay in that moment for a bit. But you feel his gaze on you as the light changes and you both make your way across the street, so you don’t, trying to remember his question.

“I don’t feel like you could fit a suit in that one bag of yours.”

“You really are fixated on me in a suit.”

“You put that image in my head,” you reply, enjoying his grin. “It’s really your fault.”

“Sure it is. I do not have a suit, though I could probably do a bit better than this, if you wanted to?” He looked down at himself before switching the bag of books to his other hand and taking yours. He does it so easily without a concern or second-guessing. You wish you could have his confidence.

“I didn’t pack my ball gown.”

“Pity.”

“I’m okay with wherever, really. We’ve already established neither of us can do spicy, so I trust whatever you decide on.” You laugh. “I think I just like not having to make a decision.”

“You can make the decisions later,” he says so casually as he leads you to a bar, more tavern, but a bar. You almost stumble at his words, the implications of later sending a wave of heat through you. It reminds you of the decision he’d coaxed out of you an hour or more ago.

You’re so flushed, it’s like you already had spicy food.

He squeezes your hand and pulls you into a stool at the long curved wooden bar. The bartender hands you both a menu which includes food, but you flip to the cocktails while Chris looks at the ‘zero-proof’ section. You smile over the top of the menu at him.

“What are you smiling for?” he asks, not even looking up. His observational skills are off the charts.

“No reason.” How can you tell him that every detail about him makes you smile? You wouldn’t have minded if he did drink, but the fact he chooses not to strikes you as admirable, and cute.

You are so far gone on him, it’s concerning.

The bartender comes back to take your order: for you a rosemary gin fizz and for Chris, something with papaya.

“Thank you for the book, again.”

“I hope you like it.”

Can you ask for some sort of contact from him? So you can tell him what you think once you finish it? Can you ask for a phone number so you can hear what he thinks of his books?

But you signed a contract about confidentiality. You could request him again if you wanted to have another weekend, night, hour, but this truly had been a venture and dent in your financial security.

You’d be so tempted to use every cent to see him as much as you could.

“I’m sure I will.” You can’t look away from him, happy to soak in the brightness that he radiates.

“Stop.” He laughs at you.

“You’re handsome, Chris. I can’t help it.” It’s nice to be on this end of the teasing, to see the red in his skin, the duck of his head and glancing away of his eyes.

“Please stop.”

“Fine,” you sigh in mock-exasperation.

He looks back and grins before resting his hand on your thigh. Your drinks are delivered and there’s a swapping to try the other before settling and discussing favorite books read in school. During the entire conversation, he doesn’t stop touching you in some form. None of it is inappropriate (you almost wish it was, a little), staying in the realm of casual and affectionate.

But you are so stirred by it. You’ve spent years seeing how your friends and their partners interact in public, and casual touch is a thing you envy so much. The reassurance of someone’s presence by you, always.

Chris is saying something about Fahrenheit 451, and your eyes are welling up with your everlong internal monologue.

He says your name, interrupting himself.

You shake your head. “Sorry. Thoughts.”

“Gonna share them?”

You sort of want to. Because nothing you’ve revealed to him has backfired; he has not shamed or chastised you for being open and vulnerable.

But these thoughts put a burden on him, a possibly very unwanted burden. They shove your feelings and wants and needs on a man who is only next to you to fulfill a contract. There is no longevity in this transaction.

You’re lucky he turned out to be as wonderful as he is.

You shake your head again in answer to his question. “Not this time.”

He looks skeptical, but lets it pass, before asking if you want another cocktail. It was exceptionally good, but you don’t want a buzz from any substance. He’s enough. You’re also a lightweight with spirits and you don’t want to hinder any part of tonight.

He nods and asks for the check. You protest again, and he smiles winsomely as he hands the bartender his credit card.

“Can I buy dinner then?”

He sighs dramatically. “You make it very hard to properly court you.”

You laugh at the old-fashioned word. “Is that what you’re doing? I feel like I’m already very wooed.”

He shrugs, signing the receipt before standing up, hand out to you even though sliding off a barstool does not require assistance.

Like you’d deny yourself the chance to hold his hand.

“So,” you begin, curling an arm around his as you move into the nearly-gone sunshine outside. “What’s for dinner, since we’ve dispensed with the fancy?”

He leads you across the street, his other hand resting on your arm that’s tucked into his. Perhaps ‘courting’ is the correct word.

You wish it was an autumnal day, with chilling wind so you could have an excuse to burrow into his warmth even more.

“Hotpot?” he says, stopping in front of a restaurant with that in its title. “I never go to these with friends because they get it so spicy, but I figure, you and me…”

“The non-spicy ones.”

He laughs and opens the door for you. “I like that. The non-spicy ones.”

You’re directed to a table, and you’re chuckling as Chris explains to your server that, basically, you want the blandest option they have. He, your server, looks unimpressed by the both of you. But the food is delightful, and filling, and not too spicy, though it does come very close to your threshold of tolerance.

You both drink a lot of water.

Dessert is bingsu three doors down from the hotpot restaurant, with strawberry and chocolate. He playfully smears some chocolate sauce on your lips, giving you no time to lick it off before doing so himself as though he’s reminding you how easily he can turn you on.You don’t need reminders, but you enjoy them.

Which leads you back to the hotel, and your room, and the bed.

He sits on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands with a glint in his eyes. “So…you said something about lingerie last night.”

“After that dinner?”

He smirks. “You think that’s gonna matter?”

“Of course I think that’s gonna matter,” you argue, hands immediately going for your stomach which is…quite full.

He rolls his eyes and gets up, helping himself to your suitcase.

“Chris!”

“You can’t tell me you have lingerie and not let me see you in it. You aren’t that cruel.”

You had felt very optimistic when you’d bought it, but that positivity is fleeting and currently absent.

He pulls it out, finger-hooked in one of the shoulder straps. “Wow.” He looks at you. “Please?”

You try to argue again, but it’s hard to deny him anything, not with heat in his eyes, and a pout on his lips.

Taking the garment from him, you squat down to grab the second piece, the bottoms, and he doesn’t move away.

“You don’t have to put those on.”

Bashfully, you look up at him. “No?”

He shrugs. “Just saying.” He winks and walks over to the window to look out. “Up to you.”

“He says after begging for me to put it on.”

“Begging?” He turns to see you heading to the bathroom to change, but you waver at his tone. “You haven’t seen me beg…do you want to?”

“I…” You’re completely at a loss. “Do I?”

His smile verges on the arrogance of a smirk. “Maybe.”

You hurry into the bathroom and assess yourself as well as the lingerie. It’s difficult to see yourself as attractive to someone you find attractive, but surely with the evidence of the past day, you can accept that Chris does, on some level. And all things that are attractive can be enhanced with something pretty: makeup, a perfectly wrapped present, a book with sprayed edges.

You repeat these mantras in your head as you undress and pull on the lace and satin. It’s a fairly simple piece, not in the realm of scandalous according to your friends who helped you pick it out. But as you remind them, and yourself, your deep end is not others’ deep end. You adjust the top, so it fits and holds in what it needs to hold in.

You assess again, full view in the mirror. You tidy up your leftover makeup, and accept your hair (you can’t work miracles) as is.

Deep breath. You look fine.

You open the door, and peek out. He’s still by the window, the city lit up below him. He makes such a lovely silhouette that you forget what you’re supposed to be doing (what are you supposed to be doing? A grand reveal? Should you say ‘tada’?) and walk out fully into the room.

He turns.

“So…yeah.” Not much better than ‘tada’.

He doesn’t say anything, but comes over. The silence of the hotel room is deafening. You fidget because he doesn’t move quickly at all. You also look everywhere but at him. So when his hands take yours (and cease your fidgeting), you’re staring at his socked feet before allowing yourself to look up.

You regret taking no photos of him because his face is art.

“It’s okay?” you ask as he still hasn’t spoken. His eyes travel, feet to the top of your head, down each arm to your fingertips and back up to your neck, then face.

“‘Okay’ is not the word I’d use,” he says, voice in that lower octave that makes you shiver.

“Above average?”

The corner of his lips lift in amusement. “A bit more than that.” He takes a step closer, his hands releasing yours and settling at your waist instead. He leans in, mouth at your ear. “You look extraordinary.”

You blink at him as he draws back, the word reverberating in your mind. You choose to believe him, actor or not. You choose to accept his admiration and desire.

And enjoy it.

“Thank you,” you reply. His answering smile is proud (of you, you think, for not dismissing the compliment) before he kisses you, his fingers tightening against the satin. You lean into him, convinced that kissing him for decades wouldn’t be any sort of difficulty, would never get old even as you and he got old.

Oh. That thought does not need to be chased.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, mouth parted from yours. “Did you want to try anything new tonight?”

Do you? You’ve liked everything, and you know there’s a whole gamut of positions to be explored. Probably most beyond your imagination.

But.

“I want–” You swallow as your throat is a bit dry.

“Tell me.”

“I want everything we’ve done. Again.”

He half-laughs. “All of it?”

“Yes, please.”

He’s kissing you, laughing against your lips as he maneuvers you to the bed. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands sliding underneath the hem of your top, finding your skin. There’s a slight roughness to his fingers, grazing that makes you quiver. With hands in his hair, you kiss him as deeply as you can, tasting, tongues playing. He groans when you roll your hips, subconscious as your body works to quiet your mind. You do it again, feeling how hard he’s become in minutes, the friction almost too harsh for the thin and delicate fabric you wear.

You want and crave, and break away to start on the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Baby,” he whispers, lips pressed to your shoulder and collarbone. “You first…”

“Can I…? Can you show me how to…suck you off?”

It’s his turn to blink, to take a moment to comprehend your question. “You wanna…fuck, yeah, of course. But in a minute, okay? I need to taste you first.” With hands spread on your back, he moves so you're lying down beneath him. His hands slip to your underwear like he’s going to take them off, but he pauses.

“What is it?”

He’s staring at you, specifically that underwear. “I’m always so grateful for lingerie. It’s the best thing.”

You try to hit his arm as he starts to giggle. He dodges you and drops down to press an open mouth kiss right to your clothed core. Your hips buck and he pushes them down.

“You know I’m gonna drag this out, yeonin.”

It’s such a tease, to get his mouth, but have something in the way. To feel the heat and the wet, but not fully.

“Christopher…” There’s nothing but whine and need in your voice.

He hums, sending pleasant vibrations against your sensitive skin.

“Please…take it off.” He may still be holding you down with his hand on your hip, but you can squirm, desperate to be closer, to have more.

“I thought you wanted me to beg.”

“Chris…” It’s plaintive and without shame.

He acquiesces and the sodden underwear is removed. But there’s not an immediate return.

“Fuck, you really are dragging it out.” You lift your head to see him watching you with all the arrogance someone as gifted with his mouth could be.

“Maybe I like hearing you curse.” He leans back down, but kisses right below your navel, one hand finding purchase on your thigh. “Maybe we need a lesson in delayed gratification.”

You cover your face with your hand. “You seemed so nice till now. What if I write a complaint letter to the company?”

He moves up so he’s face to face with you, his expression stern. “That a threat?”

“Maybe.”

He drops his head to kiss under your jaw, near your ear. He bides his time, sucking the skin in just the right spot. You moan wantonly, unable to keep your hands twisted in the sheets, seeking his shoulders and arms to cling to.

He’s still dressed.

You pull at his shirt when he finally withdraws from your jaw, undoubtedly leaving a mark (you know you’ll look at it in the coming days, remembering). He indulges you, removing his t-shirt so your greedy hands can caress the bared skin. But he doesn’t stay put, returning to where he’s left you so wanting.

You feel his breath at your entrance.

Your next ‘please’ is broken and without sound.

When you feel his tongue glide up to your clit, you are gasping nonsense into the quiet of the room. He sucks and licks lazily, taking breaks whenever you feel the imminent high. You curse several more times, words catching when he adds his fingers to coax the build even more, curling inside you as his mouth reengages.

And finally, finally, you break, pleasure throbbing and pulsating.

He doesn’t stop when you come down from it.

“What–what are you–”

“You can give me another.”

And you can, to your surprise. It’s almost like an aftershock of the first one, remnants of bliss sweeping through.

Only then does he lie next to you, wiping your essence from his mouth. Minutes go by as you come down.

“So, do you still want to–” He doesn’t finish his question because you’ve rolled over, one leg over his hips so you’re straddling him. You go back to that button and zipper of his jeans, ignoring his hands trying to do it himself. You tug down his jeans, pulling them off before climbing back on top of him, palming his cock.

“Fuck..wow, okay.” He props himself onto his elbows as you discard his boxer-briefs as well. You wrap your hand around him, thumb at his tip, a little shaky. “You can use–” You cut him off again, this time when you bend down to lick. “Holy..fuck…yeah.” You look up at him, sucking the head before sliding down to take in more of him. You think what he says next is another curse, but you don’t recognize it. “You said to teach you…”

You slide off. “Wait, it’s good? It’s…well, it’s not much different than having a popsicle.”

He falls back, laughing bewilderedly. “I guess that’s not wrong…but–”

It’s really quite fun to stop him talking with your mouth.

He gives you sparse instructions (‘hands where your mouth can’t reach’, ‘suck harder’), but when his dick hits the back of your throat, he pulls you off.

“But…”

“No,” he states, reaching for a condom. “I won’t last much longer if you keep that up. Damn, you were good.” He slides the condom on in record time, then places a pillow under your lower back. He pauses when you cup his face in your hands, needing his mouth. He sighs at your kiss, his tongue entwining with yours, his hands gripping your thighs, moving them so they’re wrapped around his hips. Still kissing, he pushes in; it’s still a stretch, but it doesn’t jolt you. It feels:

“Decadent.”

He retreats slightly. “What?”

“You feel decadent,” you say, uncaring that you’re breathy and needy. You trace along his shoulders and chest. “Hedonistic.”

He doesn't say anything, sheathed entirely in you, letting your body adjust to him. You’re smiling, eyes half-open; your ability to filter eradicated.

“I always think of decadent…for like, sweets.”

You rub noses with him, delighted. “A very very excellent dessert, Christopher. Can’t stop from having another bite.” You punctuate this with a nip on his neck, causing him to shudder. He pulls out of you to thrust back in. You’re wrapped around him, hooking your ankles together at the small of his back. “So. Fucking. Good.” Staccato, nearly in time with his thrusts. You clench when he lifts your leg to his shoulder, the angle changing. “Oh god.”

“Almost there, baby?” he pants out, the drag of his cock along your walls making you to tense even more.

You nod frantically, seeking any skin to kiss, bite, taste, your hands scrambling for purchase on his back, nails digging. His works your clit, fingers practiced and you feel the drop in your stomach chased by the spread of elation through your limbs; you feel drunk and you force your eyes to stay open, watching as he thrusts faster. You smooth his hair as he stutters, spilling into the condom; his weight heavy on top of you.

You draw your index finger up and down the middle of his back, relaxed and sated.

Eventually, he lifts his head, setting his chin on his hands that rest above your breasts. You wonder if you both wear identical sleepy smiles and tired eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper into the quiet of the evening.

“Hi yourself.” He raises his head just enough to meet your lips before returning. “Am I too heavy?”

“No. Feels good.” You let your other hand drift down to the curve of his ass. He jumps at your grip. “Very good.”

He chuckles. “Not so timid now. Confident woman.” He takes a deep breath, words a little slower. “Wanna shower with me?”

You’re hesitant, but the looming deadline of this escapade is making you bolder, so you say yes. To have Chris wash your hair, his big hands massaging your scalp…shoulders and back with a loofah…

Still decadent.

“So…since you seem like the expert.” You soap up his hair, returning the massage. He rests against you, his back to your front and you use the shower wall to hold you both up.

“Hmm?”

“Shower sex? As sexy as it sounds in books or is it an accident waiting to happen?”

You wish you could record his gleeful laughter, uninhibited.

“Um. You have to be really careful. Would recommend bathtub mats.” He turns to you, your hands still in his hair. “Is that a suggestion?”

You can’t help it, you glance down to see he’s already half-hard.

“Wow. You were half-asleep ten minutes ago.”

He leans close to you, kissing you softly. “You can’t beat the clean up when you fuck in a shower though.”

Now you’re laughing, then gasping because he’s slipped his fingers into you, mouth on yours. You don’t protest, you just hold onto his shoulders as your muscles tighten and tighten–

He swallows your moan, holding you up as you tremble. When you can stand on your own, he moves you both under the spray of water. He tilts his head to you, rinsing it, and you shakily run your hands through his hair to rid it of the shampoo. He flips it out of his eyes before reaching to turn off the water, but he freezes when you encircle his dick with your fingers.

“You don’t have to–”

“Easy clean up, right?” It’s empowering to feel how he stiffens at your touch, how stroking, gently squeezing works him into short breaths and his head thrown back. You keep playing with him as you eliminate the distance between you, mouth to his neck, sucking and licking.

“Fuck…I’m…”

It’s messy, but the shower washes it away. He slumps against the wall, energy depleted. He opens one eye to look at you.

“Very confident.”

The shower is turned off, and you both wrap up in towels. You rub his hair dry, smiling at its wildness. He tugs your towel off in retaliation, and makes a plea for you to sleep naked with him.

“Or the lingerie?”

“I can’t imagine that’s comfortable to sleep in,” you retort, still naked, but pulling on your pajamas quickly. He’s pouting on the bed, your towel in his hand. You plop next to him, toying with his towel, wrapped around his waist. “But feel free to sleep naked.”

He makes a not-really-chagrined face at you before finding his own pajamas. Teeth are brushed, your hair is somewhat dried, and you both are in bed with the lights off. The dark and quiet take over. You look at the clock on the nightstand, time continuing to move toward his departure. It hits you again, in this moment, how much you like this man.

Chris drapes his arm over your middle, curling closer. “Good?”

“Yes, good…good night, then.” You work hard to not let any tell-tale emotion into your voice, and though you have been more open with him in these two days than anyone outside of your closest friends, you are adept at hiding how you feel. It’s a way of surviving and that’s what you need right now.

He nuzzles you. “No kiss?” The playful teasing lilt to his voice has you hesitating, but you turn your head and kiss him, languid. “You’re really good at that.”

“Kissing?”

“Mmmm,” he affirms. “I like kissing you.”

You swallow, shoving down the incessant ache of feelings. “I like kissing you too.” You can barely see in the lack of light, but you know he smiles at you. You can sense it, attuned to him.

When his breathing seems to slow, you turn away carefully. You don’t move his arm from your stomach, but you don’t cover it either, lace your fingers with his. Half your brain is saying, ‘do it! Take this moment, this affection and enjoy it. You’ll never have it again!’. The other half, the stronger half that is built from the past, experiences and disappointments, doesn’t yell. Doesn’t need to. The voice is unrelenting and mocking; ‘don’t enjoy too much, because when he leaves tomorrow, you’re gonna hurt. You absolute idiot, you’ve gone and fallen for him. Keep as much distance as you can, because maybe then you won’t be devastated tomorrow in an empty hotel room, in your empty home.’

You hate that voice, the one that tells you the truth. You didn’t think there was danger of actually becoming attached to a man you hired for sex. Yes, sex produced oxytocin which gave anyone cuddly feelings, but this is no longer about the sex. You’re more devastated by the warm smile that wasn’t trying to seduce, the laugh, the hand-holding while walking in the park, the furrowed brow when you talked about books he hadn’t read. The compliments that had nothing to do with your looks, the compliments that did.

You feel your eyes burn with impending tears, but you force them back and down. There will be time for that tomorrow. When you’re back home, in reality.

–

It’s hazy, the sounds you hear. Rustling, movement. Something being zipped opened or closed. Then there’s a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m gonna go grab some coffee, okay?” whispers, soft and low. You mumble something before hearing the door. You blink open your eyes to see that it's very early, before seven.

Seven.

When he arrived.

You bolt up in bed (it’s not quite that as you’re still seventy-five percent asleep), nearly falling as you scramble to the bathroom. He isn’t exactly paid by the hour, but you bought two days, forty-eight hours.

That forty-eight is over in fifteen minutes.

You wash your face, brush your teeth as quickly as you can, then stumble back out into the bedroom, wondering about changing. Do you want Chris to see you in just your pjs as his last image of you? You are really overthinking this. It’s not cold, but you slip on a soft sweatshirt for coziness. You open up your purse for chapstick, a regular morning routine, and as you do you see the small stack of business cards. Your business cards.

You rarely use them. You aren’t much good at promoting yourself and your skills, even worse your workplace. But the employee handbook insists on having them, so there they are in your purse, metaphorically collecting dust.

You look at Chris’ bag, unzipped, open.

Surnames are not shared from the company, for confidentiality purposes obviously. You do not know his. He does not know yours. You imagine that during an engagement, assignation, whatever one calls this, the escort or the client could share their last name, their actual place of work, their town or city, anything that grounded them in actual reality.

But Chris never offered his. You aren’t about to cross that line and ask.

He might not want to know. He might not feel anything close to what you’re feeling. It’s his job. He might be incredibly good at connecting with his client every time, and you’re only another client.

But you’re bad at letting go.

So you drop one business card into the open bag. It could never be found, crumpled after several re-packings for his many trips…his many jobs.

But you’re no good at letting go.

You hear the sound of the key card scanning and the door opens with Chris, dressed in a black henley and dark jeans, his hair as fluffy as air-drying makes it. He smiles to find you sitting on the bed, hands clasped in your lap. He offers you one of the two to-go cups.

“Morning,” he says as you take it, dropping his head to kiss you softly.

“Good morning.”

He tilts his head toward the large window and seating area. “Come.” Your hand finds his as you walk over to sit on the couch, looking out at the waking city.

“What did you get?” you ask, gesturing to his cup. “Since you don’t like coffee.”

“Tea…I need something this morning,” he replies, shooting you a wink. The reference to last night’s activities and their endurance normally would embarrass you, heat your skin and cause you to drop your gaze from him, but you stare at his profile as he looks out the window, your mind full of saying goodbye. He takes the lid off his cup and blows on it. He glances at his watch.

You wonder if he’s as hyper-aware of the dwindling minutes as you are.

“Do you have a break before your next job? Or is it all work, no play?”

He half-grins, looking over at you. “Do you really want to know?”

He’s got you there.

“Do you get enough time off?”

“I do. If I don’t, my friends make sure I do.”

“They sound lovely.”

“They can be.” He sets down his tea, leans toward you. “You good this morning?”

“Of course.”

“I thought of waking you when I woke up, but I figured you needed your sleep?” He rests his hand on your knee, much like the first night, but so different from the first night. “I’m sorry we can’t–” He tilts his head to the side in apology, his silence filling in the rest of the sentence.

“Having coffee…or tea with you in the morning for a few minutes is really nice.” You don’t know if you can explain to him how much of the non-sex parts of this weekend were as meaningful and special as the rest. Is that appropriate when so much of his job is sex?

His hand molds to your knee. “Yeah, it is.” You can feel his gaze as you sip your coffee, doctored like you like, which means he paid attention yesterday at the diner.

Of course he did.

“Chris…” you begin, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.”

He waits until you meet his eyes before nodding. “You’re welcome.” He takes your cup from you, setting it on the table and cups your cheek in his hand. “You’re very welcome.”

You try not to lean into his kiss too much. You try to memorize how he feels, tastes, smells; to tuck it away in your memory bank like an old photo album that you can look through from time to time. You savor for as long as it lasts.

“So…is there a place that I go to, like Yelp, and leave a good review?” you murmur when he draws back.

You get his laughter, the bright sound of it, the image of shaking shoulders and eye-crinkles. Something else to add to that album.

“I think the company does contact you with a survey.” His eyes sparkle when he looks at you, before he reaches for his tea.

“It’ll be glowing.”

He shakes his head, amused and maybe a little embarrassed. That rosy hue highlights his cheeks and twists your heart in ways you don’t want to think about. He is the most devastating man.

It’s quiet for a few, you sipping your coffee, him his tea. Then you hear him check his watch when something beeps.

Seven am.

“You have to go,” you say before he can. He glances up from his watch, looking at you. You smile, probably tinged with sadness, but it’s a real smile at least. “Be safe.”

He doesn’t move as you do, to stand up. To walk him to the door and bid him goodbye. You walk to the bed, unmade and haphazard. You zip up his bag as you hear his footsteps follow. He’s very close when you hold out his bag.

He takes it, but lets it drop to the floor before pulling you into his arms. He’d be a good hugger too, of course. You hug back, hands splayed against the breadth of his back, the ribbed henley scratching your fingers lightly.

“You be good to yourself, okay?” he whispers in your ear. He draws back only a little. “Say a nice thing about yourself every once and awhile.”

You look up at him as he traces his finger along your eyebrows and nose, seeming to take you in.

“You too.”

He smiles at you, kissing your nose then your lips. You let go and he grabs his bag. He pauses at the door, looking back at you, then nods before opening the door and disappearing through it.

You let yourself fall back on the bed the moment the door shuts. You don’t think you’ll be able to move for a while.

© yoongihan 2025. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

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woso-dreamzzz · 10 months ago

Text

Read II

England Lionesses x Child!Reader

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: There's a reason you don't have sugar

You hold reading lessons every day at camp because you want the rest of the England team to not be knuckleheads anymore and to prove Mikey from school wrong.

It's not easy to learn how to read so you know you need to come back to make sure everyone has been keeping up with their learning because that's what Mummy and Daddy do to you.

They started teaching you how to read very early so you were fairly advanced when you went to school.

You think Mikey's just jealous because you're a good reader and he's a bad one but, still, you want to make sure to prove him wrong.

Mary always says the best revenge is proving haters wrong. You don't know if Mikey's a hater but you'll assume he is because better safe than sorry.

You've done a good job at teaching everyone though because Maya, Millie T and Tooney all give you some sherbet sweets. They make your mouth go a little tingly when you try them but you like that feeling so the three of them keep feeding you more.

They're responsible for you while Mary's getting the last bit of treatment before you all get on the coach to go to the stadium. Usually, someone else is responsible for you but you did a quick reading lesson for Maya and Millie with Tooney as your assistant so they're supervising you before the journey.

You decide that you really like the sherbet straws they give you and Maya dares you to see how many you can finish before you have to go.

You don't count but it's definitely a lot.

Enough for you to feel super hyped when you're finally reunited with Mary. She's picked out a set of four seats with a table and she's already got your rucksack full of books open for you to pick from.

You're very advanced in your reading for such a young kid but even you struggle a little bit. Now that you've taught Mary to read, she can read very well from the books that are a bit too complicated for you right now so she's in charge of reading them to you as you drive to the pitch.

"Er..." You say as you look at the selection," That one."

"Alright," Mary says, cracking open the book and clearing her throat. She gets about halfway through before she notices how wiggly you're being. "Hey, rugrat, do you need the toilet?"

You frown. "No. Keep reading, Mary."

"Are you sure? I can take you."

"No, Mary. My book, please."

"Alright." Mary keeps reading but she's acutely aware of the way you keep wiggling in your seat.

You seem to think you're fine though. Or, at least, you don't think you need the toilet which is Mary's main worry.

"Okay," She says finally," Go and find someone to hang out with. I need to talk to Tooney."

You seem all too happy to scamper off, practically throwing yourself at Beth across the aisle.

"Tooney!" Mary snaps, interrupting the conversation she and Alessia are having.

"Jesus, Mary! You scared me there!"

"What did you give my sister?" Mary demands," She's never been like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

Mary points over to where you've decided it's a funny idea to crowd surf over the girls at the front, who are bouncing you a bit as they pass you off to the girls sitting behind them.

"She doesn't do that! She's also not wiggly on the bus! What did you give her?"

Tooney winces. "I gave her nothing!"

Mary narrows her eyes. "What did you let Millie and Maya give her?"

Tooney's eyes dart to them quickly before she clears her throat. "I've got the right to remain silent! Anything I say or do can be used against me in a court of-"

Mary's already moved off before Tooney can finish and she crosses the coach to confront the other two. "I'm not interested in excuses. Tell me what you've given my sister."

Her gaze is clearly intimidating because Maya and Millie fold instantly and Mary's on her way back to her seat, easily plucking you from someone's arms to set you back down next to her.

It seems most of the sugar rush has disappeared now but then another problem makes itself known.

The bus goes over a series of bumps and you make a little aborted movement forward.

Mary recognises the action and whips out a plastic bag. "Here, rugrat," She says," Let it out. Let it all out."

She rubs your back as you throw up. It takes a lot longer than usual to hurl up your guts and Mary narrows her eyes over the top of her seat to look at Millie and Maya.

This is all their fault, Mary knows it.

It's because of all of the sugar you've consumed that you've thrown up so bad and, as she ties the bag shut, Mary briefly contemplates throwing it at Millie and Maya.

"Juice, please," You say and Mary hands it to you," Sorry, Mary."

"It's okay," She says," It's not your fault. Do you want to continue your book?"

You nod, leaning against your sister, energy drained. "Yes, please."

#woso x reader #mary earps x reader #mary earps #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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togeppy · 2 months ago

Text

doubt-free ;

xaden riorson x reader

reader quells xaden's worries that he's not going to be a good father, and when he holds his child for the first time, he comes around to believe it himself. ✧ : based on this req! set post-series because these characters need a break and a happily ever after. brief mentions of body self-consciousness near the beginning.

"Have I sprouted a tail?" you ask your husband nonchalantly, as you finish fixing your bed and move to sit atop the now-neatly presented spread.

Xaden, momentarily stunned, raises an eyebrow from where he sits at his desk. "What?"

You face him as you make yourself comfortable, letting the book that you had decided to read rest on your lap as you gaze back at the man. "You've been staring at me for minutes now, and not in an 'I need to get you in that bed instead of making it up' way, but in a 'I am looking at you concerned because you've grown a new appendage' way."

The man lets a small laugh escape his lips at your antics. "No, you have not grown a tail."

You give him another pointed look. "Fine, then care to explain why you're giving me that look? I know this bump makes me look kind of lumpy now, but I would argue that it's your fault I look like this, so you don't have the right to look at me like I've turned into a wyvern."

Your hand goes to rest atop your belly that has recently made itself visible regardless of whatever clothes you attempt to hide it behind. You’ve become self-conscious about it - you haven't gotten used to the changes your body is undergoing, and more often than not you find yourself looking in the mirror in the morning wondering where your old body has gone.

Xaden's smile immediately falls, getting up from his seat to lie in front of you on the bed. Without hesitation, he moves your hand and begins peppering kisses along your stomach. A soft smile instantly lights up your face at the action. When he finally finds the amount of kisses he’s given satisfactory, he looks back up at you.

“Don’t think for a moment that you look unattractive because of this,” he mumbles, placing one final kiss on the bump, “You look more attractive than ever. You’re carrying our child and I think that you look absolutely gorgeous doing it.”

Your heart lightens at his words, and you bring your hand to rake through his hair as he grins up at you, adoration evident in his eyes.

“I appreciate the flattery, but that doesn’t explain why I’ve got eye marks in my back from how hard you’ve been staring.”

Xaden’s smile falls once again as he moves to sit up properly next to you. His eyes go distant, and all you can do is study him as he finds the words to vocalize what he’s thinking.

“Every time I see the bump grow, it becomes more of a reality that we’re going to be parents.” Xaden starts, unable to meet your eyes at first. You can tell that he hasn’t arrived at the core of his thought yet, so you stay silent, knowing that he’s carefully choosing his words, a habit he’s developed since being named as the Duke.

“I don’t really… have any idea what a normal parent is like,” he whispers, eyes finally drifting up to your own, his eyebrows furrowed as he continues thinking, “My mother left me in the middle of the night as a child and ran off to the isles to start a new family immediately afterwards. My father was actively running a secret rebellion while also acting as the Duke of Tyrrendor. He cared about me, but I can’t say that his parenting methods were ideal. I… worry that I’m not going to be a good dad because of it.”

You sit stunned for a moment, before setting your book down on the bedside table, long forgotten. You move quickly to slot yourself between Xaden’s legs, sitting with your own legs tucked beneath you so that you’re now face-to-face, and you take his hand in both of your own.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” you state, confidence clear in your voice, “I’ve never met a more caring man in my life. You sacrifice so much for me and everyone in this province daily, more than I could ever begin to put into words. I have no doubts that you’d do the same for our child.”

Your husband shakes his head, placing his free hand on top of your bump. “But that’s why I worry. I have so many responsibilities that I fear I won’t have enough time to properly give our child the time that they need.”

For a second, you stare back at him. It’s a valid concern - he does have a lot on his plate given his title, but you know that despite his stony exterior, Xaden Riorson is a lover at his core. He always finds time for the people close to his heart.

“You’re excellent at dividing your time. You make plenty of time for me, I almost never feel like you’re neglecting me.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Almost never? That’s more often than I’d like.”

The corner of your mouth lifts up in a playful grin. “Sometimes I’m convinced Garrick thinks he’s the one married to you. While I’m aware that the two of you are allowed to spend time together, I think you need to cut down on your allocated Garrick time and redelegate some of that time to me.”

Xaden rolls his eyes as he lets out a laugh in fond exasperation. “Can, and will gladly do, but when he comes to our door in protest, you’re the one that’s going to have to deal with him.”

Your smile only deepens, “I can do that.” Your knees now grow sore at your position, so you move to lie down, and the dark-haired man guides you to lie atop him, your head nestled in his shoulder as your body rests between his legs.

“In all seriousness though, you might not think it yourself, but you’re incredible at being present despite everything you’ve got going on. You do your paperwork here instead of your office just so that you can be in the same room as me. You invite everyone to have meals together daily so that you’re always updated on how our friends are doing.” You lean forward and place a gentle kiss on his neck. “This baby is never going to doubt that you’ll do the most to make time for them.”

Xaden smiles softly as he looks down on you, rubbing a hand against your back. You can see in the way that his facial expression has changed that he’s started to accept your words, and has somewhat accepted that he’ll be a not-too-shabby dad. He presses an equally gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

You angle your head to get a better look at him, and you eye him with adoration. “Besides, we’ve got a village at our disposal anyways. Surely if we don’t know what we’re doing, someone will.” You think of your friends, who were so eager to help out the moment that you announced you were expecting, and you know that any of them would be willing to come to your aid in a heartbeat.

Xaden nods in agreement, before his eyebrows furrow again. “We’re not letting Ridoc babysit without someone else present until this kid is at least ten.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before the words can come out you think of a future where Ridoc has turned your child into an equally rowdy mini-him, and anticipate the headache you both will have trying to rein them in. “Agreed.”

Your husband lets out a little exhale that doubles as a laugh and holds you tight.

“Normal parents are overrated anyways,” you whisper, your hand resting on Xaden’s chest, “We staged a revolution, won a war and now reign over a whole damned province. This kid is going to be bragging that they’ve got the coolest dad ever.”

Three months later, you walk - or rather, waddle with how large you’ve gotten - into your room, where you’re surprised to see Xaden standing near the corner of baby things, a small onesie and children’s book in each of his hands.

“Trying to find your next read?” you quip, and the man spins around to face you, rolling his eyes.

“Wondering how in the world to take care of a baby,” he responds, setting the book down. You move towards him, and he quickly wraps his free arm around your waist for support, knowing you’re not able to stand for very long without growing uncomfortable.

“That’s a battle we’ll learn to deal with when we get there,” you respond, gaze finally dropping to the item of clothing he had picked out, “I like that one, Imogen bought a cute matching set.”

Xaden smiles softly, though his eyes have the far-off look you’ve grown so familiar with.

“What’s on your mind this time?” you ask patiently, knowing that your husband will speak when he’s ready.

“I’ve been a warrior my whole life, not a nurturer. I’ve spent years fighting to prove my worth as a marked one, to advocate for the cause of the revolution, to demonstrate my competence as a Duke.” He sighs. “This onesie is so… so miniscule. Switching from being a fighter to protecting someone this tiny feels impossible.”

You take a long look at him - you thought that you had quelled his worries about being an unfit dad months ago, but it’s clear the doubtful thoughts have returned.

Tilting your head slightly to the side, thinking back to the past, you decide to challenge the man. “You’re not just a warrior, you’ve always been a protector too. You took on 107 scars to keep the marked ones safe. You killed a prince because he was bullying your best friend. You became venin and then gave up the power to save the entire Continent. You shelter me from the onslaught of… everything you face each day. You can’t say that you’re not a nurturer, because you’ve taken on so many fights to protect others that you don’t even realize it’s become second nature to you.”

He stares back at you, stunned by the list of things you had so easily thought up. “I- I guess.” His eyes are still distant as they travel down to the book he had set aside. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

Your hand goes up to gently stroke at the man’s cheek. “Of course, they’ll absolutely adore you.”

Xaden stands quiet, still staring down, his mind elsewhere. “I have no experience with babies, and I’ve been told my interpersonal skills make me unapproachable. For most of my life people hated me before they even met me. What if our kid thinks I’m too boring for them? That they can’t come to me with their worries?” His voice sounds defeated, like he’s just accepted that his own child will resent him straight out of the womb.

You look at him, dumbfounded. “Xaden, it’s a baby. I seriously doubt they’ll be concerned about your interpersonal skills, just that their dad is there to rock them to sleep. You’ve quite literally got more backstory than anyone on this continent, I don’t think it’s possible for this child to find you boring.”

His eyes are no longer hovering on the book, and they now look at yours, as if seeking validation within them. You hold his gaze, strong and sure, letting him know that you believe every word you say to be the truth.

He exhales, his body sagging against you, and you know you’ve - at least temporarily - placated his fears. He rests his head atop yours, placing a kiss into your hair. His voice now sounds weary as he speaks. “I’ve never been this worried about anything in my life. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything this important worth worrying about.”

You can’t help but smile knowing the feeling all too well. “Yeah, I’ve been getting more and more terrified the closer we get to this baby being born.”

He lifts his head and studies you. “You’re doing a better job than me at not showing it though.”

You shake your head. “To the untrained eye, you look unfazed and perfectly prepared. I’ve just been married to you long enough to know that you’re not.”

Xaden sighs again, tightening his grip around your waist. “You’re going to be the best mother. I’m going to have to try pretty hard to be able to compare.”

You laugh, peeling yourself away from him to go sit down, your body physically protesting at having stood for so long. “I don’t think you’re going to be a good mother.”

Your husband scoffs at your joke, following behind you as you continue.

“But you’re going to be an amazing dad, just you wait and see.”

Emotions were never Xaden’s strong suit, but holding your baby for the first time has awoken emotions that he didn’t know he was capable of feeling all at once. Pure joy, elation, anxiety, wonder, pride. He feels all of them and more as he stares down at the newborn in his arms.

Noticing your fatigue hours after the baby was born, your husband urged you to sleep, assuring you that he would keep a careful eye on the baby. He now stands swaying as you and the baby both rest, the latter held tightly yet gently in his arms.

He paces slowly around the room, rocking your child as he moves. His eyes never leave them for a moment as his shadows hover protectively around both him and the swaddle of blankets to prevent anything from causing the baby any harm. When he’s sure the newborn won’t stir, he carefully takes a seat in a plush chair in the corner of the room, holding them against his chest.

His finger goes to lightly trace the baby’s features, adoration and awe evident in his eyes. All of his defenses are down - Xaden has never felt this exposed or vulnerable in his life, all because of his offspring, so fragile in his arms. He stares down at his child, unmoving apart from the rise and fall of their chest as they take in small breaths.

“I’m never going to let anything or anyone hurt you,” he whispers quietly so that no one arouses from their sleep, “Might spoil you a little too. But don’t let your Mommy know that.”

He casts a quick glance up to you and smiles softly at your sleeping figure, body fused with the bed out of pure exhaustion, yet relaxed, trusting wholeheartedly that he’s taking good care of your child. He knows at that moment that he will do your bidding for the rest of his life - it’s because of you that he has this precious baby in his arms, and for a treasure so great, he can never repay you.

His eyes drop back down to the newborn, his heart never resting for a moment as the elation overcomes him, every single nerve in his body alert.

“Everything I do from now on will be for you now, huh,” he coos, “You’ve only been here for a few hours and I’m already willing to raze all of Tyrrendor if it’ll keep you happy. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that though.”

Xaden feels it deep in his chest, the doubts no longer chasing him. He will be a good father because the tiny bundle in his arms deserves the world. They will never doubt that they’re loved, they will have his undivided attention any time they need it, and they will be safe from anything that comes their way. He’s a protector and a nurturer, and with you by his side, and all of your friends that have become family ready to lend a helping hand, this baby will have anything and everything that they will possibly need.

“I love you with everything that I am,” he whispers to your child, placing a soft kiss on their forehead, careful not to jostle them too much, “And that will never, ever, change.”

Your husband holds the baby tight, though now the anxiety is gone. He holds his whole world in his arms, and he feels calm, knowing that a new chapter of his life is starting. He’s no longer just the Duke of Tyrrendor, the ex-venin shadow-wielder, or the head of the revolution. He’s your child’s Dad, and to him, that’s the most important title of them all.

#xaden x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x y/n #xaden riorson x oc #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame #iron flame x reader #onyx storm #onyx storm x reader #togeppys

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bewitched-hours · 17 days ago

Note

Hi, I hereby request you to do the Part 3 of Yandere! Alien Paycheck x Reader with Smut Please.

But its okay if you don't want to

Anyways Ty and Bye!

-Anon💗🖌️

"Open my shell? Why of course~" /ref Seriously though, Idm. I may feel like a nun writing smut but the best way to get better at something is through practice. I've also had @rhaine16 waiting for this and a couple more anons so now to throw this into the enclosure like I'm feeding lions- /j

Like the previous two times, the reader's pronouns are She/They (Which I totally didn't mess up on with part two-)

The day of the double moons was drawing closer and closer, reducing your time to decide.

You knew that you wanted to be with Elliot and Chance forever at this point but were you ready to see your new body in such... Action..?

You felt like this was a more difficult question than it probably should be. But your reactions to the topics were so adorable to Elliot and Chance with one of them always teasing you about it.

They knew it was a hard decision and assured you you had more than enough time to think on it, considering life on this planet could survive for hundreds of years, sometimes even thousands.

But you only grew more curious and needy as you thought about it.

It even got to a point where you'd cling to them and ask them to stay home with you which Chance had surprisingly more trouble saying no to.

But how could you blame them for finding your needy state adorable?

It wasn't until you finally decided to take home a book on anatomy that you began to understand.

Of course, you'd hide this from your boyfriends. The teasing that would ensue would probably turn your entire body red...

So you read it in secret, setting yourself alarms to make sure they wouldn't catch you studying your- and their- anatomy down to the reproductive system. It was surprisingly similar to how it worked back on earth but for some reason the antennae on top of one's head played a big role in it all.

For females, it apparently had the ability to surround oneself in some sort of scent to express lust and attract her partner(s)'s attention.

For males, it can be used to find a partner's sweet spots and help deliver immeasurable pleasure.

The parts themselves were interesting to see in pictures though.

Apparently you now had retractable teeth hidden in your fleshy walls in case any male is thinking of taking advantage of you.

Maybe that's why you hadn't found many cases of... Actually, maybe that's a topic for another time.

But the males? Their dicks were apparently split... Tentacles- it was straight up tentacle-esque dicks that were able to form together for the 'normal' way or split into little tentacles for hitting multiple spots at once.

The thought made a shiver run down your spine. Was it one of curiosity, horror or perhaps even some excitement? Why not all three?

Some days you'd find yourself trying to work off your ever-growing needy behaviour but to no avail. It would only ever drive you to climax and then leave you wanting more. It really was hard to ignore, especially with Chance and Elliot definitely knowing about it and just not bringing it up out of respect for you.

And even though you did read about how common it was on this planet to have sex regardless of relationship status- especially with the fact religion was nearly non-existent- you couldn't help but feel a guilty pleasure thinking about your boyfriends dressing fancy for a ceremony and then getting messy all for you...

One evening, they noticed you were a little more quiet than usual and had paused the movie you were all watching to check on you. You were all sandwiched together so Elliot and Chance could have equal parts of your affection without worries so they only had to sit up to give you a proper look over.

"[Reader], is something on your mind?" Chance's worries shone through his face so obviously with you...

"I've... Been thinking..." You started quietly, knowing they were fully focused on you as they held you with such gentle hands that made you guilty for what you were about to say next.

"I need you both to fuck this need out of me before I go crazy..." You barely choked out the words with a sheepish look on your face, watching them get flustered over your request before Elliot took a deep breath.

"Sweetheart, we could get you checked on if you feel something's wro-" He wanted to speak, clearly believing you must be mistaken with your wants but you cut him off with a passionate but quick kiss on the lips.

It satiated your grown need for them just a little but it was all the confirmation you needed for your decision. "I want you both inside of me... How we do it is of little concern to me but I need it..."

A silence feel amongst the three of you with Elliot and Chance giving each other a look before carrying you off. "Luckily it's already a double moon so we could consider the day our ceremony~" Chance chirped happily as you practically melted in Elliot's arms as he was having you in a bridal carry.

The heat of your collectively growing lust actively fed into the tension as you internally reminded yourself of what to expect.

Gubby was on the sidelines just meowing angrily until her automatic feeder went off and she practically dashed to the kitchen... She really just became a glutton ever since she got here...

Luckily you were too caught up in your own excitement to care.

And it wasn't like your boyfriends were gonna let you escape now.

By the time you've all gotten to the bedroom and undressed, your face flushed at the sight of them wasting no time to make sure you were comfortably squished between them with Elliot making sure to sing little praises into your ear from behind and Chance gently holding you at the front to let you watch his tentacles carefully slide into your entrance.

It was exciting, you were nervous but it felt so right that you let out small whimpers which only seemed to encourage them to go on.

You soon felt Elliots tentacles joining too, a small gasp escaping your lips as the two of them made sure to carefully look for all of the right spots. All the little sweet spots this species had at various points within your new reproductive system. And the way they felt around for them made you whine and whimper more for them.

It was hard for them not to lose themselves over how cute your noises were.

"You're doing perfect, [Reader]~ Just a little longer~" Elliot whispered softly, holding you in place to start marking your skin with little bite marks. "Our perfect little wife~ Just as it should be~"

You felt a short moment of bliss, followed by the two of them grinning. They've found the first one and you could no longer tell which one of them had which tentacle as one of them began caressing and teasing it to make you squirm in Chance's grip.

Your breath grew more desperate and sharp, their names coming out of your mouth like honey as you whined and begged for them not to stop.

Not like they were planning on that anytime soon though...

They could tell you were enjoying it, letting them feel around and practically abuse your sweet spots until you could only think about them.

"Look at you~ Taking us with such a pretty face~" Chance cooed, a low chuckle escaping him as you watched him with pleading eyes. "Fuck... I'm gonna lose my mind..."

It wasn't long by now until you could tell them apart inside you.

Chance was more eager and impatient but Elliot was the complete opposite. Patient and gentle.

It drove you insane and you weren't even ashamed to admit it.

They could tell how you melted under their care and revelled in your cries of pleasure and anticipation.

Then, just as you were getting close... They slowed down.

You whimpered and begged, looking at them both as you saw their playful smirks.

"Nuh-uh-uh~ We want to have some more fun with you before you get your release~" You heard Elliot whisper with a sudden hint of hunger lingering in his voice.

"As much as we would love to, you're simply too adorable like this and we gotta make sure you'll be as obsessed with us as we are with you~" Chance chuckled, the hunger in his gaze even more intense than you'd have guessed...

"No... Please..." You begged, squirming as you tried to get them to move again. Instead, they lightly played with your sweet spots to make sure you'd be driven to the edge but never truly feel the sweet release of that building orgasm.

They were being cruel on purpose at this point. But before you could protest, Chance began nibbling at the other side of your neck while Elliot simply moved his head down to do the same.

They were both leaving their marks on you while toying with your pleasure.

"We've gone all this way... So, who do you belong to~?" Chance's words snapped you back out of your pleading state. "Don't be shy~"

You almost didn't hesitate, knowing what they wanted to hear. "You guys~ I belong to you..." You whimpered, your mind being filled with nothing but that chase for pleasure.

Filled with nothing but them...

"Good girl~ But we want our names~" Elliot's sudden assertiveness almost made your arousal deepen.

This time, you didn't hesitate. "It's you~! Elliot and Chance-" you let out a sharp gasp, feeling your sweet spots being attacked again.

"Come on~ Say it again~ We didn't quite hear it~" Chance chuckled, listening to you whimper some more as you were driven to desperation.

"Elliot~! Chance~! I belong to you~!" You finally managed to get it out fully, quickly feeling their tentacled dig deeper into you and stimulating all of your sweet spots at once to finally allow the built up pleasure to release in a cry of ecstasy.

Unfortunately... Something told you this was just the beginning of a long night with your new husbands...

Not like you minded it though~

If y'all ask for any more I might have to start a series with a Masterpost lmfao (Like I'm not already planning to do for the Mina stories)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

#forsaken roblox #forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken x y/n #elliot forsaken #elliot x reader #alien elliot #alien chance #chance forsaken #chance x reader #alien paycheck #paycheck forsaken #paycheck x reader #The nun inside is judging but the freak inside is proud #yandere forsaken x reader #yandere elliot #yandere chance #yandere paycheck

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 2 months ago

Text

Unraveling you at the Seems

Genre : Haters to Lovers

Summary : Your new Marriage with the Knave isn't going well, untill a certain invite that will put your world upside down reaches you.

Notes : Figthing, injury, I'm so tired, so, so tired, sorry for another cliffhanger istg it won't happen again, I don't wanna spend that much time on this baby bc of my book, also I'm lazy, hope you enjoy

Wordcount : 1,718

Chapter : 1 / 2 / 3

My Masterlist

Link to AO3

Your dagger hit only air and you stepped forward, nearly falling into the fire yourself.

What.

A sudden voice sounded meters from behind you. "I expected better."

You span around, looking at the woman, her glowing scythe and cross shaped burns that littered the ground.

"You knew.", you mumbled, but there was no suprise in it. Yet, you couldn't help yourself from staring in disbelief. Disbelief at how your family had sent you to die, for the most part.

"I raise assasins.", she spat, taking a few steps forward, spinning her scythe. "Do you think I wouldn't recognize my own techniques?"

You straightened up. "I've been taugth dirtier tricks."

Her eyebrows knitted together. "You're lying." she declared, then chuckled.

You had enough of the circling. You were at her side in a few seconds, but Arlecchino blocked your attack with ease.

She huffed while looking at your weapon.

"Is this really your weapon of choice?"

You groaned, letting go of the block and resorting to doging her, your arms were slowly getting tired. "It's not like you are easy to kill!", she swung the scythe towards you, but you dodged just in time, being able to graze her side, having blood trickle down, she ligthly hissed, turning in an instant, slashing, you blocked again and again. You had only been taugth to defend yourself and how to stab someone, damn it! "I have been, trying and trying the last few months-"

"You let the perfect moments slip rigth through your fingers!" Arlecchino criticized, using your weak spots and the openings you created, slashing little cuts in your clothing and skin, but the adrenaline made you void of the feelings towards them. She could kill you, yet she was holding back. She was never holding back...unless when- you were unhanded within a second and your face met the ground. Your own knife was held up against your throath. This was a lesson. Or an offer. "And now you left the perfect opening. Amateur."

You didn't try to thrash around, neither did you make a move to go and grab the knife, unhand her like you've been taugth. "I know.", you sighed, looking at the ground. "I thougth I'd finally manage to kill you if the stakes were raised..." you explained "something like an explosion...but my lack of patience and time came to ligth, I suppose.", you liften your head, sligthly deciding to look at her face, trying to read any change. But her mask didn't move an inch.

"I will give you credit where credit is due.", she said. "I did not suspect you until about three moths ago, though your relation to the Jester did tick me off." "You became so skittish, secretive, the children told me about your odd way to handle a knife...and the whole of last week,", she huffed. ",did you think that I wouldn't notice? You sat at the desk for hours and I knew something was up when the maid told me that you said there were renovations at the palace. I was there last week."

You shivered. "When!?"

"Does that really matter to you rigth now?", she continued holding the knife against your throath.

No, it didn't. You set your head back down into the grass. "Thank you for figthing me. It was an honor.", you closed your eyes, but never felt a slash. You opened your left eye. "What is it?"

She sighed. "When I was younger, I owned a pet spider."

"Bambi...", you mumbled and she nodded, holding the knife closer to your throat. You should let her talk out.

"Now, at first I did not know how to handle such a frail creature, so, as to protect herself, she bit me one day when I accidentally slipped. It hurt and I was in the infirmary for two days, a friend took care of her meanwhile. In time, I took her back and handled her properly, she never bit me again."

"What do you wish to say?"

"I take care of what is mine...even if it tries to kill me.", the knife glinted in the ligth. "It migth also have to do with your heritage," her hand pushed your hair away from your neck. An oddly intimate gesture. ", you can really thank the Archons that he's your uncle.", you imagined blood trickling from your neck.

"So, I'll either be your wife and lose my pride, or" you left it for her to finish.

"Die with it.", she said, hard.

You saw the fire casting its glow over you, imaged its warmth on your back. It would be hard to dispose of your body. Esspecially with your uncle so near. Maybe she would kill you later. She'd definitely kill you later and make it look like an accident. And maybe she'd slowly let you bleed to death, you became acutely aware of the pain in your side. She'd cover it up. You looked up at her. But, if you agreed, you wouldn't have to fear for your life anymore. You'd have a deal. And Arlecchino was an honorable person that was keeping to her vows.

"Ok.", you mumble. "I'll quit my mission and be your wife, if you won't kill me."

"Good girl." Arlecchino mocked to then remove the dagger from your throath. You huffed, getting on your knees as she heaved herself up.

You stayed down there for a while.

"Do you need-"

you held your hand up, your shoulders rising and falling irregularly as you breathed. She continued standing there, her hands in the pockets of her pants

"Well, I already did know that you have no stamina..." she mumbled and you blushed.

You glared up at her, but her expression was the same, before it turned alarming as she looked at your side. "Seems I did more damage than anticipated...", her hand grazed the wound and you hissed, clawing at the next best thing, which was, well, her. "Much more...", she almost seemed...worried.

"Don't lie. You wanted me to bleed out in case I wouldn't agree. It's far less suspicious...you could've blamed it on one of the stones or, what do I know, I'm dying over here!"

She lifted you to your feet and you leaned onto her side. "You talk a lot whenever your nervous..."

"Like hell! My family- oh archons my family.", horror flashed across your face and you stopped in your tracks. Your family. "Can you still kill me?"

"A deal is a deal, I'm afraid.", she said, hocking one arm under your legs and the under around your shoulders, you nearly chocked on your breath, feeling your side sting, clinging onto her jacket. She allowed it.

"Because they will murder me. I will bet my yarn on that! Where- where did you put my knife by the way? Can I get it back?"

Arlecchino huffed. "Not yet. When we are home. And I wish to know the location of you're other ones."

"What other ones?"

"I can also just look for them myself."

It had been worth a shot. "Under my closet, under my cushion and one in the drawers."

"What drawer?"

You shrugged. And she shook her head. "Oh, you are a horrible assasin."

You 'hmph', before being reminded of the open and growing wound on your side. "For fucks sake I really liked this dress."

She looked down, at the spreading blood, even her suit wasn't spared. Her eyebrows knitted together in worry, before a familiar figure stepped out of the building.

Uncle Pierro. Shit. You turned away from him, his most likely scrutinizing gaze, to lean against her chest instead and...your eyes felt so heavy. "Stay awake." Arlecchino shook you.

"Are you ok?", he stepped closer.

"She was hit by one of the stones, her waist is damaged and she is in dire need of care."

Why was it burning so badly? You've had wounds before but hell...this burned.

"Fuck.", you clinged onto her as the last of your adrenaline dissipated.

"There's urgency. She needs to be treated. Now." Well, she did know how to demand a room, or her supervisor for this matter.

She passed him and for the flicker of a second you saw worry in his eyes, with a glint of dissapointment, you squeezed your own shut.

"We can't get you back home in time...you have cryo powers, don't you?"

You nod, grabing for your vision, it appeared back in your hand, though your grip wasn't strong.

"Good."

She seemed to jump over rubble and avoid broken walls, by your judgment of the ligth atleast untill she sat you down. You fell half into the thing, your eyes darted from a stall to the white wall...

"Are we in the bathroom?", you croaked.

She didn't answer, soaking something in water. "Freeze the wound, ligthly."

"Are you ins-"

"Just do it."

You stared at her hazey figure. "I could die."

"Well you will certainly die when you don't freeze it, now, go.", she took your hand by force and guided it to your side.

"I take care of what is mine" you remembered her words and obscenities left your mouth as little shards of ice left your fingertips, entering the wound. She shook your wrist and you stopped. "Good...", she mumbled, her hand pressed the water soaked something around it. You swore more and your eyes screwed shut. And you couldn't force yourself to open them back up again. Like sleep.

You felt as she shook you on the shoulders. "Hey, don't fall asleep now."

"God damn you-" you hissed, clenching your fists. How long was this going to take?

"Can you wrap it up already?"

You heard something rip, before she came back up, a piece of fabric in her hand. Black. From your dress.

"On it...", she mumbled and you felt as she wrapped the piece around your mid, so aggressively that it could count as a corset.

"Do you want to kill me?"

"Not anymore.", she picked you back up again and you yelped. "Now let's get you to a proper doctor-" You heard the door open again. A familiar muffled voice.

Several ones, a shift in ligth, Arlecchino calling your name, before everything eventually turned to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take me to Chapter three

#genshin impact #genshin arlecchino #genshin impact arlecchino #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x you #sevika x reader #arlechinno genshin

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twstfanblog · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request Jamil just getting loved on by your Yuu? His repressed ass needs it. Here, get your hair played with. Take a nap on your girls thick ass thighs. Listen to your weird music playlist. Chill tf out

Relaxed Against Your Will

Jamil x Yuu (OC)

Kalim didn't text Yuu often. One part was from Jamil, who claimed it was a distraction that quickly spiraled into something horrible, caused by their joint stupidity. But it was mostly because Kalim just liked telling people things in person. Kalim still texted, but it was more of a useless alarm that he was en route to their location with news. So, Yuu wasn’t all that surprised when her phone chimed ‘Hey Macareana!’ and Kalim appeared. The housewarden had quickly taken her aside, looking around as though he were about to give her secrets of his country’s royal family, which only happened one time, surprisingly enough. Instead, he had asked a simple request of her.

“Jamil’s been…busy lately. I think he needs to take a break, but he doesn’t listen to me when I tell him he can have the night off to relax. I even offered to order dinner in for the dorm and then he got really offended-”

Yuu held her hand up, already nodding her head. The complex dance of getting Jamil to unclench his jaw was one she knew all too well, “No worries, Kalim. I know what to do. Just…Don’t let anything happen to you before next week rolls around. Because I think he’d explode.”

“Yeah…We don’t want that, right?”

“No, Kalim. No, we don’t.”

“Got it.”

So, Yuu did her normal routine of attempting to seduce Jamil into relaxing. Flirtation, mild bribery, and even ‘Pixie-Style’ trickery as Malleus called it. Nothing had worked and the weekend was fast approaching. After another failed attempt, promising Jamil prime cuddles and thigh pillow naps if he came to Ramshackle, Yuu had decided to use more…dire means.

At the midpoint of the NRC basketball team's practice, Yuu had walked into the gym with a smile on her face. Jamil noticed her, sighing but jogging over to greet her with a brief kiss and an annoyed look.

“What are you doing here? You hate the gym.”

“I hate how it smells like sweat. But, I have another offer to make you.”

With an eyeroll and groan, Jamil folded his arms and raised a brow toward her.

“I've set up a hot pot in your room. Azul got our matching hoodies professionally cleaned and I have a wonderful selection of media that I know for certain you would enjoy.”

“I'm in the middle of basketball practice. I have an essay to start. I also still haven't meal prepped for the weekend because someone was threatening to walk around the dorm with ‘her titties out’ last night unless I sat down and read a book for two hours. Sorry, hayati, I'm too busy to spend time with you. We can schedule something at a later date.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“...” Jamil briefly looked away from her, a million thoughts racing in his mind before he looked back at her, “Yes.”

“Ok. FLOYD!”

The eel in question paused, pulling the basketball away from his open mouth, “Yeah, Shrimpy?”

“Remember that thing I asked you to do for me a few days ago?”

“...Oh!” Floyd's eyes light up, excited as he reached into his pocket and pulls out a small brown object. Giggling, as he winded up and launched it directly at the back of Jamil's head.

Jamil, making the terrible choice to turn around, yelled out at the object hitting him in the middle of his forehead. He stumbles back, hands over his face as he groaned, “What was that!?”

“Avocado pit.” Yuu, unphased, bent down. Grasping Jamil from behind his legs and lifted the Junior over their shoulder, fireman-carrying their mildly bludgeoned boyfriend out of the gym.

Kalim found them a few hours later, smiling at the scene he walked in on. On the vicewardens's bedroom floor were Yuu and Jamil, each in hoodies with snake-patterned sleeves and large headphones. The hotpot station was within reach of both of them even though Jamil had his face firmly squished against Yuu's exposed thighs while she gently carded her free hand through his loose hair. He walks in, smiling as Yuu was kind enough to offer him a slice of cooked beef.

“Glad to see Jamil's relaxing properly.”

“And I only had to give him a mild concussion.”

Kalim looked over their headphones, tilting his head in curiosity, “What are you guys listening to? Music?”

Yuu only smiled, taking her headphones off and handing them over to the housewarden, “True crime podcasts from my world. Have a listen.” Taking their time to hand-feed Jamil while Kalim listened.

“Huh? Are there ‘fake crimes' in your world? He placed the headphones on, tapping the button on the ear.

“-her arms were cut off, her legs were cut off, her ears were cut off, her tongue was cut off, her nose was cut off, her eyeballs were plucked out, her eyebrows were then waxed, her tongue was sliced open, her hair was cut off-”

Kalim slowly removed the headphones, handing them back to a smiling Yuu, “Yeah, this isn't for me…”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #yuu oc #jamil viper #jamil x yuu #requests

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graysnetwork · 2 years ago

Text

i was watching Gilmore girls at the beginning of the year i think and then i suddenly got the urge to watch again, so i'm finally on the last episode of season 2. Im completely in love with Tristan but at the moment i'm loving jess (i also searched up jess edits on tiktok and i've spoiled things for myself so i will be debating on skipping that one scene)

Also Ik this is not the best but I hope u guys like it

Warnings— none

Summary— Jess is turning into a great student and Luke not lorelai can think of a reason he’s become an amazing kid all of a sudden.

The library

Two full weeks, two full weeks had gone by now and no calls from the school had been made to Luke's phone. This was more concerning than actually getting calls from the school. And another notable thing was that Jess started leaving every day at the same time 6:30 and he'd come back home at 9:30 or even earlier.

Luke was getting suspicious but he didn't exactly know how to bring it up since it was very possible he was cheating on his tests, maybe copying off some one else for work. So he decided he'd mention it another day, and every time that decided day came by he'd put it off again, and again.

the two of them were in the diner, it was surprisingly very quiet, there was only one person which was also surprising and then the person walked out. Jess started cleaning up the table before checking his watch.

6:15

He dropped the towel and rushed upstairs, he came back down with a backpack, had he been hiding that thing?

"where are you goin?" Luke asked, finally looking up from the counter “somewhere.” “what do you have in there?” “some things” he shrugged and opened the door, before he could even get one foot out the door he could hear Luke’s heavy steps get closer to him, he turned around again.

“What do you have in there” Luke said again, “why do you wanna know, it’s nothing important” Jess rolled his eyes and checked his watch again.

6:20

“I’ve never even seen you come outside with a backpack, and I need to know if you’re stealing things again” Luke gave him an annoyed stare, Jess unzipped the the bag and showed the books in his backpacks.

“Oh” Luke muttered, and looked over to the side “happy? Cause I need to get going” he zipped the bag up again. “where have you been going?” Luke sighed, it was time he got the truth.

“why do you wanna know?” Jess rolled his eyes again, “because I gotta know these things” another sigh came out of Luke, and Jess mumbled something. It took a good few minutes to get him to admit.

“I’m goin to the library”

He said it quietly but at least it was coherent.

———

“You’re late” you smiled as Jess sat down in front of you, “I know, I’m sorry, Luke wouldn’t let me go until I told him where I was going and what I was bringing” he smiled back at you and took out his books. “well, you’re here now, that’s what matters to me, now what’s today? math?” You smiled again and the two of you started opening your books.

“Today is math day” jess nodded and started reading your math notes.

———

“Jess, in the library? Is he meeting behind it and doing something?” Lorelai drank her coffee, “I didn’t think about that” Luke said as he gave her a doughnut.

The moment very quickly ended when Jess came in and quickly went upstairs without saying a word, Luke and Lorelai could hear the thud from Jess’s backpack hitting the floor.

Jess came back down and grabbed a doughnut; pink icing. Very weird to the two adults in the diner. Unknowing to them the only reason he grabbed it was because you swore that the pink icing on the doughnuts taste different.

———

“So anything new and interesting happening?” You asked as you and Jess walked around after studying, it was the quickest you’ve ever studied but that was because it was English, all jess had to do was read and write some answers.

“no, but, if you call getting a new shipments for the diner interesting, than yes, there something new happening” he smiled at you, “sounds very interesting” you smiled back at him.

“what about you?” Jess turned to you again “what about me? Nothing” you shrugged “cmon there’s gotta be something that’s happened so far this week” Jess said, “there’s nothing, nothings happened, and im 100 percent sure nothings gonna happen” you smiled again at him.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and smiled “how about I give you something to look forward to then since you’re free” Jess’s brows perked up, “really? how?” your hand reached up and grabbed his that was on your shoulder.

“how bout you, me, and chinese food, and we can do it on, Friday? You said your parents are leaving on Friday right?” He smiled as you two got closer to Luke’s diner.

“yeah, my parents are going on Friday.. that sounds like a plan” you smiled “it’s a date” he smiled. “Cmon I’ll walk you home” he walked past the diner “thanks Jess” you wrapped your arm around his waist as the two of you continued you way down the street.

“Did I see that right?” Lorelai’s eyes were wide and her brows were furrowed, “wow” Luke said, it was the only thing that could be uttered at the moment as they had just seen; You and Jess walking together.

“That must be why he’s going to the library so much! y/n’s always at the library!” Her mouth hung open in shock, it was silent for a few moments “y’know what, this is good” like said as he nodded while drinking his coffee.

“This is good?” She looked at him confused, “yes, he’s doing good in school, and it seems like he really likes y/n, as long as he isn’t hurting her, or doing bad things than I’m happy about this” Luke smiled “I guess this is good..” Lorelai smiled back at him.

———

#imagines #x reader stories #fluff #jess mariano #gilmore girls #gilmore girls imagine #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano x you

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yesimwriting · 2 years ago

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okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

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torturedbrat · 2 months ago

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PLSSS CAN YOU DO A BILL FICTION INSPIRED BY ONE OF THEIR MUSIC VIDEOS?? YOU CAN CHOOSE WHICH ONEEE

IT WOULD BE SO COOL<3

— 1st Chapter: Love don't break me.

"I need to get home, but I keep on holding on."

★ Fem!reader x Bill Kaulitz 2016

★ Tags: Angst, fluff.

| Summary: Bill and his girlfriend have been going through different rough difficulties in their relationship for a long time now, they both know it's useless to keep being together. None of them tried to do anything about it till he decided to put an end to it.

• Bill narrates;

I can't believe I'm here again. I want to hold her and tell her that we'll be okay, but I don't know how cause even I don't know the answer to that.

I look around the dark room, the blinds shut, I predict it's around 2 in the morning. My arms are around myself, unable to move after another successful fight; this time seeming worse than ever, after reproaching each other about every stupid little thing there is in the book.. even though this time they weren't just a few misunderstandings—It was much more than that.

I furrow my left eyebrow, once I hear the faint sound of her sobs in the background, hitting my eardrums. I hate seeing her cry, she knows that well, as much as I also know how I shouldn't cave in. But she's already scooting closer to me, wrapping her arms around my body loosely, tightening even more the second I tried to move.

My head fell to the front, a few of a blonde-platinum strands of hair pushed to my face. I sigh as she tries to comfort herself while in touch with my skin, 'Please, don't.' She mutters as she feels how I'm starting to stretch out my limbs to stand up this time, a thing I can't get through with because my body simply won't respond.

But I'm angry, so why are my arms moving around her, why are my eyes filled with tears when I keep hearing her say over and over how sorry she is? Maybe I don't really want to go.

Why can't my heart and my head work at once?

I open my mouth to speak, her face is buried on the back of my neck, and so are my fingers in her hair when I reached out to finally touch her. 'Why do we do this?' Is everything I manage to say—I can't understand how we've gotten to this point; The fighting, the aggressive make-up and when you think you're done, more fighting again.

I want to tell her that I won't be here forever, laying on her bed—completely wrecked and thinking about all the times we've been okay together instead of living the moment. And I've got a feeling that she doesn't want to be stuck in this back and forth for much longer.

But how will we move forward? we still love each other, there's no doubt, and even if we've been told that our love is gross, we'd always managed to prove them wrong.. this time we'll make it again, right?

She looks at me, untangling herself from the grip she's had on me before—I've got a feeling that she knows what I'm thinking about by the way she's shaking her head at me. 'Don't say you're gonna give up on me.' The look on her face said it all; regret, even fear, dispair... everything at once—like she expected the worst.

But I didn't say anything, I didn't dare. I couldn't get my mind to work, everything oh so overwhelming. Till her voice pushed me off my trance. 'Say something!' It was only natural she would react like that after getting no reaction out of me, so that's when I finally managed to push myself on my feet, looking around for the shirt I discarded earlier god knows where before this argument started, to slid it back on.

'I'm tired of fighting.' I said, bitter tears still stinging the corner of my eyes as I put on the rest of my clothes, pacing around the room to pick everything up, anything that I must be forgetting to grab while I make the feint of leaving.

I sniffle from my nose, and from one moment to another she's standing up from the bed, looking completely hysterical, not even bothering to put her shirt on as she tried to get ahold of me, eyes closing tight.

'You can't leave like this..' She said again, trying to change my mind, but this time I can feel myself getting a little bit of impulse, ready to leave it all behind. The black eyeshadow that I know is staining my under eyes, I wipe it off with my knuckles.. now I'm the one who's shaking his head. I can't listen to her this time, If I keep doing so I know I'll never leave. I know I'll never run free from this golden cage that we named love.

'I'm sorry, It's over.' And I didn't even stutter this time, It felt like I've been holding those words inside me forever, like I've been meaning to say it for a long time now. A big relief rushing through my veins, as if I could breath properly again.

But she didn't look relieved, she didn't look like it had been taken a big weight off her shoulders like I thought it would. She was silent, still.. It was even frightening. I wanted to turn to her and say something else, my hands even itching to touch her one last time, but I knew it would just make it worse than it was already.

So I went away, with broken wings.—I picked up my dignity, all my pride and I walked out.

But was I doing what was the best for us? wasn't I making it worse? what if I just regret all of this in the future?

I guess I'll never know.

Inspired by the 'Love don't break me' MV. For a better experience, listen to the song while you're reading.

[ I made this, all fanfics posted here are original ideas by me. ]

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c-e-d-dreamer · 5 months ago

Text

Top Shelf Love: Chapter 3

A/N: Happy Four Nations Championship!!!! Do you like how I timed this perfectly with puck drop? 😉 I've been absolutely loving watching this tournament and watching Team USA win for Johnny! And it has reinvigorated my motivation to write our beloved, Hockey Cassian. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter! It was both fun and challenging writing a hockey game from Nesta's perspective when she doesn't know the game lol. See the end chapter notes on AO3 for some fun hockey facts

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian smiles down at the yellow fabric in his hands, the strokes and loops of silver sharpie in the one and nine, the dark blue lettering declaring Velasquez. It’s perfect, exactly what he needs, and already, he starts to imagine the reaction it will garner. A thanks, of course. Maybe a smile or a laugh. Hopefully, another dinner.

But perhaps that’s getting ahead of himself.

With a decided nod, he tosses the jersey over his arm, finally slipping out of his truck. He’s never been more thankful to have the vehicle back in his possession. As nice as the rental car the team had provided him with once he arrived had been, there’s something comforting about sitting in this particular cab again. About the soft worn leather seats. About the distinct smell of hockey that never quite leaves the carpet of the truck floor. Hell, even the deep red stain from when Mor decided to open and then subsequently spilt wine is a comfort.

He still remembers when he first purchased the truck. It was his first major purchase after signing his first NHL contract. It had all been so surreal back then, being drafted, being signed, being on a proper NHL sheet of ice for the first time, and even now, Cassian can’t help but think back to when he was just a boy, and what that boy would think if he saw what they grew up and became.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, Cassian continues along the sidewalk until he reaches the storefront of Grumpy & Sunshine Books. When he peers through the front window, he spies Nesta standing just behind the counter. Much like the previous time he stepped inside the bookstore, Nesta has a book opened in front of her.

He's beginning to think it's a regular pose for her.

For a moment, all he can do is stare at her, at the way the lights of the bookstore dance off the golden brown strands of her hair, the soft sweater she’s wearing that’s just oversized enough that the wide collar exposes a sliver of collarbone and shoulder. She has her jaw cradled in the palm of her hand, clearly relaxed and at peace within the quiet of the bookstore. Unguarded in a way he's never seen. Even with the distance between them, Cassian can see the pretty pink that starts to spill across her cheeks, and he has to bite down a smirk as he finally strides inside.

“Did you get to the smutty part?” Cassian asks as he approaches the counter.

Nesta slams her book closed, raising her head to glare at him. “Is this going to become a regular occurrence with you?”

Cassian merely smiles in the face of her ire, holding up the jersey so that Nesta can see the back of it. “One jersey, signed by the entire Preds team. As promised.”

Nesta blinks a few times, but after a moment, she reaches forward, taking the jersey from his hands. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to pass this along to Gwyn.”

“And I also have these,” Cassian continues, reaching into his back pocket. “Three tickets to the Kraken’s home opener.”

Nesta doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move to take the tickets from his hand. Instead, she merely continues to watch him, eyes narrowing slightly. The reaction, the way those blue eyes flare, just has Cassian’s grin growing. It’s certainly a look he’s growing familiar with, one he’ll be adding to his ever growing mental catalog. He waves the tickets, hoping the gesture is enticing, but when that doesn’t work, he merely sets them down on the counter, sliding them over to her.

“You want me to go to a hockey game?” The way she drawls the question practically has Cassian's blood singing.

“How can I be expected to play my best if you’re not there to cheer me on?” Cassian offers, earning an eye roll and a scoff, exactly as he intended.

“Are you going to ask me to wear your away jersey and everything?” Nesta fires back, a smirk tugging up the corner of her lips.

The sight has Cassian’s heart kicking up with excitement, and he chuckles softly. “Been reading a lot of hockey romance novels recently, sweetheart?”

“You wish.”

Despite her words, the pink color that spills across her cheeks betrays her, gives her away. Gods, Cassian would give anything to draw out that pretty color elsewhere. Would give anything to trace that color with his fingers, his lips. Would give anything to see if the pale freckles brought out by that blush are echoed anywhere else across her skin.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but you can’t wear my away jersey even if you want to.”

That gets her attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I don’t have my away jersey. In fact, I don’t have any of my equipment. It’s the team that makes sure the jerseys get washed, that makes sure all the gear stays cleaned, that our preferred sticks are ordered and stocked up. There’s a whole equipment team that’s hired and paid just to do that.”

“So, what?” Nesta asks dryly, crossing her arms. “All you do is just show up?”

“Pretty much. Show up, look pretty, play great hockey.”

Nesta snorts softly, barely more than a low, breathy sound, but Cassian still delights in it all the same. It’s so close to a laugh. Gods, he'd do unholy things to get a laugh out of her, a real laugh. Would it be light and melodic? Would it be low and refreshing? Would it start loud and taper off into little more than breathy giggles? Would her nose scrunch? Would crinkles pop beside her eyes? Would those eyes flare with the joy, the surprise at a laugh tearing out of her? Would the easy serenity remain on her expression when the laugh finally subsided, a soft smile and pink cheeks the footprints in the sand following the warm, gentle wave?

“Cassian.”

“What?” Cassian blinks, realizing belatedly that Nesta was speaking and he most definitely was not listening.

Nesta shakes her head and rolls her eyes again. “You’ve taken too many pucks to the head.”

“And you can watch me take some more to the head on Tuesday.”

“Switching tactics?”

At Cassian’s wide, winning grin, Nesta sighs softly, finally picking up the tickets. She reads them over, and for a moment, Cassian is entranced watching a little dip form between her eyebrows, watching her lips tug down in the barest hint of a frown. Would she ever let him slide his thumb against her skin, to smooth away those lines and those worries?

“If you’re worried about the seats not being together,” Cassian jumps in to assure her. “The team only gives each guy two tickets, so had to ask one of the other guys for the third, but Donny promised me the families have the whole row and they’re not really sticklers on who sits in which seat.”

“In row… S?” Nesta asks, holding up the tickets so Cassian can see the seat listed. “You want me to go to a game, but aren’t even going to get us first row?”

Cassian laughs easily at that. “I’m not a miracle worker, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how expensive seats along the glass are? It’s how the team gets a huge chunk of revenue each game.” Nesta hums at that, but doesn't say anything else.

At her continued silence, Cassian tries to keep his easy smile in place, refuses to let it slip or let his nerves truly show. "So, you'll be there?"

"We'll see," Nesta tells him, but she tucks the tickets away in between the pages of her books.

It feels like a win to Cassian, the same high as watching the puck sink into the netting, and he doesn't bother biting back the way his grin widens in response. But before he can say anything else, his phone starts to vibrate in his back pocket, the reminder he set for himself so he wouldn't be late. He quickly digs his phone out, silencing the alarm, and clears his throat, offering Nesta an apologetic wince.

"I have to get going, but… I'll see you around?"

Nesta merely waves her hand, opening back up her book and settling her cheek on her fist again as she returns to whatever whirlwind romance sweeps her away between the parchment and ink. Cassian knows a dismissal when he sees one. Even if he still desperately wants to know what's happening in her book, what has her so enraptured and desperate to return to the characters and story. He's quite confident he could listen for hours if she wanted to retell him the entire plot. He's quite confident that he'd give anything to know what her favorite romances are, what her favorite moments are, just so he can recreate them.

"Bye," Nesta snaps, her voice dry and annoyed.

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly again, realizing that he was definitely staring like an idiot. Again. With a nod, he finally moves toward the door of the bookshop, knowing that Coach will kill him if he's late for practice.

~ * * * ~

Cassian rolls his shoulders and neck, making his way down the hall and toward the training room. His hair is still wet from his shower, water droplets dripping from the strands and dampening the shoulders of his shirt, and he's definitely feeling the way he pushed himself during practice. But despite it all, there's still a lightness bubbling in his chest, and not just from his interaction with Nesta this morning. He feels like he's starting to mesh with the coaching staff, feels like he's really buying into the system they play here, feels like he can feel chemistry starting to build with the boys.

It's going to be a great season, a great year, he just knows it.

Awbrey is already sitting on one of the massage tables in the training room when Cassian steps inside, getting his shoulder wrapped in kinesiology tape, and Cassian offers him a nod as he walks past. He drops his bag in the corner and grabs a pair of compression boots, settling on one of the open massage tables. He gets to work sliding his feet in and securing the straps nice and tight.

"Need any help with that?" Cresseida asks, stepping over to Cassian with a raised eyebrow. She truly might be his favorite member of the training staff.

"I'm good," Cassian assures her, setting the boots to his desired level. He lets out a relieved sigh when the massage starts, already working through the knots and helping with the soreness. "Although, you could grab my phone from my bag for me. So I don't get bored."

"Exactly what I get paid for: doing menial tasks for hockey players."

"Aw, come on, Cress." Cassian puts on his best pout, gesturing with his arm to the now empty training room. "There's no one else here that needs attention."

Cresseida settles him with an unimpressed look that would definitely send him skittering away if he weren't currently pinned down by the compression boots. She narrows her eyes, the bright blue of them practically icing over, and Cassian offers her his most charming smile. It seems to do the trick, even as she sighs and rolls her eyes, but she steps over to where he dropped his bag.

He waits for her to grab his phone, already thinking about if it would be too much to text Nesta. He could keep it simple, casual, simply ask how her day is going. But a surprised laugh draws his attention, and when he snaps his head in the direction of the sound, Cresseida is holding up the book he'd purchased the first time he visited Nesta's bookstore, the one he simply shoved in the bag and then forgot about.

Viking Bride

"This is certainly not what I was expecting for your reading taste," Cresseida teases, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"What? Because I'm a professional athlete, I can't enjoy romance?"

"Where did you even get a book like this? No way they sell this at a mainstream bookstore."

"This bookstore called Grump & Sunshine Books actually. It's the best romance bookstore in the whole city."

Cresseida hums, flipping through the book. "And what do you think so far? How far have you read?"

"Oh, I don't…"

Cassian lets his words trail off, swallowing back down the admission that he had no intention of ever reading the book, that he only purchased it in an attempt to impress Nesta, a desperate plea to get her to talk to him. Because it gives him an idea, the perfect opening that he's been looking for.

"I haven't finished it yet," Cassian says instead, his grin growing. "But I'll let you know what I think."

~ * * * ~

Nesta

"Who knew there would be so many people," Nesta comments, keeping her eyes on the strands of copper hair leading the way in front of her through the sea of blue all around them.

"It is the home opener," Emerie reminds her, making a face when someone rushes past and knocks against her shoulder.

"This many people care about hockey?"

The dry remark earns Nesta a number of looks from the people around them, even more so when they take in her attire. At least her friends laugh easily, Gwyn turning back and looping her arm through Nesta's with a bright smile as they continue to walk.

"I told you, Nesta Archeron," Gwyn says. "You're going to have more fun than you think."

The benefit of having Gwyn is that she clearly knows where she's going and what she's doing. She leads Nesta and Emerie to the arena entrance and through security. Their tickets are scanned and then they're stepping fully inside. Nesta has to admit, it's impressive. It feels a bit larger than life, certainly spacious and modern. She takes in the large digital screen displays on the wall, the different food and drink options, what appears to be a team store called The Lair.

"Come on," Gwyn exclaims, leading the charge forward. "They let you go down to ice level for warmups."

There's already a number of fans and certainly plenty of children lining the first few rows of the arena, many with signs. Nesta even spots one little girl with a Kraken bobble hat and a sign declaring, Will trade a puck for a box of cookies!, in large looping letters. But despite all the people already there, Gwyn is able to weave and find a place for them right along the glass.

They have to wait longer than Nesta anticipated, especially when they haven't even gotten drinks yet, but eventually both teams skate onto the ice. It's like watching organized chaos, the way some of the players skate laps around their half of the ice, others taking shots at their own goalie, and others still doing what looks like tricks in their own little bubble, spinning around and moving their sticks back and forth quickly.

It's easy enough to spot Cassian. He's one of the few players not wearing a helmet, and Cassian's hair is unmistakable, hanging in loose curls down to his shoulders and the dark blue of his jersey. His smile is wide and bright, and Nesta watches as he skates a lap before throwing his body against his teammate's, shoving the teammate against the glass, with an easy laugh.

Cassian skates away from the teammate, skates right toward where Nesta and her friends are standing, and she wonders if he somehow spotted them, but instead he drops down to his knees against the ice. He does it with surprising ease, like the motion is nothing for him. Nesta can't look away as he leans forward, practically on all fours with his stick against the ice and his knees spread wide. It gives her a perfect view of his ass, even if it's covered in hockey gear.

Cassian slides his knees wider, spreading himself open wider still, and then he starts to move his hips. Forward and back. In small circles. His hips move, and Nesta's mouth goes dry. It's almost sensual, the way he works them, and it's definitely obscene. Cassian straightens back up onto his knees, stretching his arms and his stick behind his back, but the image of his moving hips is already seared in Nesta's mind, a teasing brand of what could be.

A cheer echoes from Nesta's left, jolting her back to the present, and when she looks over, she sees that little girl from earlier jumping up and down excitedly. A quick glance toward the ice reveals one of the Kraken players skating toward the bench, the bright green box of cookies cradled in his glove.

"Cute," Emerie murmurs, clearly noticing the same exchange.

Nesta decides to keep her focus firmly on any player other than Cassian after that as they continue to stand along the glass, watching as slowly but surely, the number of players begin to dwindle. Soon, a horn blares through the whole arena, the players still remaining on the ice heading off and the various fans around them starting to make their way back up the steps toward the concourse. Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn head up the stairs as well, deciding to find food and drinks before they find their seats.

Nesta has a can of beer in one hand and a pretzel in the other as she follows Emerie to the row of their seats. There's already a group of women and a few small children in their allotted row and the one behind. A pretty blonde woman sitting at the end jumps up with a smile, quickly turning to chastise the little boy beside her before turning her attention to Emerie.

"You must be Nesta. I'm Corra. Fionn told me to be on the look out for you."

"Oh, I'm not…" Emerie trails off, turning enough that she can point in Nesta's direction. "That's Nesta. I'm Emerie and this is Gwyn."

Nesta clocks the exact moment the woman notices what she's wearing, but she has to give Corra credit. Her smile only drops a centimeter before stretching wide again.

"Well, I've already asked Clare to switch seats, so you'll have three together."

They all murmur their thanks as they shuffle to the three open seats. Gwyn ends up beside a little girl—the sister to the little boy and Corra's other child it seems—and she wastes no time striking up a conversation with her. Nesta turns her own attention to the arena around them, the ice stretched out below them, even as she can feel the eyes of those around her practically burning a brand between her shoulder blades.

"Is it just me, or does it feel like high school?" Emerie murmurs from Nesta's other side. "Wish someone told us there's apparently a dress code."

Nesta hums her agreement, but she's saved from saying anything else when the lights in the arena go down. Cheers echo through the arena, melding with the music that starts to blare through the sound system. It's quite the display and entrance: the music, the light show displayed across the ice, the mini-movie spliced with hockey clips played on the large screens, even the tentacle lowered down onto the ice. But it feels like a bit much when they take the time to introduce every single player on the team, and Nesta doesn't bother holding back her eye roll when it's Cassian's turn.

But finally, after all the fanfare, the game starts, and Nesta tries her best to keep up. It's all so fast paced, the back and forth across the ice. She doesn't quite understand all the rules, but at one point, Gwyn starts screaming about something that happened, other fans seemingly just as upset.

It doesn't take long for the Kraken to score a goal, leaving the whole arena erupting in excitement, but it seems to take even less time for the other team to score too. By the time the horn is blaring to signal the end of the period, it's tied one to one.

Although there are no goals in the second period, the fast-pace continues. At one point, Cassian skates at one of the players of the other team, throwing his body against him and slamming the other player right into the boards. The two shove and grab at each other in the aftermath, and somewhere in the scuffle, Cassian loses his helmet. He tosses his head back when they separate, getting his hair out of his face, and Nesta wants to curse the Mother with how unfair it all is. How unfair such a display, such aggression, could somehow be so attractive.

By the third period, the energy in the arena has only built even higher. There's six minutes remaining on the clock when something happens, the whistle blowing and play stopping. Whatever it is, everyone around Nesta seems happy about it, cheering as one of the opposing team players skates toward the little hockey player time-out bench.

As play resumes, Cassian jumps over the boards and onto the ice. Nesta watches as one of his teammates passes him the puck, watches as he skates along the blue line painted across the ice with ease, feet criss-crossing over each other. She watches the way players seem to gather and shove in front of the net, watches the way Cassian pulls his stick back just to swing it back forward.

She can't believe he dared to take a shot through so many bodies.

She can't believe the horn sounds to indicate it's a goal.

Almost the entire arena jumps to their feet to cheer, Cassian and his teammates coming together on the ice to celebrate. They skate toward their bench, fist-bumping the teammates there, and then it's just a waiting game. Waiting for the final few minutes to tick down. Waiting for the final horn to sound, signaling the end of the game. Waiting for the team and all of the fans to celebrate the Kraken's victory.

The arena empties out surprisingly quickly once the game is over. Nesta herself is looking forward to getting out of the cold and back home to her warm bed, but it seems that Gwyn has completely enamored the little girl beside her, the little girl holding Gwyn's hand while she chatters away. The younger brother is fast asleep in his mother's lap, and Corra watches on with an expression that is both fond but unsurprised at her other child.

"Alright, don't tell anyone I'm doing this," Corra begins, standing up and adjusting the boy against her hip. "But come on."

Corra leads the way up the stairs and through the concourse toward an elevator. Nesta doesn't hear what she says to security, but they all clamber inside and are taken all the way down to the basement level. Down a hall and through a door finds them inside a large room. The walls are painted the dark blue of the team's colors, three televisions taking up space on two of them. There's sofas and armchairs along with tables and chairs arranged around most of the space, but what looks like a bar stretches across the back wall, and there appear to be children toys tucked away in the corner.

Nesta recognizes many of the women in the room from the seats around them during the game, all chatting and waiting around. It feels like they're standing around forever before the door opens again and the first Kraken player steps into the room. At least, it's like a domino effect after that, and one by one it seems various men step through the door to greet their other half. With each man that steps inside, Gwyn leans over to whisper who it is, and in some cases, statistics or facts about the player, much to Emerie's barely concealed entertainment.

"Nes!"

Nesta turns just in time to watch Cassian step inside the room. The black dress pants he's wearing are form fitting and practically hug the thick lines of muscle of his thighs. The matching jacket for his suit is slung casually over his arm, leaving him in just his black button down, and, of course, he has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, has the first few buttons undone. It gives Nesta the perfect tease of the dark lines of ink hiding beneath the fabric, gives her the perfect view of the veins in his forearms.

His hair is wet and slightly tangled, but somehow the messy look only seems to work for him. A pinkness seems to cling beneath the brown of his cheeks, but whether it's from his post-game shower or the exertion on the ice, Nesta isn't sure. With his wide, easy smile and his bright hazel eyes as he walks directly toward her, he's everything that Nesta wants to hate.

At least she gets to watch in real time as Cassian's smile falters and slips away. Small consolations.

"Are you… are you wearing a Flames jersey? Where'd you even get one of those?"

"What?" Nesta drawls, crossing her arms across her chest and raising a daring eyebrow. "You don't like my hockey jersey?"

The left side of Cassian's lips tug up in a smirk. "I just think you'd look a lot better in blue."

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, but she's spared from saying anything else when Emerie loudly clears her throat, drawing Cassian's attention.

"Emerie. Good to see you again. And you must be Gwyn. Nice to finally meet you."

"Thanks for the tickets, and the jersey," Gwyn tells him. "It was a good game. That was a nice shot at the end."

Cassian shrugs. "I got lucky with Jordy getting the tip."

Gwyn and Cassian continue to talk about hockey and the game, and Nesta is more than happy to just stand there and listen. It gives her a reprieve to remind her traitorous heart to stop being so affected by that stupid smirk of his, by the way he seems intent on looking at her. It gives her a chance to remind herself that no matter how attractive he might look on the ice or after a hockey game, it doesn't change the fact that he'll never actually care about her.

—

2025 tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed; bolded names mean Tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥲): @moodymelanist @sv0430 @bookstantrash @hiimheresworld @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @glowing-stick-generation @goddess-aelin @melphss @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @wolfnesta @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @that-little-red-head @kale-theteaqueen @superflurry @lady-winter-sunrise @freakingata @susanbanarchy @jsmelodies @unhealthyfanobsession @presskmewleroux @nativeswfl @livinforthetea @dying-of-wanderlust @berkskc @the-new-ribbon @underneath-the-sidras @deadandsane

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #pro nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #top shelf love #my fic

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princessofghosts-posts · 1 month ago

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Grudges

It's been a while since I've done a long post,but finally here it is. I'm going to talk about Nico's fatal flaw and why Riordan misused it (coming from a girl that hold a lot of grudges,even for the stupidest thing ever from when she was a child-).

So,first off,having grudges means holding onto feelings of resentment,bitterness,or anger towards someone (usually because you feel they have wronged you in the past). These feelings are persistent and can last a long time,causing ongoing negative emotions and potentially impacting relationships and mental well-being. In some cases,they can also lead to a desire of revenge.

Now,a great part of Nico's development is the growth he had during BotL,where he decided to stop holding Percy accountable for his sister's death. His character arc in this book is basically him starting from having a grudge,towards Percy,to accept reality how it is. It's not bad,especially considering that we are taking about his fatal flaw (and Nico himself has a big golden heart),but the way it got solved is totally wrong.

Nico's grudge towards Percy start at the end of TTC because of Bianca. It's uncalled for because Percy wasn't a fault here but Nico wasn't thinking this logically,he was a kid that got to know that his only living relative is now dead and he is now alone in a world he doesn't know well enough. Blaming Percy,another kid that actually felt responsable for her death (also uncalled because Bianca knew what she was doing and could happens)for this was also extremely horrible but from Nico's point of view that's the only thing he can do.

When people are hurt,because of something out of their control,they usually tend to blame someone for their suffering. Percy was the only one Nico could blame at the time for this,grieving his way through it. Was it ok? No. Was it right? Also no. Was it fucked up? Extremely. Was it a child natural respond to a tragic event? Yes. Am I justifying him with this? Nah.

Anyway. Nico's feelings about Bianca's end are pretty strong from the start,he literally opened the ground to the Underworld and used his powers out of grief and rage for her (there are still a fear factor,about him thinking the skeletons where going to kill him,and a feeling of betrayal,towards Percy and their "promise",that also play here). And that was only after he just found out.

The months prior to BotL and the halfway through it,Nico turned into almost a murder,while also being suicidal. I saw few people pointing it out,but we actually needs to talk more about this because this is an eleven years old that already tried multiple times to exchange his soul for his sister's,at fucking 11. And the same child almost become a murderer because he wanted his said sister back (while being also manipulated by Minos). Nico lost his morality there for a good part of the book before the arc could end in "let go of your grudges because they are our fatal flaws". Which is stupid.

Nico "letting go" of his grudge because Bianca asked him to do so,was only a demostration of how much he cared about her (not like it's reciprocated) and how big his heart is. While it's a good way to show Nico's kindness and willingness to forgive someone once he let go of his anger (and isn't being manipulated by a very scheming ghost),it's also....not how grudges works in general???

It doesn't take a "stop it before it destroy you" type of talk to stop holding grudges –especially if they are linked to something deep. I hate Bianca,but her death was an important part for Nico development (and a good wake up call because things were starting to get actually real) and Nico obviously cared about her. His reaction to the news was devasting and so is his grief (not to talk about how much Bianca answering for Percy,instead of the little brother "she raised" made it worst). But he still ended up forgiving himself (and her).

Now,one of the few thing that is a bit misleading about this subplot is "Nico blamed Percy for Bianca's death". AT THE START it was like that,Nico was hurt and needed to put the blame on something or someone,and unfortunately that person was Percy since he was the one to tell him the news (he also probably felt hurt about their "promise" and how it was "broken"). But that's a distraction for what the real deal was here: Nico was projecting his own feelings on Percy. Nico blamed himself for her death because he wasn't good or strong enough to do something,but since he couldn't accept that,his mind made sure to project those insecurities and his view of the situation on Percy. He was angry at himself because he wasn't enough (something that Bianca and Hades both amplified),he was angry at Bianca because she left him,and he was angry at the world for taking his sister away from him. The "It's your fault that my sister died" to Percy is just a facade for all the other things unsaid. Still,doesn't excuse his behavior towards the guy,since Percy was in a similar position. Bianca truly traumatized both of them in the same way.

Got a bit sidetracked here,sorry. Anyway! Going back to the main topic-

The way Nico's grudge got "solved" that way was extremely lazy writing. You go on about how grudges are Hades's kids fatal flaw,then you have a character that hold one and puff,it vanish because another character he cares about said to do so. I'm sorry,but as someone that is a very resentful person,this isn't how "solving" your grudges work.

First off,when you hold a grudge against someone you actually take time to hate their guts (it's sound extremely petty and immature but it is how it is). You don't let go of them in the span of a conversation or 2 because you built the resentment for that person for a lot of times,it could be weeks,months even years. The time-skip between TTC and BotL is of 6 months –of which Nico had all the time in the world to build said resentment (especially with Minos around). And you are going to tell me that 6 MONTHS of resentment are wiped out like nothing? I'm sorry but that's is impossible. You don't spend so much time building negative feelings towards someone or something only to change your mind last minute,because someone told you to do so (it wasn't even from him this realization,but from Bianca???). There are so many negative emotions to unpack there that it will takes time,like,a lot of time. Ence why it doesn't work.

Having Nico slowly realizing that his own fatal flaw was destroying him and the few connections he tried to build (Percy,CHB,the campers,etc...) would have be much better,because it was something that would have begun from him. Because Nico himself realized it was wrong. Also,having him try to change his attitude towards the people he was holding grudges against would have be good,starting with Percy especially. Learning also how to forgive himself and letting go of his guilt and fatal flaw,without being rushed,would have been actually healing for him. But nope,one book he is all "It's your fault!" (with all the hidden feelings) and the next one he and Percy are pretty fine with each other.

Listen,I love BotL and TLO because of their strange friendship development,but it's still lacking when it cames to Nico's fatal flaw. It's impossible that after so many months projecting on him and "hating" Percy,Nico wouldn't feel awkward with him or trying to not involve himself much at the start. Not to talk about the whole fiasco with Hades's plan (fuck him for that). And even after that,he tried so hard to make Percy see he could still trust him,because he changed from before and was different from his dad,but Percy was still hurt from what happened before (which was misleaded because Nico didn't knew shit and Hades even said so). Those two are a mess,when Nico isn't holding a grudge against Percy,Percy doesn't trust him enough and viceversa. While I liked how Nico wanted to show that he is trustworthy because he is that stubborn,be taking into account the fatal flaw that should be at play......meh.

Again,Nico here should be still trying to let go of his resentment,which is very effective because he and Percy are ok now (keyword: should). But he should definitely feel resentment towards Hades because of what he pulled and said (but he doesn't,and if he did we never knew about it) and Percy too,because the guy first tried to kill him and then didn't trust him anymore even tho Nico got him out of the palace and helped him to get to the Styx. Realistically,Nico's past feelings towards Percy (the negative ones-) should have resurfaced but they didn't. Another thing about working through grudges is that,sometimes,even a single thing can tackle you off. Especially if you spent so much time disliking them. That's why it isn't simple and it takes time. But here? 0,nada,nothing,Nico is the one that is acting like he did something wrong,which he didn't because he didn't knew. He should be angry and have every right to leash out,especially with his fatal flaw,but he didn't (idk how to feel about that-). Hades and Percy on the other hand...

I feel like Rick totally missed the shot with Nico (what's new at this point) when it cames to his fatal flaw. It got said multiple times that grudges are children of Hades fatal flaw,but then you have Hazel that doesn't hold any (idk if for children of Pluto it's different) and everytime Nico does it's not even permanent like a grudge should be,it's just there for a while and then goes away.

I'm not saying that Nico needs to be a resentful person and have grudges forever,just that we should actually see him struggling with his fatal flaw. But that's something that's not only about Nico,because in general everyone fatal flaw is kinda just there in the background without weights (looking at you Percy in BoO),expect Annabeth's because hers actually had consequences in the narrative multiple times (and Thalia's when she almost gave up and killed Bessy).

#percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #nico di angelo #percy jackson #hades #bianca di angelo #the titans curse #battle of the labyrinth #the last olympian #hazel levesque #annabeth chase #thalia grace #fatal flaws #grudges #Riordan wrote Nico's fatal flaw lazily #the guy that should hold grudges doesn't??? and the few he had just vanished like that??#that's not possible #it takes time to stop holding grudges #YOU CAN'T DO THAT BECAUSE YOUR DEAD SISTER ASK YOU TO DO SO #THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS #same for everyone fatal flaw honestly #underwold #bianca isn't a good sister to nico and I'll die on that hill #king minos #the dude probably made Nico worse but still everything went back to normal after a stupid talk #that's just lazy writing at this point #rick riordan #rick didn't think this though let's be honest #or he just didn't cared enough since fatal flaw are pushed in the background more than anything else

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sen-ya · 1 year ago

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Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

#my art #life after

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liesandspookyfairytales · 5 months ago

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hai hai hai im back 😼

i hope everything’s been going well with you and that you’re drinking water and sleeping and all that jazz

basically, im always tired, no matter how much sleep i get and sleeping is one of my favorite pastimes

so i was thinking…poly recoms with chronically sleepy reader? possibly narcoleptic but such a valuable worker that the RDA can’t let them go? human or recom would be cool, doesn’t matter to me

take care of yourself pookie 🫶

Sleepy reader

HIII! I missed you!

I was going to write my book (I've officially started writing and I'm so exited!) But once I saw your asks, I just had to write this first. Also, I feel you, I'm always tired as well :( even if I get a full night sleep and my mom keeps nagging me that the best way to battle sleepiness is to get active and I'm just like 'mom I want to sleep' 😢

You take care of yourself too! 💙 and I hope you enjoy this!

Also, importent notice, I've noticed that I'm not really in the mood to write one-shots for the avatar fandom, but I'm 100% okay with doing headcanons, that's just easier for me. I hope you all don't mind!

Race and gender or reader not specified.

I saw some videos on tiktok about someone with POTS and she would just faint randomly and the people in the video would catch her and I can totally imagine that with the Recoms. (I am aware that being chronically sleepy and having POTS is very different but just go along with it)

Imagine you’re cleaning your weapon along with the rest of the squad and suddenly you’re so sleepy and you just start to nodding off and whoever is next to you notices and quickly catches you so you don’t hurt yourself.

Ofcourse they’d be alarmed when your head suddenly drops, but they quickly realise that you’ve fallen asleep.

Que the fond chuckles echoing in the room.

They like it when you lean against them when you sleep, but if you climb into their laps and cuddle them… If they could fall more in love with you, they would.

Speaking of cuddles, two words… Cuddle parties.

Some of them, (Quaritch, Mansk, Lopez and possibly Z-dog and Walker) grumble about it, but they’d be the first to join you.

When you fall asleep in your bed (or someone else's, it’s all the same to you) or on the couch, it's only a matter of time before you wake up because there is some kind of struggle going on between the guys which one of them gets to cuddle with you. Once they’ve finally decided, Walker and Z-dog are already on either side of you. Que the pouting and puppy eyes.

Quaritch tries to order them away (like he often likes to pull rank, even in your relationship), so another argument ensues about keeping your work relationship and romantic relationship separate.

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gunsatthaphan · 6 months ago

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.₊ ⟡ ݁ 🏆 2024 Top 10 🏆 ⟡ ݁₊ .

hello! I got tagged by a few people for various kinds of tier-list-posts for this year, so instead of making separate posts that will probably end up being repetitive, I decided to combine them all into one Top 10 list of my personal favorites in 2024. My watchlist was not very lengthy this year, partly because I was busy with work and partly because the quality of many shows was not to my liking. I started a bunch of things and dropped them shortly after, which also included more widely popular ones, for which I did not share the general public opinion. In the course of that, I have become more hesitant to share my thoughts online, as with every mildly critical POV came a number of anonymous people breathing down my neck. Which isn't new for me but by the end of the year I have gotten tired and was debating whether or not I should make this post but then I decided that this is my blog and idgaf about butthurt anons lol. I'm trying to carry this mindset into the new year.

So here is my Top 10 of BL/GLs that I have started and finished this year. A very special shoutout goes to The Heart Killers which owns my ass 100% and I totally would have added it but since we're only on ep6, I feel like it wouldn't be fair to include it in this list - also because I sort of consider it a category of its own lol.

I had no trouble picking this as my number one, simply because it's an outstanding production with an S-tier cast and a very powerful and well executed script. I've always loved Up but Poom took the cake for me in this, I was absolutely starstruck by him and his screen presence, he's a big surprise for me and has become one of my personal favorites this year in terms of acting. I could fill books with reasons why I love this show.

I had to include this even though it's not finished but I'm really blown away by it. The GLs I previously watched were okay but did not strike me quite as much as this one. I knew I would love Film and Namtan together from the moment they got paired as they're both insanely skilled and I was not disappointed. They understand the assignment 100% and so does Snap25 and it really shows. I'm obsessed.

Speaking of masterpieces, this is another one. It didn't get much attention sadly, mostly because TayNew did not deliver the dynamic the general BL population was hoping for. Their loss. This is an amazing production from start to finish, the 4 of them are the best possible casting choice for their characters, the found family trope is one of the best I've seen and especially TayNew delivered another gem with this one. I shall never doubt them again. This is how you do bromance. Certain other shows could never. send tweet.

Ah yes. No year goes by without the obligatory Mame guilty pleasure lol. What can I say. FortPeat as annoying southern scuba boy meets snobby whiny writer on a beach. How can I look away. I genuinely enjoyed this, it feels like the story was written for them, it's a perfect fit for them and their range I think plus I'm glad that Aya finally found a GL partner that matches her energy lol. I loved both couples and even though the plot did lack sometimes, you can count on MMY to serve S-tier chemistry no matter what. A+.

This is my personal hidden little gem, a small production with not a ton of attention, let alone good reviews but sometimes those are the best ones. The beginning was a bit slow but it quickly picked up. I decided to give it a watch mostly because I was curious about Charles' followup bl role and ended up getting very attached lol. So much softness and deep emotions and mutual healing that happened here and that I appreciated a lot. This was also my first Taiwanese BL in I think 3 years(?) I loved it.

I was very excited to watch this and see what Change 2561 came up with after Pit Babe and even though I'm not the biggest fan of cooking plots, I ended up enjoying this a lot! I've been a SailubPon and GarfieldBenz connoisseur since Pit Babe and it was so nice to see them in the spotlight in this. I saw a bunch of people drop it because they found Plawan annoying but I disagree lol. I had a very good time.

I initially tuned into this for Seng and Best, just to see what they're up to these days and it ended with me eating the whole thing up lol. The unapologetic approach to topics like sex education mixed with the sweet love stories that came with it is one of the things I appreciated + enjoyed a lot. I was a big fan of Peak and Thanwa and would definitely watch another show with Seng and Best as I really love their dynamic. Latte and Almond had a good start but fell a bit flat towards the end. Still a very deserving 7th place for me.

I was sooo excited for this and overall it did not disappoint, though I think it could have been better in some aspects. The comprehensive vibe was juvenile but not in a bad way. I anticipated gmmtv would choose a trope-y plot for their first GL to test the waters and it seems they succeeded. The main reason I put it as number 8 is the AylinLuna side story which I very strongly disliked for multiple reasons I won't get into here. But MilkLove did a fantastic job and this was a very nice debut for them. Thumbs up!

This might be the most unexpected gem for me this year. I started watching it because I was bored and nothing else was on and I was curious to see Dunk in his first solo gig. Surprisingly he did a big leap forward with his acting in this and White was by far my favorite character. Lune on the other hand was my least favorite which was another surprise as I previously loved Phuwin as Peem in We Are so I'm not sure why Lune was so unlikable. But anyway this was a very nice combination of different cute little stories, LuneStar were very trope-y but White saved a great deal of it by being the third wheel lol, plus the BL sideplot was pure sugar. I'm sad we won't see Ryu and Java together again and I resent them not giving us that well deserved WhiteIvy endgame but overall I enjoyed this a lot!

Never thought I would put a Siwaj production in my Top 10 but I'm tired of pretending I didn't secretly love this lmao. So much chaos but so much fun. It's a typical ensemble show, mostly aimed at a domestic audience with lots of slapstick and horseplay comedy, but I ended up being quite fond of all the couples. The main crystallization for me was that this is PondPhuwin's territory, this is the type of show they belong in imo. They excel at this kind of comedy and they seemed very careless and joyful in this, which I enjoyed and which made them a decent main couple. The QToey plot was a bit draggy and even though it's a big cast, 16 episodes were not necessary, which is why it gets the 10th place. But overall it still deserves to be in this list.

Thanks again to everyone who tagged me; in this and other things over the year, I appreciate you thinking of me!! 🥺🧡 I didn't manage to reply to every tag but know that I see them all and I try to do as many as possible! Also a big thank you and much love to all the lovely people I talked to this year, especially @lattexalmond, @mayalunas @bl-recs-and-reviews and @my-wandering-rabbit, I love and cherish each one of you! 🧡 Happy New Year to everyone who read this far, here's to a kind and successful 2025 with groundbreaking shows lol. I'm hopeful.

xxxx

#happy new year #top 10 #top 10 list #bl dramas #thai bl #gmmtv #my stand in #pluto the series #peaceful property #love sea the series #first note of love #this love doesn't have long beans #knock knock boys #23.5 the series #summer night the series #we are the series

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remlionheart · 1 year ago

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* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦ ˚ *

Marinade

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ when i first decided that i wanted to write some yuuji angst, i had a v vague idea in my head of what it might look like, but when i tell you that this fic took me for a ride, i mean it. angel boy yuuji itadori finds himself mourning his 22nd birthday rather than celebrating it. sitting alone at a bar, overwhelmed by grief when he's suddenly greeted by the one part of his past that doesn't hurt to look at. 4.9k words. hurt/comfort, angst, smut, fluff, slice of life, shonen, literally everything and anything going on here. i was crying and smiling and rooting for these characters and i'm not sure that i'll ever emotionally recover from writing this, but i'm really happy w the outcome so lemme know whatcha think, luv you ♡ (also shoutout to my girl @bratbby333 for always being my biggest hype-woman and proofreading for me when i've looked at a fic for too long and start to hate it) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

now playing: marinade by dope lemon

Yuuji hadn't seen you since middle school.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He remembered you as the girl who had pretty handwriting and a serious affinity for the color blue. The girl who would leave pastel origami hearts on his desk without ever saying why. The girl who'd hide away in the library during lunch instead of eating with the rest of the class. The girl who he'd watch on the bus ride home with a sinking feeling in his stomach, catching the way your eyes glossed over each time the driver stopped in front of your house.

He learned how much you loved to read and write that year. Glancing at you from across the study hall room, secretly jotting down what number was printed along the spine of your book so that he could get you the next one in the series. He'd leave it on your desk before class started, the same way you did with his origami hearts. Never saying a word about it.

He watched you fill countless journals, your face always so concentrated as you poured your thoughts into them. He’d stop by the shopping plaza near his house after school every time he noticed that you’d reached the last page, spending his allowance to make sure there was a new one waiting for you the next morning. Each one he gave you, a different shade of blue.

But it wasn’t until the last day of eighth grade that he finally mustered up the courage to break the not-so-silent-silence the two of you had been sharing for the last 6 months. He sat down next to you, introducing himself even though it went without saying. His eyebrows furrowed a bit when you wordlessly slipped out an earbud and handed it to him. A rare, but visible smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He held it in his palm for a moment, his eyes drifting along your face as he brought it to his ear, letting the tangled white cord tether the two of you together.

He’d never heard the song before, but he still remembered thinking how fitting it was. Dreamy and melodic - just like you. The singer's voice was full of raw sincerity, adding another layer of atmospheric haze to the already heady beat while the chorus gradually filled the space between you.

He didn't have the right words to explain it at the time, but he felt lucky as he watched you stare out the window that day. Lucky to know how pretty you looked when the sunlight caught the side of your face. Lucky to know which fantasy novels you liked to spend hours losing yourself in. Lucky to know what type of music you listened to when you were deep in thought. Lucky, just to be sitting next to you.

His heart jumped around in his chest when your eyes met his again. Both of you exchanging the same somber smile as you realized what road you were on.

He handed his half of the headphones back to you, secretly relieved at how calm you still seemed despite the fact that your stop was next.

“That song,” he hesitated, the lyrics still swirling through his mind. “what was it –”

But his question came to an abrupt end as the bus began to brake, a new and overwhelming warmth dancing through his veins when he noticed how close you suddenly were to him.

His pupils doubled in size, his breath catching in his throat while you leaned in carefully, pressing the softest kiss against his boyish cheek.

"Have a good summer, Yuuji." you whispered, grabbing your backpack off the floor.

His hand rested where your lips had been, his gaze following you off of the bus. You made it about halfway up your driveway before pausing to look back at him over your shoulder, two lingering smiles blurring past one another as the driver hurried on with her route.

The next two months were filled with sunshine and soccer practice for him. Bike rides and camping trips and basketball courts. His days were usually full, but no matter what he was doing or where he was going, there was one song that was always on the tip of his tongue:

♫⋆｡ ♪ ₊ ﾟ“Do you want me? Just how I am? Do you need me and where I stand?”

One song that would forever remind him of you:

"Let's go steady, let's make a plan. Marinade on that for a little while." ⋆｡ ♪ ₊♬ ﾟ。

And he did.

He marinaded on the infatuation he felt for you the rest of that entire summer.

When August arrived that year and brought everyone back for high school, he was ready.

There were stories he wanted to tell you, questions he wanted to ask you. Playlists he wanted to make with you. Books he'd found while thrifting that he wanted to give to you. Daydreams he had of roaming the halls and laughing with you. Visions of bringing his lunch into the library so he could eat with you. He couldn't wait to hear about your summer. Couldn't wait to catch up with you. Couldn't wait to see you.

Unfortunately for you both though, life had other, much darker plans in store for the pink-haired boy who just wanted to carry around your books for you and hold your hand during passing period.

He was called out of class early on the first day. Forced to leave the building before he even had the chance to see you as he frantically tracked down the nearest shuttle and rushed across town to get to the hospital. His grandpa’s health had been on a slow decline, but after his most recent fall, it had suddenly started to plummet.

Yuuji missed the majority of that week, dedicating all of his time to the man who had essentially raised him. He would bring him food and sit with him for hours even though he was mostly incoherent. He’d tell him about his day and leave flowers by his bedside. He'd watch reruns of old game shows with him that they used to watch when Yuuji was little, completely ignoring the nurses who would say things like, "You need to give yourself a break.”

The hospital staff tried their best to get him to take a day off. To go back to school and live his own life, but Yuuji just couldn’t. His grandpa was the only family he'd ever really had. There was no way he was going to leave him. He ditched the comfort of his bedroom and began sleeping on the cramped hospital futon next to the grey-haired man, teaching himself what each machine hooked up to him was responsible for and what vitals they monitored. He’d sometimes leave throughout the day, but it was only for a couple of hours at most. He'd return with more flowers and books to read to him. By the third week of school, he'd missed almost every single one of his classes, but he didn’t care. His priorities were firm.

Yuuji stayed by his side - day in and day out, until the very end.

When he woke up to the sound of erratic beeping and codes that he didn't understand being called out by nurses, he knew. He knew in his heart that this was it. Amongst the chaos were two sets of shaking hands reaching for each other, his grandpa's last words hanging heavily in the space between them,

“Yuuji... You're a strong kid, try your best to help others, okay?”

He remembered thinking at that moment that there couldn’t be a worse feeling. That he couldn’t possibly have anything else left to lose. He was only 15 and he was now officially all on his own as he watched the only parental figure he had let out his last breath of air.

He had no family, no future, no chance.

Fate was a cruel and calculating thing though. A few days after the funeral, Yuuji discovered that he did have a future. One that was irreversibly sealed the minute he stepped foot into Jujutsu High. He had to let go of everything he'd known in exchange for the damning task of becoming a vessel for Ryomen Sukuna. He had to trade in his mundane role of being a high school freshman for the daunting responsibility of becoming a first-year sorcerer. And arguably the hardest thing of all, he had to give up the simple pleasure of sharing a set of tangled headphones with you to try and save a world that didn't truly care about him.

There was no room for normalcy anymore. This was his new life and it was ending, one day at a time.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He sat at a nearly vacant bar by himself, staring down the empty glass in front of him, watching the ice melt as he ran a shaky hand along the back of his neck.

It was 4 o'clock and he was only one of two people here this early. The lights and music were still being adjusted by the workers. Cups being stocked and coolers being filled for the inevitable Saturday-night rush that would come in the next few hours. His goal was to be absolutely obliterated by then - to already be on his way back home before the swarm of college students took over.

He paused, noticing the calendar hanging by the craft beer list in front of him. His heart stuttered a bit as he blinked back at the date. No wonder he'd been feeling so reminiscent lately.

He leaned over the counter hoping to find the bartender who'd poured his first drink, but to no avail.

He grabbed his glass, sucking down the very last drop of whiskey it had to offer, trying desperately to drown out the realization that today was his 22nd birthday and the people who should be here with him weren't.

Almost every friend he'd made over the last ten years had been ripped away from him. They were scattered memories. Familiar voices that he did his best to hold onto. Faces, names, deaths that followed him everywhere he went.

Middle school and the innocence of just wanting to hold a pretty girl's hand while she walked down the hallway were long gone. He was an adult now. A very tired and traumatized adult.

He peered around the corner again, half-tempted to jump over the bar and pour himself another drink when the stereo kicked on, an overwhelming wave of pure, deep blue nostalgia flooding over him without warning.

His back straightened, his eyes suddenly darting towards the speaker as the lyrics drifted across his skin, causing every hair on his body to stand up at once.

"She wanted to die by a river. She wanted the tide to come up and drag her away, so that when she's dreamin', she can watch the tree line fall away." ⋆｡ ♪

It was the same hazy melody that he'd spent an entire summer listening to on repeat. He still knew every word, every beat. It was muscle memory the way his fingertips began to drum along the counter when a bartender finally emerged from the back.

"Sorry, do you need a –"

Time stilled, the glass nearly slipping from his hand as your gaze caught his.

"Yuuji?"

Despite how much you'd changed since the last time he saw you, your voice was somehow just as soft as he remembered it being.

He stared back at you in quiet disbelief, guilt quickly settling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about how fucking strange and unexpected this all must feel for you too.

From your perspective, he'd spent all of 8th grade trying to befriend you only to up and leave without even saying goodbye. And now, 7 years later - he was at your work, looking back at you like you were an actual angel, and forgetting every word he knew.

Your eyes stayed locked on his for another moment, both of you studying the person in front of you before you finally let out a shaky breath and smiled at him.

"Here," You offered, suddenly feeling the need to soothe your own nerves too. "On the house."

He tried to tell you that he could pay for it, but it was too late. You were already pouring two shots and motioning for him to put his wallet away.

"Okay, fine. But..." There was a glimmer in his eye as he pulled his glass away from yours. "What are we toasting to?"

The smile he gave you felt like a warm hug. One that you didn't realize you needed until you had it again. "Oh," You stammered, trying to ignore the blood that was rushing to your cheeks. "What about... To old friends?"

He nodded, still wearing the same expression as your drinks lightly knocked together. "To old friends."

He couldn't help but grin again at the little shiver that swept across your body as you finished yours.

Your hair was longer, your features a bit more mature, but your mannerisms were all the same. You were still the girl that was made up of mid-day sunlight, handbound books, and shades of blue that were too pretty to exist in this world.

You grabbed a beer out of the cooler and slid it to him, once again ignoring the credit card he tried to hand you. "Yuuji, relax." you leaned against the counter, resting your head in your hands so that you were eye-level with him. "They're not gonna go bankrupt over a $2 IPA, I promise."

"If you say so."

You both exchanged the same small smile, his finger lightly running along the counter. "So," he cleared his throat, completely unsure of where to start. "How've you been?"

It was a loaded question, maybe even a dumb question considering how much time had passed, but he didn't care. He really did want to know how you'd been. What you'd been up to. What type of things you'd been writing about. What your Spotifty playlists looked like. What you did on your days off. He wanted to know everything. All of it.

"Well," you exhaled, trying to find an easy way to condense the last seven years of your life. "My parents..." your eyebrows furrowed, realizing that you'd never gotten the chance to tell him why you used to dread your old bus route so much. "My parents finally got divorced..."

“Oh shit, I’m sorry -"

“No,” You said swiftly, not wanting him to feel bad for asking. "It was more of a relief than anything. They used to fight, a lot. My mom wasn't always the nicest when she drank... It probably should've happened way sooner to be honest."

His breathing slowed as memories of you with tears in your eyes walking up your driveway smashed through his mind. He'd promised himself that he would ask you about it one day, but he had no idea it'd be this much later on. He'd wanted to talk to you about it as kids. Wanted to know what scared you so much about going home, but he didn't know how. It was the reason why he left journals on your desk. The reason why he never let you go without the next book in your series.

For everything he couldn't say, he tried to show. But he'd failed you on both accounts the day he disappeared.

"My parents separated my -" you paused, eyes dragging to his as you corrected yourself. "our graduation year."

He nodded, doing his best to digest the thought of you walking down the aisle in a cap and gown with the weight of your parents' downfall on your shoulders.

"But, after that," you smiled slightly. “I applied to college and got accepted. Started working here. Got my own apartment. And I don't know...” you shrugged, "I think in a weird way, things happened the way they were supposed to. It was like everything needed to fall apart before it got better, you know?"

He smiled back at you, your last sentence lingering in the space between you as he reached for your hand. He probably wouldn't have understood that sentiment a year ago, but watching your eyes widen while your fingers slowly tangled into his, he knew exactly what you meant now.

"I'm really sorry I wasn't there..." His thumb brushed against the side of your hand, steadying himself as he let 15-year-old him and 22-year-old him come together to say what they had both been holding onto for so long. "I didn't want to leave. I just -"

Your heart swelled in your chest, watching him blink back tears he wasn't prepared to shed. "Life got really hard for a really long time for me too. But, whenever I felt myself drifting... I thought of you. Thought of the way you'd glance at me from over your book during class. Thought of the way you smiled when you thought no one was watching. I thought of you... all the time. And it was like, no matter how dark things got, it reminded me that life could be good, because it was at one point. So..."

Your hand tightened around his, two sets of glossy eyes now staring back at each other as he forced himself to say what he should've years ago. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there, but... I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere."

You were dizzy with emotion. Swimming through feelings that you'd kept buried for nearly the last decade. The thoughts you'd only been brave enough to write down. The overwhelming urge to kiss him again and again and again until neither one of you had any air left in your lungs.

Your mouth opened and then closed, your body saying more than you were capable of with how desperately you were holding onto him.

You weren't sure what you were doing. Didn't have time to think or care about the repercussions of your impulsiveness.

"Hey Mai," You called out, "I'm really not feeling well. Think I'm gonna go home."

Yuuji's head was shaking no, but the surprised smile tugging at the corner of his mouth was saying otherwise. "What're you doing?" he whisper-shouted, watching you run around the bar to grab his hand again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mai yelled from the back, but it was too late.

You and Yuuji were already gone, practically sprinting alongside each other, laughing as you booked it across the parking lot.

"First the free beer and now this?"

"They won't go bankrupt over me missing one day." You winked. "C'mon, I wanna show you something."

You may have been leading the way, but he was still the athlete between the two of you, purposefully slowing himself down to not be right on your heels. But when he noticed you starting to pant as the road curved into an upward slope, he reached out for you, gently spinning you around to face him.

"Come here." he knelt down, positioning himself so that you could easily wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

He carried you piggy-back style up the hill, the sun fading into an array of pink and orange as you pointed out every bookstore around campus, explaining which ones were your favorites and why. Promising to get matcha with him tomorrow at a local coffee shop you passed. Asking him about his time at Jujutsu High and trying to wrap your mind around what little he was able to tell you as he swore that he'd fill you in on the full story when the time was right. You caught him up on what he'd missed the last three years of high school and how your college classes had been going. You talked about libraries and ghosts and laughed about how in 7th grade he'd joined the occult club just because he thought it'd be an easy after-school credit.

By the time you'd finally reached the spot you'd wanted to show him, the moon had almost completely replaced the sun. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and your hands were full of a mixture of different flowers that he'd picked for you along the way.

"This is..." he trailed off, watching the sky shift into a deep blend of blue and silver. "Beautiful. How'd you even find this place?"

It was an abandoned park surrounded by overgrown trees that overlooked the city, only one rusted swing set left to its name. The hike you had to endure just to find it had more than likely been the cause of its demise, trekking up here with a backpack was hard enough, let alone a stroller.

"I kinda found it by accident." You shrugged. "I was working on an art project and needed a good view of the skyline. I looked up a bunch of different places online, but then I saw this spot and just knew."

Yuuji pulled off his hoodie, sweat trickling down his neck from the late-summer heat as the two of you sat in the grass, his arm gently wrapping around your waist.

There had been so many times you'd sat in this exact same spot by yourself, wondering what the odds were that you were both somehow looking up at the same star.

Your head rested on his shoulder, a warm gust of air swirling around you as you both looked out into the distance, watching the way the stars faded into the Tokyo lights.

"Hey, Yuuji?" You twirled a blade of grass between your fingers, not wanting to ruin the moment, but still needing to be sure.

"Yeah?"

"You promise, right?"

"Hm?" He could hear the concern in your voice, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer.

"You promise that... you're not leaving again?"

"I swear, I'm not going anywhere. And if I do," His eyes returned to yours, his free hand attentively resting under your chin. "I'm taking you with me."

You nodded, warmth washing over you as he traced along your jawline, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Your fears were lost to his touch. Your worries dissolving into the sincerity of his voice. Your need for reassurance wholeheartedly met when his hand cupped your cheek and his lips finally caught yours. Seven years' worth of pent-up feelings pouring out between the two of you, hands roaming and little moans slipping out between breaths while you tugged on the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. He was gentle but eager. Soft but secure. Perfect, in every way.

He hovered over you, easing you onto the grass as he made a makeshift pillow out of his hoodie for you to rest your head on.

You smiled as his lips drifted from your mouth to your neck, his palm delicately traveling up your shirt, pulling your bra to the side while he helped slide your tank-top up over your head. He kissed your collarbones, whispering sweet little praises into your skin. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

He rested a hand under your back, steadying you as his tongue flickered across your chest. He took his time, making sure to give each nipple the same amount of attention, still humming things like, "the prettiest girl I've ever seen" while his hand traced over your hip.

He tugged at the waistline of your shorts, looking up at you through his lashes as he began to leave featherlight kisses along the inside of your thigh, his blood racing at the sounds you were suddenly making.

"Does that feel good, baby?"

You whimpered out a broken "yes", practically dripping when his fingers spread you apart. He watched you writhe beneath him, drawing slow but firm circles around you. Trying not to lose himself to the way your legs were already shaking for him.

"Yuuji," you whined. "I -" his mouth was ghosting your center, his fingers still playing with your clit while he held you in place. "I n - need you." your voice was heady, lost somewhere in the clouds the faster he went. "I wanna f - feel you, so bad."

"Yeah?" He smiled, his breath still fanning across your core as his digits prodded carefully at your entrance. He groaned at how beautifully your walls swallowed him. "I wanna feel you too."

Your head lulled back, eyes pointed at the sky while your hand tangled into his pink hair. His mouth was warm and heavenly, his tongue running uppp and dowwnnn your center, saliva mixing with slick while his fingers plunged into you.

"Oh, fuck."

He only went deeper the louder you got, flattening his tongue against you with just the right pressure to keep you saying his name. His ring and middle finger hitting spots you'd never been able to reach yourself. You were clenching around him, your thighs locking around his head as you rocked against his tongue.

"Yuuji - you're gonna make me -" he thought it was adorable the way you struggled to get more than two words out at a time. "Fuck, I -"

"Mhmm, just like that."

He was in the same daze you were, sliding in and out of you feverishly until he finally felt the blissful release of your walls spasming around him. Your body suddenly unable to hold it in any longer as you gave him the privilege of really tasing you.

"Oh my god," he moaned, faithfully lapping up every bit of you he could get, only pulling away when you started begging for him.

"Yuuji -" It was needy and light-headed. "Come here, come here. Please."

The way he lifted his head up, smiling at you with your cum dripping down his chin made something inside you ache.

You pulled him towards you, desperately wrapping your legs around his waist as he began undoing the buttons on his pants. He kissed you, again and again and again, using it as a pleasant distraction while he wriggled himself free.

He took a breath, both of you watching in blitzed out awe as he lined himself up with you. "I love you." he whispered, your eyes widening from the blend of his words and the feeling of his tip slowly entering you. "Always have."

His hair brushed against your forehead as he parted your lips with his tongue, your nails digging into his neck with his first full thrust. You were so tight and warm around him.

He tried to ease into you, encouraging you while also making sure you were comfortable. His voice sweet as honey as he asked you things like, "Is that okay, baby?" and "Aw, you like when I go deep like that, huh?"

Your gaze locked with his, your eyebrows knitting together the faster his rhythm became.

You'd thought about this moment before. Thought about what it might feel like, but nothing could've prepared you for the way your heart would race at the sound of him moaning, "You're doing so good for me." The way he'd hold you, looking back at you with stars in his eyes as he filled every inch of you.

"Yuuji -"

"Let it out, baby. S'okay." He whispered, his hand reaching for yours. "I've got you."

Your vision was blurred by the feeling of his tip meeting your cervix, warm summer air brushing against your skin as you reached your breaking point.

"I love you." The words left your mouth so fast you barely had time to register them, but then... they wouldn't stop. It was the only phrase you remembered how to say. The only emotion you remembered how to feel. "I love you." you whimpered again, feeling yourself tighten around him as your confession became more frantic. "Oh - mygod, Yuuji. I love you. I love you. I love - you."

His movements were suddenly beyond his control, his body completely succumbing to the grip of yours. "Fuck, baby - I -" He didn't know if he should pull out. Didn't know if he could pull out. His head was everywhere, his mouth dropping open the longer he watched you.

Your legs locked around him in heady reassurance. "Mm'mm, d - don't stop." You panted. "Cum with me."

It was a sentence he'd only ever thought he'd be lucky enough to hear you say in his dreams.

His hips stilled after one more thrust, your walls holding him tight as he began to twitch inside you. His forehead pressed against yours, his arms struggling to keep him propped up.

You exchanged the same exhausted smirk, leaning up to kiss him while he carefully pulled out of you. A blend of fluids spilling out onto the grass beneath you as he laid by your side with his forearm over his face, trying to regain his composure.

There was a calm silence that settled between you, the both of you looking up at the stars before you rolled over to reach for your shorts, letting him catch his breath while you dug something out of the back pocket.

"Here." You said, unraveling a tangled pair of headphones and handing him one.

His eyes widened with the same curiosity they had 7 years ago as he held it to his ear, your head resting on his chest while a song he knew all too well flowed through the small speakers connecting you. A smile splitting across his face as he held you closer.

"You know, I think you were right." he exhaled, running light fingertips along your arm. "Everything did have to fall apart before it got better."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

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