#gestural calligraphy

[asemicaustralia]

“The mind of blessing is wise, and it knows that whatever torments or diminishes a person cannot be healed simply from within that diminishment; consequently it addresses the wholeness and draws that light and healing into the diminished area.”

― John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Invocations and Blessings

Made in Procreate on iPad

[Image description: Four lines of black vertical abstract calligraphy, with a light brown ink background on white]

[menciemeer]

by David McGrail

[itsjustdotsandcrosses]

Archmage Vishalny, Arcane Diplomat and Master of Enchantment (DND NPC)

#4, dangerous magic / teasing blood stim board. (No explicit vampirism, just danger)

Themes of blood not in the context of a body/ ink imitating blood, nails, hands, dark snakes, bloody calligraphy, shadow/darkness as magic, obscured hands. A darkness and danger board, a powerful magic shown.. Threat but not quite truth, secrets. The power and danger that she holds, that can be used to threaten but can never be brought to light.

xxx.xxx.xxx

[danielgianfranceschi]

Suggestions

[usagii-bun]

𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. jing yuan x fem foxian! reader (nsfw).

In which Jing Yuan, a man renowned for his unwavering control and discipline, finds that resolve unraveling in your presence — your every move, every glance, every touch igniting a fire within him he can no longer contain discovering an intoxicating solace in the sensual art of your dance, each sway of your hips pulling him deeper into an obsession he cannot, and will not, resist.

word count : 12k (12k words of edging)

warnings: explicit sexual content includes detailed descriptions of sexual acts (fingering, oral—f receiving, dry humping, thigh riding, implied future penetration), obssesed jing yuan, possessive jing yuan, slight power imbalance implied, erotic dancing/ adult entertainment , sensory overload, marking.

minors are NOT to read this story. If you are uncomfortable with detailed sexual content or themes of dominance and obsession, this is not the story for you. please proceed responsibly and at your own discretion.

DO NOT REUPLOUD OR CLAIM my work as yours. i have taken a lot of time to write this and it would be very disheartening to see someone claim something i took so long to write and craft.

anways, please do enjoy and leave a comment :3 reblogs, likes and follows are high appreciated

— usagii-bun <3

The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the quiet, cobblestone streets of Aurum Alley. It was a place where the night whispered its secrets, and the air, thick with the heavy scent of incense and mystery, carried tales only the privileged knew. Tucked away behind a discreet set of bamboo doors was the establishment—a brothel veiled in silence but brimming with the hum of indulgence. Even a general like Jing Yuan, weighed down by the armour of responsibility, found solace in the allure of its hidden embrace.

His feet moved almost of their own accord as he made his way to the entrance. Tired eyes, burdened by countless battles and endless politics, sought release in the only way he knew how—a brief escape from the turmoil of his mind. The soft click of his boots echoed, barely audible against the gentle wind that danced through the alley. And there, the door opened, not by his hand, but by a woman’s, poised and serene.

The Foxian lady who greeted him stood in the doorway like an ethereal figure, her beauty transcending time. Her skin was porcelain, her long, raven-black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, framed by the glow of lanterns. Dressed in silk, her robes shimmered in shades of crimson and gold, the fabric clinging to her form in ways both graceful and alluring. She held herself with an air of elegance, her fox ears twitching lightly with every movement, her tail curling behind her in soft, languid strokes. She was an embodiment of allure, wrapped in silk and mysteries, every inch a vision of untold desires.

"Welcome, General Jing Yuan," she said, her voice smooth as velvet, respectful yet laden with something deeper, something more intoxicating. "Please, allow me to show you the wonders within."

With a graceful gesture, she led him inside, and Jing Yuan, caught in the captivating pull of her presence, followed. The atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped over the threshold. The entrance was bathed in the soft glow of lotus lanterns, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The scent of incense—jasmine, sandalwood, and something sweeter—hung thick in the air, enveloping his senses like a warm blanket, clouding his thoughts and easing the tightness in his chest. The walls were adorned with delicate scrolls, ancient calligraphy curling like the wind in a lover’s embrace, telling tales of forgotten empires and lost passion. Red and gold adorned every corner, the hues rich like blood and treasure, a royal reminder of the power that pulsed through these hidden chambers.

The floors beneath him were smooth stone, cool and polished, reflecting the shimmering silk curtains that hung like veils, concealing whatever lay beyond. The gentle swish of the fabric was like a soft caress, a whisper of something forbidden. There were flowers everywhere—tiger lilies, peonies, and chrysanthemums—arranged in intricate vases, their fragrant petals drifting lazily in the air, mixing with the incense to create a heady perfume that seemed to linger in his very breath.

As they moved deeper into the establishment, the general’s eyes took in the sight around him. Men and women, dressed in delicate silk robes of every colour imaginable, wandered freely, mingling with one another. The silk shimmered in the candlelight, revealing glimpses of soft skin and delicate features. Women draped themselves over men, while men held women in their arms with equal parts reverence and longing. The air was thick with the hum of quiet conversation, with laughter and sighs mingling in a sweet symphony that seemed to be playing just for those fortunate enough to be here.

"Come," the Foxian lady said softly, leading him up a staircase adorned with red and gold lanterns. "If you wish, you may enjoy performance privately upstairs."

Her eyes, sparkling like the night stars, hinted at something playful, something dangerous. Jing Yuan, ever the composed general, only nodded, his lips curling slightly at the invitation.

The night stretched out before you, the rhythmic beat of the music setting the pace for the dance that would soon unfold. Your heartbeat in time with the soft melody, the flickering candlelight reflecting off your skin as you prepared to enter the stage. The room below you were full of people—men, women, all draped in delicate silks, moving among each other in whispered conversations and soft laughter. The atmosphere was intoxicating, thick with the scent of incense and roses, the air so rich with desire it nearly hummed.

Tonight, you were not just a dancer; you were a vision, a creature of silk and allure, meant to captivate every gaze that fell upon you. You had practiced this for hours, days, months—the art of seduction through movement. As you slowly ascended onto the stage, the soft rustle of your costume, the shimmer of the golden jewellery adorning your body, set the tone for the entrancing spectacle to come. Your tail swayed behind you, brushing against the floor like a soft whisper, your ears twitching with the anticipation of the performance to come.

The room quieted, the hushed murmurs dying down as you took your first step into the spotlight. The soft glow of lotus lanterns, their flames flickering in the dim room, bathed you in an amber hue. Your body moved, fluid and graceful, as if the music itself was a part of you, guiding your every step. You could feel the eyes of the room on you—every gaze fixated; each breath held in anticipation of your every move.

From the elevated room above, General Jing Yuan watched. The scene below him was nothing new—he had seen these kinds of performances before—but this time, something was different. As you danced, his attention was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. There was something in your movement that was unlike the others. The grace with which you moved, the way your body seemed to flow effortlessly with the music, drew him in. It wasn’t just your physical beauty, though you were undeniably stunning—every curve, every movement was perfection—but something deeper, something intangible. It was the essence you exuded—the confidence, the strength, the raw magnetism that seemed to pull him closer despite the distance between you.

Your movements were slow, deliberate. Your arms flowed through the air, a soft trace of elegance, while your hips swayed in time with the rhythm of the instruments, your skin glowing in the soft light. Each step you took was an invitation, each flick of your wrist a silent promise, each roll of your hips a beckoning. It was erotic without being crude, sensual without losing its grace. You were a goddess in motion, a creature born to captivate and beguile.

As you moved, your eyes flicked upwards, meeting his gaze for just a moment. It was a brief connection—one that he felt more than he could explain. His breath caught in his throat as your gaze locked with his, your eyes filled with an emotion that seemed to pull him in, deeper than he ever expected to go. The flicker of awareness between you made his chest tighten, and his pulse quickened. It was like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him, like you could feel his gaze following every step, every motion.

Your body twisted and arched as you danced, the silk of your costume brushing over your skin like a soft caress. The jewellery you wore—delicate chains, pearls, and golden rings—clinked softly with every movement, drawing attention to the curves of your body. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, intoxicating and heavy, as your tail swished behind you, swaying in perfect rhythm with your every move.

Jing Yuan, sitting in his private alcove, could barely tear his eyes away from you. He felt an inexplicable pull, a hunger that wasn’t just for your physical form, but for the energy you radiated. It was raw and untamed, a force he couldn’t quite explain, yet he felt it in every fibre of his being. His hands clenched at his sides as the tension built in his chest, a wave of heat spreading through him. His body reacted against his will, betraying him as he watched you.

You were no longer just a dancer. You were the embodiment of something else—something deeper, more primal. You were pulling him into a world he hadn’t known he was even willing to enter, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something—something he hadn’t felt in years. The weight of his responsibilities, his title, the endless wars and battles that had marked his life, seemed to fade into the background. They no longer mattered.

The music picked up, becoming more intense, the tempo quickening. Your movements followed suit, each step becoming more deliberate, more daring. The room was alive with the heat of desire, the air crackling with tension. Jing Yuan’s breath caught in his throat, your body undulating in a way that was both art and allure. You were making a show of it—of him—and for the first time in a long time, it was his turn to be caught.

The music slowed, and you took your final step, the dance reaching its end. Your body twisted, swayed, and your movements grew more subtle, teasing. As the final note of the music played, the room fell into a hushed silence. Jing Yuan remained frozen, captivated by your performance. His mind buzzed with a million thoughts, none of them clear, none of them rational. All he knew was that he needed to be closer to you, to taste whatever you were offering.

As the lights dimmed and the room came back to life with murmurs and applause, Jing Yuan finally found his voice. He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving you. “Can I… request her?” His words were barely above a whisper, filled with an urgency that surprised even him.

The Foxian lady, who had been watching with knowing eyes, nodded with a smile. "Of course, General Jing Yuan. She is yours for the evening."

The air inside the private alcove was thick with a sensual tension, the dim light casting soft shadows around the space. Jing Yuan sat back in a velvet-covered chair, his posture commanding yet relaxed. His mind was still reeling from the magnetic performance he'd witnessed, but now, as he sat alone in this private setting, the anticipation built again.

The door slid open, and the woman who had greeted him earlier entered, guiding you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Jing Yuan could now get a better look of you, the lingerie delicately adorns your body, the jewels that were placed on you still twinkled and shimmered under the dull lighting. Your fox ears were perked, stiff with nerves, and your tail swayed ever so slightly behind you, betraying your inner restlessness.

Your gaze never met his. You kept your head low, your expression unreadable, as if you'd become a different person. This wasn’t the confident, playful woman who’d mesmerized him with her dance. This was someone subdued, cautious, and perhaps even a little fragile. Jing Yuan’s brow furrowed at the sight, and a pang of something unfamiliar stirred within him. There was an undeniable sadness at the change, a realization that you were a contradiction, both in the freedom you’d shown during your dance and the restraint you now carried.

The woman who led you whispered softly to you as she passed by, "Take care of the general." Her voice was gentle but firm, as if entrusting something delicate to your care. She gave Jing Yuan a final look, a knowing smile before exiting the room, leaving the two of you in silence.

You stood in front of him, head lowered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The air felt heavier now, the sense of being watched almost suffocating, yet you remained still, as though obeying some invisible rule.

Jing Yuan studied you for a moment, trying to piece together the shift in your demeanour. His mind, clouded with the memory of your dance, struggled to reconcile the two versions of you. His large, calloused fingers lifted from his side, brushing gently beneath your chin, his touch soft but insistent as he lifted your face to meet his.

"Why do you not make eye contact?" he asked, his voice low, his words smooth as they hung in the air. His gaze was intense, capturing you as he locked his eyes on yours. You could feel the weight of his stare, the depth of it, and it sent a flicker of something through you—surprise, confusion, maybe even fear.

You blinked rapidly, trying to avoid his gaze, but his touch lingered, a slight pressure against your chin. You quickly averted your eyes, your cheeks flushing at the intensity of his attention.

"It is not allowed," you murmured softly, the words barely escaping your lips. "I am not allowed to look at the customer unless... unless told to."

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but his curiosity remained, his gaze never leaving you as you stood before him, silent and restrained. His fingers remained on your chin, though no longer pressing, just gently resting there. He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the contradiction you presented: the woman who captivated an entire room with her dance now so reserved, so obedient.

"You are allowed to look at me," he said, his voice almost playful, though the undertone of command was still present. "But for now, I will permit your discretion."

There was a quiet pause between you both, as you silently struggled with the unspoken tension that now swirled in the room. Jing Yuan leaned back, his large frame sinking into the chair as he relaxed, his eyes never leaving you. "Come, sit with me," he said, motioning to the empty seat beside him. "Let us share a drink."

His invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but it was delivered with a calm, measured tone. You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of how to act, still feeling the pressure of his gaze as he observed you carefully. Finally, you took a cautious step forward, your body moving with the grace of a fox, and sat at his side, careful not to brush too close against him.

The room was filled with the scent of incense and flowers, but the closeness between the two of you heightened the atmosphere, thickening the air. Jing Yuan poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow, deliberate. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief moment, the touch felt more intimate than it should have.

"You have a beautiful presence," he said quietly, taking a sip of his own drink. "But I can see there is more to you than what you show. Tell me, what is it you desire, in a place like this?"

You remained silent, unsure of how to respond, but Jing Yuan didn’t rush you. His gaze held a quiet intensity, as if waiting for you to let down the walls you’d so carefully constructed around yourself. The tension between you both lingered, a palpable force, as your bodies sat close together yet distanced by invisible barriers. Your heartbeat faster, your breath shallow. This was new territory for both of you. And for Jing Yuan, it felt like the beginning of something far deeper than either of you had expected.

You shifted in your seat, thighs brushing together under the soft silk of your gown, the sensation sending a faint shiver through you. The air between you and Jing Yuan was thick, charged with an intensity you could neither name nor escape. His gaze was locked on you, and every question he asked felt like it was unravelling pieces of you.

"Why here?" he murmured, his voice smooth, like the finest silk. "A place like this—it doesn’t seem to match your spirit."

His words hung in the air, and you found yourself twisting the fabric of your gown again, seeking some kind of anchor. "It’s... complicated," you whispered, your eyes darting away from his. But the way he leaned closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him—made it impossible to hide.

"Complicated," he echoed, his tone laced with curiosity, as though he wanted to peel back every layer of meaning behind your answer.

You glanced up at him, and your breath caught in your throat. His amber eyes glimmered in the dim light, soft but piercing, holding you captive in their gaze. And then, he leaned in further, the space between you shrinking until you could feel his presence, overwhelming and intoxicating.

The scent of him—clean and faintly spiced—mixed with the sweetness of the wine he sipped moments before. The aroma seemed to curl around you, tangling with your thoughts. His lips were so close now, and you couldn’t stop your gaze from flicking down to them.

"May I?" he asked, his voice a hushed murmur, and his eyes searched yours, waiting. It wasn’t a command, as you’d expect from a man like him, but a request, gentle yet brimming with restrained desire.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded slowly, words escaping you.

His hand came up, fingers grazing your cheek before curling under your chin, tilting your face toward his. The touch was warm, firm yet tender, sending sparks skittering along your skin. Slowly, achingly, he closed the distance.

When his lips met yours, the world fell away.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of lips, testing, coaxing. But then, like a flame catching the wind, it deepened. His mouth moved against yours with a slow-burning passion, drawing you in, leaving no room for hesitation. You felt the firm press of his lips, the intoxicating heat of him, and your heart thundered in your chest.

His hand slid from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking the edge of your cheekbone. It was such a careful gesture, but the kiss was anything but. His tongue swept against the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you yielded, parting your lips for him.

When his tongue slid against yours, a low hum of pleasure escaped you, your hands clutching at the silken folds of your gown as if it could keep you grounded. He tasted of wine, rich and heady, and the faintest hint of something sweeter, something entirely him.

His other hand moved to your waist, fingers splaying across the delicate fabric that barely covered you. The pressure was light, a silent promise of what could come, and yet it was enough to make your pulse race, your body alight with sensations you couldn’t control.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands tentatively brushing against his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath his robes. His lips moved with a practiced confidence, but there was something raw in the way he kissed you, like he was holding back a storm, giving you only a glimpse of the tempest that raged beneath.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just a breath away, his forehead resting lightly against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his.

"You’re... mesmerizing," he murmured, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been dragged from somewhere deep within him.

You opened your eyes, and his gaze bore into yours, intense and unyielding. His thumb brushed against your swollen lips, and you could see the faint flush dusting his cheeks, a rare crack in his usual composure.

"I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted, his voice softer now, "since the moment I saw you."

Your heart raced, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the weight of his confession crashing over you like a wave. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, and you knew—this was only the beginning.

Jing Yuan’s hands were impossibly large, their warmth seeping through the sheer silk draped over your body as they slid down, slow and deliberate. His touch felt like a whispered promise, each fingertip tracing a path that left fire in its wake. You couldn’t help but shiver when his palms grazed the curve of your hips, his fingers splaying possessively over them as he was now on his knees between your thighs.

The silk clung to your skin like dew, yielding under his touch as his hands lingered, pressing into the plush softness of your thighs. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second, every inch of you that he claimed. His thumb stroked a languid circle against your skin, teasing the sensitive flesh just below the curve of your hip, and your breath hitched.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that seemed to echo in the dim, scented air. His words held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with something far deeper than amusement.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of silk and the faint crackle of a distant candle. His hands moved lower, trailing down the sides of your thighs as if he were sculpting you from memory. He paused, his fingers flexing slightly, almost reverently, before sprawling over the fullness of your legs. The pressure was firm but not harsh, his touch grounding you even as it left you breathless.

Jing Yuan’s head tilted, his silver hair catching the dim light like threads of moonlight spun through shadow. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, and his hands tightened their hold on you ever so slightly. The contrast of his strength and the tenderness in his touch made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, like a treasure he had no intention of letting slip away.

"You’re exquisite," he murmured, his voice soft yet weighted, as though the words carried a gravity only, he could understand. His thumbs traced upward, following the natural curve of your thighs, his hands mapping you with a deliberate slowness that felt like an exploration, a quiet devotion.

When his eyes flicked back to meet yours, his gaze was molten, heavy with desire yet tempered by something gentler, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. His hands stilled, settling like a question, a challenge, as if to ask how far you would let him go. And in that moment, you were weightless, caught in the intoxicating pull of him, the world beyond fading into nothingness.

Jing Yuan's fingers, warm and deliberate, slid down to the edge of your thigh highs, the lace soft under his touch. He let his fingertips dip beneath the delicate material, brushing against the bare skin beneath, sending shivers coursing through your body. The contrast of silk and skin was electrifying, his movements unhurried as though he had all the time in the world to explore.

Your breath hitched, and you gripped the silk of your gown, desperate for something to anchor yourself. The sensation of his hands so close, his strength tempered by the tender way he handled you, made your mind race. The General of the Luofu, a man revered for his authority and composure, was here, knelt before you, his hands on your thighs as though you were the centre of his universe.

His thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, the pressure both teasing and grounding. "You’re trembling again," he murmured, the teasing lilt of his voice sending a new wave of heat through you. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the soft, golden light, the contrast between his composed expression and the intimacy of his touch almost too much to bear.

Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your thigh. It was a feather-light kiss, soft yet searing, and it stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his mouth lingered, a silent claim that left your heart pounding.

Your mind spiralled, the weight of the moment crashing over you like a tidal wave. This was the General—the General—his broad shoulders and imposing presence now knelt before you in an image that burned itself into your memory. The sight of him, his head bent, his lips on your skin, was something you knew you’d never forget.

Your pulse quickened as his hand slid higher, his palm pressing into the softness of your thigh with a deliberate slowness that made your body hum with awareness. He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes flicking upward to meet yours, his gaze heavy with something that made your heart stutter.

"You’re beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and rich, the words wrapping around you like silk. His fingers flexed against your skin, and you swallowed hard, feeling as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. The scent of incense, the warmth of the dimly lit room, and the weight of his attention made it impossible to think of anything else.

Your breath hitched as his lips lingered against your skin, so close yet unbearably distant. A soft whimper escaped you, unbidden, the sound trembling on your lips. "General..." The word was barely a whisper, carried more by instinct than thought, but it was enough.

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes gleamed at the sound, a primal intensity overtaking his usual calm. That composed facade he wore so effortlessly cracked, revealing something raw and untamed beneath. His lips curved into a slow, almost predatory smile, and you felt the heat of his gaze burn against your skin.

He leaned closer, his broad shoulders dipping as his face moved towards your clothed pussy, the faintest warmth of his breath ghosting over the flimsy material of it. The sensation was maddening, a tantalising promise that made your thighs tense under his hold.

Your ears twitched uncontrollably, betraying your spiralling emotions. You tried to steady them, but they betrayed you with every sharp intake of breath. Your tail curled and flicked at the edges of the plush cushions beneath you, the movement erratic, mirroring the storm building in your chest.

Jing Yuan noticed everything—of course, he did. His gaze flicked to your twitching ears, and the corner of his mouth quirked, a dark satisfaction dancing in his eyes. His hands remained steady, sprawling over the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to ground you while still making your skin tingle.

"You’re so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "It’s captivating."

The warmth of his breath fanned over the delicate fabric again, sending a shiver racing up your spine. He paused, his lips so close yet maddeningly still, his eyes watching every tremble, every twitch, every unsteady exhale. You felt utterly laid bare beneath his gaze, a mixture of vulnerability and desire tangling in a way that left you breathless.

"Tell me,” he said softly, the words a mere whisper against the heat of your skin. "Do you always react this beautifully... or is it just for me?"

Your entire body felt as though it had been set alight, the heat rushing from your cheeks to the very tips of your ears as Jing Yuan's lips hovered ever so teasingly over your cunt. The blush that painted your skin deepened, spreading like wildfire, your hands clutching the silken material beneath you in an effort to steady yourself.

And then, his lips pressed softly against your pussy—through the delicate fabric that barely served as a barrier. The kiss was unhurried yet deliberate, and the sensation made you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. Your thighs quivered slightly beneath his strong, steady grip as your body betrayed the flood of emotions overtaking you.

Jing Yuan closed his eyes, the scent of you filling his senses as though nothing else in the world existed. Sweet and heady, with a potency that made his mind spiral, it was unlike anything he had imagined—and oh, had he imagined. His fingers curled slightly against your skin as if grounding himself from the overwhelming allure.

The sweetness of it mingled with something darker, more intoxicating, and utterly unique to you. It was pungent but not overpowering—an earthy, sensual fragrance that clung to the air around you and pulled him deeper into the haze you created.

His breaths grew heavier, his mind clouding as the scent wrapped around him like an invisible tether, binding him to you in a way that felt both maddening and necessary.

"Addictive," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the single word almost swallowed by the quiet intimacy of the room. His lips brushed against you once more, this time lingering a second longer, his tongue darting out briefly to taste the fabric.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest, and his grip on your thighs tightened ever so slightly, his composure slipping as he inhaled deeply again, utterly consumed by the fragrance of you. His golden eyes, now darkened with something primal and insatiable, flickered up to meet yours—a blush still staining your cheeks, your wide-eyed gaze unsure and yet filled with undeniable need.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed firmly yet gently against the thin fabric, a deliberate movement that sent shockwaves coursing through your body. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt, the warmth and softness of his mouth combining with the teasing pressure to ignite every nerve in your skin. Your toes curled instinctively, the sheer intensity of the moment leaving you breathless, as though the air itself had thickened.

His large hands, splayed across your trembling thighs, gripped you tighter, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh in a way that left you aching for more. The contrast of his strength against your vulnerability only heightened the whirlwind of sensations overtaking you. He groaned softly, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through you, as if he too was succumbing to the weight of his desires.

Jing Yuan’s gaze lifted, drinking in every detail of you. The flush that coloured your cheeks, spreading down your neck and disappearing beneath the thin fabric of your gown. The way strands of your hair had fallen loose, framing your face like a delicate painting. The rise and fall of your chest as your breath quickened, each exhale shaky and unsteady.

He felt an unrelenting need to unravel you, to witness you laid bare, in every sense of the word. His hands moved slightly, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin, grounding you and driving you to the edge all at once.

His tongue pressed against the fabric again, this time with more insistence, and his lips followed with a lingering kiss. The heat of his breath seeped through, and it felt as though he was marking you with each touch, his presence imprinted on your very soul.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours as his hands squeezed your thighs again. “The way I want to devour you—piece by piece—until there’s nothing left of this composure we’re pretending to hold on to?”

Jing Yuan's grip on your thigh loosened as he let his hand slip away, only to settle firmly on your shoulder. The weight of his touch grounded you, but the intensity in his golden gaze sent your mind spiralling into chaos. His other hand moved with a deliberate slowness, two fingers brushing against the fabric that separated him from you, as though he were savouring the act of uncovering you.

He pushed the fabric aside, exposing your glistening skin beneath. The air felt cool against the heat of your pussy, and the juxtaposition made you shiver. Your scent—intoxicating, sweet, and unmistakably you—filled the space between you, strong and pungent in a way that made his breath hitch. His eyes could not leave the sight of your cunt, your clit throbbing, clear liquid oozing from between your glistening folds as he glances at your face, lips swollen and eyes teary – a sight that made his cock leak.

His eyes darkened, a glimmer of something primal flickering in their depths as he took you in. You were fluttering, every part of you trembling in anticipation, and it made his lips curl into a faint, knowing smile.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, yet laced with raw hunger.

His hand tightened slightly on thigh, grounding you further, while his gaze remained fixed on you as though you were the most captivating sight he had ever encountered. The vulnerability in the moment only seemed to embolden him, and the way his breath fanned against your exposed skin made your thighs tremble under his hold.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed against your clit, lapping up the sweetness that spilled from you with a deliberate, unrelenting pace. The warmth of his mouth against such a sensitive part of you was overwhelming, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through your body. His eyes, golden and intense, never strayed from your face, watching every twitch of your expression, every blush that spread across your cheeks, and every soft whimper that escaped your lips.

A low hum of approval resonated from him, vibrating against your core as he worked, his large hands gripping your thighs firmly to hold you in place. Each stroke of his tongue was purposeful, slow at first, then more insistent, as though he were a man on the brink of starvation, and you were the feast he'd been denied for far too long.

Your fingers clawed at the leather couch beneath you, the cool material a stark contrast to the heat building inside you. Your hips bucked slightly against his face, but his strong grip kept you steady, his mouth never faltering.

"General..." you whimpered softly, the word barely audibles through the haze of sensation.

At that, his eyes gleamed with a feral satisfaction, something primal and wild flickering within them. He groaned softly, the sound muffled as he devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch with unyielding hunger. The sight of him—so composed, so regal—reduced to this raw, unrestrained desire sent your mind spinning, leaving you trembling under his touch.

Jing Yuan's tongue dragged deliberately against your slick folds, his pace torturous yet intoxicating. Without a word, two of his thick fingers slid down, pressing against your entrance before sinking into you without warning. The stretch was immediate, a mix of pleasure and intensity that tore a loud whimper from your lips. Your body arched into his touch, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your breath hitched.

"General... General..." The title fell from your lips in a broken chant, each syllable a prayer as your mind spiralled. Nothing else existed beyond the overwhelming sensations he wrought upon your body—his tongue flicking expertly up and down your slick heat, his lips closing around the sensitive bud that made your vision blur.

His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your entire body jolt. He pressed into it mercilessly, dragging a sob from your throat as your thighs quaked against his face. His other hand gripped your thigh tightly, holding you still as he worked with relentless precision.

The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the air, mingling with your soft cries and whimpers. Your world narrowed to the molten heat pooling low in your belly, each flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

He sucked on the swollen bundle of nerves, his tongue circling with maddening skill. You sobbed his name again, your thighs trembling, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity of his actions. Through the haze, you felt the curve of his lips against you—a smirk, as though he took pride in unravelling you completely.

Your vision blurred, tears threatening to spill as a tight knot in your stomach coiled and twisted unbearably. Each thrust of Jing Yuan's fingers pressed against that devastating spot inside you, sending shockwaves through your trembling frame. Your eyes rolled back, a broken cry escaping your lips as the tension snapped, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave.

Your entire body quivered, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as the release tore through you, leaving you gasping and breathless. But Jing Yuan didn't stop. His fingers maintained their relentless rhythm, coaxing you through the aftershocks, prolonging every moment of your bliss.

You felt his warm tongue, soft yet firm, trailing along your folds as he licked up every drop of your release. His eyes, golden and piercing, never left your face. He seemed captivated by the way your lips parted, the flush painting your cheeks, the glazed look in your eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice thick with reverence and desire, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he placed a soft kiss against your fluttering clit. His gaze was heavy with pride and satisfaction, as though committing the sight of you undone to memory. He slowly moves up your body, Jing Yuan’s lips traced a delicate path up your neck, each soft kiss like a whispered secret against your skin. The air between you thickened with warmth, every subtle movement drawing you deeper into the moment. He paused just below your ear, his breath mingling with yours, before he reached out for the bottle of alcohol and took a slow, deliberate swig of the sweet alcohol. He placed the bottle down and he finally met your gaze, something unspoken passed between you.

With a gentle but firm pull, he lifted you, as if in a trance, and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender at first, like a soft brush of silk, but then it deepened, becoming something slower, more languid. The sweet taste of the alcohol seeped into your mouth, dribbling out of the corner of your lip as you moaned when his tongue brushed against yours, the alcohol, sweet and intoxicating with the taste of your essences mingled between your tongues, each shared taste adding to the heat building between you. He tasted you and you tasted him, the kiss a slow, sensual exchange, each second stretching out as if the world outside ceased to exist.

You could feel the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through your chest as his hands held you close, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss deepened, became more desperate, yet still slow—each movement deliberate, a beautiful rhythm of lips and tongue, a dance that belonged only to the two of you. Time seemed to stretch, the room fading away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, the alcohol, and the slow burn of his kiss.

Jing Yuan’s lips lingered against yours for a moment longer, his breath warm on your skin, before he slowly pulled away. His tongue tracing the bit of alcohol that dribbled out of your mouth, gaze intense and molten. The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, leaving you suspended in the air between his touch and his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited, uncertain of what he might do next, but instead of drawing you back into his embrace, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gentle gesture so tender it made your breath catch in your throat.

He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, and in that moment, there was a strange, knowing calm about him. “Thank you for the... meal,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and unhurried, as though savouring the taste of the drink, you and the moment.

His words hung in the air, unexpected and enigmatic. The meal? You blinked, a flush creeping up your neck, your heart fluttering in confusion. Was that truly all he wanted from you? Was it just a fleeting moment, a passing indulgence?

Your gaze dropped to his chest, your eyes tracing the contours of his form—strong, unwavering. His shirt clung to him in a way that made you acutely aware of the man standing before you. And then, your gaze caught something—he was...

Your breath caught, and your eyes snapped back up to his, meeting his with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. But he only smiled softly, almost like he understood the storm brewing within you, before gently reaching up to pat your head, a small, affectionate gesture that sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair, making your fox ears twitch involuntarily. The touch was so casual, yet somehow it deepened the flush that spread across your face, your heart racing at the intimacy of the moment. It was a small, almost teasing action, but it made you feel as though you were suddenly laid bare in front of him.

His smile softened, his eyes warm yet impossibly distant, as though he were saying goodbye without words. “I enjoyed your company,” he said, the weight of his words settling between you like an unspoken promise that felt both comforting and impossible to decipher. “I will be anticipating another dance soon, until than darling.” His voice smooth as honey, your face turning crimson at the word ‘darling’.

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, filled with a complexity you couldn't understand, before he turned and left the private area. The soft sound of his footsteps faded, but his presence remained, lingering in the air, as if he had never really left at all.

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too large, too empty. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ The question echoed in your mind, drowning out the quiet hum of the space. He had seemed so... needy, as though there was something more. And yet, now he was gone, leaving you with nothing but his words and the warmth of his touch.

Why didn’t he want more? You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was left unfinished, the desire you felt mirrored in the air between you. Why had he stopped? Why hadn't he sought what you had both seemed to crave? It was as if your body had been aching for something deeper, and yet he had held back.

As the silence grew heavier, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The owner stepped inside; her voice sweet like honey but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re done for the night,” she said, her smile thin but knowing. “You can go home now.” Confusion clouded your thoughts. “But... I thought you only let me go after twelve?”

The owner’s smile grew, as though your question amused her. “I won’t be needing you until I call for you,” she replied, her tone light but filled with something more. A finality? You weren’t sure. The words left you unsettled, uncertain of what she truly meant.

She reached into her pocket and handed you something—a silky pouch. The weight of it felt strange in your hand. “Here’s your pay from the General,” she said, her voice dripping with a sort of satisfaction that you couldn't place. “You sure did make him happy.”

Your mind whirled. Made him happy? The words bounced in your skull, unanswered questions stirring within you like a storm. What had just happened? What had you been to him? The idea of him leaving with only that—just that—felt like a question mark lingering in the air. He had seemed so close, so wanting, and yet he left.

The thought of the lingering kiss, the sweet warmth of the alcohol shared between you both, made your chest ache. He had left with a soft smile, but you couldn't shake the sense of something unfinished, something unspoken. Had you misread the moment? As you looked down at the silky pouch, the weight of it felt more symbolic than ever. The pay was there, yes, but the ache, the unanswered longing in your chest—it was something deeper, something that the money couldn't soothe.

The owner’s grin widened as she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with that same knowing look. You were left with the pouch, your heart full of questions, but no answers.

Jing Yuan hadn’t been himself lately, and he knew it. No matter how many duties he fulfilled or how much paperwork he completed or the many sneaky naps he took, his thoughts consistently drifted back to you. He couldn’t erase the memory of your skin beneath his hands—soft and warm, the kind of touch that lingered even after parting. Nor could he forget the taste of you, intoxicating and sweet, or the way your body moved with such elegance and allure during your dances.

It had been nearly a month since Jing Yuan began seeking you out, yet with each encounter, his fascination deepened into an obsession. He couldn’t get enough of you—the way you moved, the sound of your voice, the way your presence filled the room and consumed his thoughts. After every performance, he would reward you in ways that left you trembling, his mouth devoutly working between your thighs, tongue lapping at every drop of your arousal as his fingers thrust deeply into your slick heat. Yet, he never allowed you to touch him, never let you return the favour. His pleasure came solely from your moans, the way your body responded to his touch, and the sight of your unravelling beneath him. He would grind against his own restraint, rutting against his pants, hard and aching, but never crossing the line. He wanted to wait for the perfect moment, the right time to claim you fully—a moment that would be as unforgettable as you were to him.

It wasn’t just your beauty that consumed him, though it had ensnared him first. It was the quiet calmness you exuded, a soft-spoken grace that contrasted so deeply with the fire of your movements. The way your tail swayed behind you, how your ears twitched in subtle reaction to the world around you—it was as if you were always caught between serenity and mischief. The thought of you was a constant hum in his mind, an ache he could not shake.

He found himself wandering the streets of the city more often now – much to Fu xuan dismissal, hoping to find distractions from you. Yet even his usual escapes held no relief. And today was no exception.

As he strolled through Aurum Alley, the faint clinking of porcelain caught his ear, drawing his attention to a small tea shop tucked into the corner. He stepped inside, the familiar scents of herbs and dried flowers wafting over him, soothing but unremarkable—until his eyes fell on you.

You were standing near the back, your head tilted slightly as you admired the display of teacups arranged on a low wooden shelf. The dim lantern light cast a golden glow over you, highlighting the soft fur of your ears and the elegant sweep of your tail swaying absently behind you. You were dressed in a delicate white dress, its

fabric light and airy, brushing against your knees with every movement. The dress was adorned with tiny floral embroidery, dainty and unassuming, much like the way you carried yourself.

Jing Yuan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected to see you here, not outside the confines of your world of silk and candlelight. Here, you looked softer, more natural, yet no less captivating. It was a sight that made his chest tighten, as if the universe had conspired to remind him that you were always just out of reach.

You seemed unaware of his presence, your attention wholly captured by a teacup you held delicately in your hands. It was a beautiful piece, adorned with intricate floral designs, vines curling around painted blossoms, the base glimmering faintly with gold. You turned it slowly in your fingers, your tail swishing with a faint, almost wistful rhythm.

The sight of you, so enraptured by something so simple, made his heart clench. And when you set the cup back down with a small, defeated sigh, it took all of his willpower not to close the distance between you immediately.

Instead, he lingered, watching as you hesitated, your fingers brushing against the rim of the cup one last time before you turned away. Jing Yuan didn’t need to guess why you’d left it behind—the soft downturn of your lips told him everything.

He stepped forward then, his presence a shadow that fell over you before his voice, low and smooth, broke the silence.

“Admiring something, are we?”

You startled, your ears twitching at the sound. Turning to face him, your eyes widened briefly before you quickly averted your gaze. “Oh, General,” you murmured, your hands clasping nervously in front of you. “I didn’t see you there.”

He allowed himself a small smile, though his golden eyes remained fixed on you. “It’s a charming shop, isn’t it? Something here seems to have caught your attention.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the shelf where the teacup sat. “It’s nothing,” you said softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “Just a pretty cup. I was… just admiring it.”

“Just admiring it?” Jing Yuan repeated, stepping closer, the faint scent of his cologne filling the space between you. “And yet, you look as though you’ve left a piece of your heart behind with it.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not something I can…” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely, unwilling to say the words aloud.

Jing Yuan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—part amusement, part something darker. “A beauty such as that shouldn’t be left behind,” he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, as though he were speaking to himself as much as to you. “Nor should one such as you.”

Before you could respond, he moved, his hand reaching out to lift the teacup from the shelf. With a smooth motion, he turned toward the shopkeeper, the transaction over before you could protest.

“General—”

“Consider it a gift,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind as he handed the cup to you. His fingers brushed yours as you took it, the brief contact sending a jolt through you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the cup to your chest. Your tail swished nervously behind you; your ears flattened slightly as you avoided his gaze.

Jing Yuan watched you with a quiet intensity, his smile never faltering. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, his mind raced. Seeing you here, holding something he’d given you, made something primal stir within him. You were no longer just a fleeting obsession, no longer a memory confined to dimly lit nights. You were here, real and tangible, and he wasn’t sure he could ever let you go.

Jing Yuan couldn’t help himself. The moment you stepped outside the tea shop, clutching the intricately designed cup he had bought for you, he was already glancing back at the shelves. He ended up purchasing an assortment of things—fine tea leaves, a brewing set that complemented your cup, and even a small silk pouch embroidered with a motif. It wasn’t about the items themselves; it was the thought of you using them, of you remembering this moment, that drove his actions.

He exited the shop with a bag in hand, catching up to you with ease. The sun cast a warm glow on the cobblestone streets, and your figure seemed to glow in the light. Your white dress fluttered softly with each step, and your tail swayed gently behind you, a detail he couldn’t help but admire.

“You didn’t have to get more,” you said softly, glancing at the bag he carried.

He chuckled, his deep voice warm. “It’s no trouble at all. Tea is best enjoyed with care, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, you deserve nothing but the finest.”

Your cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and you glanced away, your ears twitching. “Thank you… General.”

“Jing Yuan,” he corrected smoothly, his golden eyes gleaming. “When it’s just us, there’s no need for formalities.”

You hesitated but nodded. “Thank you, Jing Yuan.”

As you walked together, he took the opportunity to get to know you better. It started with small questions—your favourite teas, if you frequented the shop often—but soon, the conversation deepened. He found out that you were passionate about dance, your eyes lighting up as you spoke about it, despite the soft-spoken nature of your words.

“It’s always been something I loved,” you admitted, your fingers brushing the edge of the teacup you still held. “But… the work I do now, it’s not exactly what I envisioned.”

“Oh?” he prompted, his gaze sharp but gentle, encouraging you to continue.

You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the path ahead. “The dancing I do now… it’s to pay off my father’s debts. It’s… different from the dancing I dreamed of as a child.”

Jing Yuan’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained calm. The thought of you, someone so poised and graceful, burdened by another’s mistakes, ignited a protective streak within him. He didn’t press further, sensing you weren’t ready to elaborate, but the knowledge lingered in his mind like a seed waiting to take root.

When the time came for you to part ways, you stopped at a small intersection, turning to face him. Your hands clutched the teacup tightly, your expression shy but sincere. “Thank you again, Jing Yuan. For everything.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, his golden gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. You blinked, your cheeks heating up as you realised what he meant. You gave him a small, flustered nod before quickly excusing yourself, your tail swishing nervously as you hurried away.

Jing Yuan watched you go, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He would see you later, of course, but not just as part of a crowd. No, when you danced tonight, it would be for him, and he would make sure you knew it.

The brothel exuded an even more sinful opulence. Red and gold fabrics draped like cascading rivers of silk from the high, arching ceilings. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood incense, mingling with the faint sweetness of lotus blossoms arranged in ornate porcelain vases. The walls were adorned with intricate scrolls of calligraphy, their elegant strokes illuminated by the flickering glow of countless candles. Every corner seemed steeped in temptation, every detail carefully crafted to blur the lines between reality and indulgence.

Jing Yuan sat alone in a private room; a sanctuary veiled by velvet curtains. The plush cushions beneath him did little to ease the tension coiled in his body. A lacquered tray before him held untouched tea and delicate fruit, but his golden gaze never wavered from the stage below. The brothel’s ambiance—a sultry blend of murmurs, soft music, and rustling silks—faded to nothing as you stepped into the spotlight.

Your presence commanded every eye in the room, but his was the only gaze you truly felt. You were a vision of raw, untamed allure. The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, sheer fabrics clinging to your every curve, your skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat under the dim, golden light. Crimson painted your lips, a bold invitation, while the smoky shadow around your eyes framed them like a weapon. Your tail swayed with each step, teasing, enticing, an extension of the sensual rhythm that seemed to pulse from your very being.

The music began, slow and sultry, and you moved with a deliberate grace, every step a calculated seduction. Your hips swayed in time with the haunting melody, and the way your hands glided over your body had the audience mesmerized. To him, however, it was something more—a torment, a fire that spread through his veins and pooled low in his stomach.

Jing Yuan’s usually serene expression was gone, replaced by a raw intensity that darkened his golden eyes. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders filling the dimly lit alcove as his focus narrowed solely on you. His fingers tightened on the armrest, his chest rising and falling in steady, heavy breaths. The soft sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the subtle arch of your back, the sway of your hips—it was more than he could bear, yet he couldn’t look away.

The room disappeared for him; the murmured conversations, the soft laughter, the flickering candles—all of it was drowned out by you. Every slow, sensual turn, every flick of your tail, every teasing brush of your fingers across your skin seemed crafted solely for him.

When your eyes lifted and met his, just for a moment, the tension snapped taut. That fleeting connection sent a visceral thrill through him, a silent challenge in the way you quickly looked away. His lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. The denial—the way you teased and withheld even your gaze—was maddening.

You spun again, your bold crimson lips parting as though whispering secrets to the air, your hands brushing over the curve of your waist. The sheer fabric clinging to your body teased him mercilessly, every contour revealed in the flickering candlelight. His golden gaze roamed over you hungrily, his breaths deep and deliberate as if trying to anchor himself against the storm of desire you had unleashed.

The sweat glistening on your thighs, the way your hair clung to your neck, the confident arch of your body—it was intoxicating. Jing Yuan could feel the heat rising

within him, his control slipping with every second. You were temptation incarnate, and he was utterly, completely ensnared.

Jing Yuan's hand moved to rest against his thigh, but the tension in his body betrayed the calm demeanour he fought to maintain. His fingers flexed, slowly drifting, palm pressing lightly against the growing ache beneath the rich fabric of his robes. The weight of his breath was deliberate, measured, but his chest rose and fell with an intensity that mirrored the fire coursing through him.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, devouring. The way you moved-every sway of your hips, every arch of your back, every tantalizing flick of your tail-was an exquisite torment.

You were more than a dancer; you were an artist, painting desire across the room with your body as the brush and the music as your canvas. The strain in his muscles was palpable, his golden eyes darkening with an unspoken hunger. Yet even amidst his rising heat, there was admiration- appreciation for the elegance and mastery of your movements. The way your body told a story, the way your presence commanded the room, it was more than alluring; it was transcendent.

But the intensity of his desire could not be denied. The hardness beneath his robes grew, a throbbing reminder of the effect you had on him. His jaw tightened as his fingers pressed harder, a fleeting attempt at control. Every step you took, every glance you spared his way, only served to unravel the restraint he so desperately clung to. Jing Yuan's breath hitched, his usually steady composure unravelling. The beauty of your art left him enraptured, the sensuality of your dance leaving his mind clouded, his body heavy with need. You were a siren, and he was helpless against your call, a prisoner to the exquisite torment you inflicted upon him.

As your performance came to its crescendo, the room seemed to hold its breath. The music faded into the background, muffled by the pulse pounding in Jing Yuan’s ears. His hand twitched against his thigh, his entire body taut with unrestrained tension as you stepped down from the platform. Each movement you made was deliberate, a purposeful seduction that left his chest heaving, his golden eyes drinking in every detail of you.

And finally, you were upstairs in the room with him.

The space between you closed, and Jing Yuan felt his pulse quicken, a rare break in his usual calm demeanour. His fingers clenched briefly before releasing, as if bracing himself for the storm that was you. You stopped just shy of his seat, your eyes meeting his, bold and teasing, yet softened by something unreadable. The flick of your tail and the slight quirk of your lips only stoked the fire inside him further.

He didn’t wait.

Rising from his seat in one fluid motion, Jing Yuan closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His large hands found your waist, pulling you to him with a fervour that left no room for hesitation. The moment his lips met yours, it was as though the world fell away. The kiss was urgent, demanding, and possessive. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fire and hunger, consuming and overwhelming.

His lips pressed against yours like a man starved, tasting, exploring, memorizing every inch of you. One hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, while the other splayed firmly across your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lower lip before slipping inside to claim more of you.

The taste of you was intoxicating, a heady mix that made his restraint crumble. Every small sound you made—a whimper, a sigh—drove him further into madness. The way your soft hands gripped his robes, clutching at him like he was your anchor, only fuelled his need to devour you whole.

Jing Yuan’s mind raced; his thoughts consumed by you. The way you moved, the way you felt pressed against him, the way you yielded under his touch—it was all too much and yet not enough. His hold tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to etch the memory of this moment into his soul.

He wanted more.

No, he wanted everything.

The desire coursing through him wasn’t just lust—it was something far deeper, more consuming. He wanted to know every part of you, to uncover the layers of your soul as thoroughly as he wanted to explore your body. The thought of you with anyone else sent a possessive heat surging through him, and the idea of keeping you close, of having you as his, was a temptation too powerful to ignore.

He broke the kiss only when breathing became a necessity, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving, but his hands never left you, as though afraid you might vanish if he let go.

“You’re driving me mad,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. His golden eyes bore into yours, intense and filled with something that bordered on obsession. “Do you know what you do to me? How every moment I spend away from you feels like an eternity?”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your lips found his again, softer this time but no less heated, as though silently answering his unspoken question.

Jing Yuan’s grip softened, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a tenderness that contrasted the fervent need in his kiss. He pulled back just enough to study your face, his gaze tracing every feature as though committing it to memory.

“You have no idea what you mean to me,” he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with that same raw intensity. “But I’ll show you. One day, I’ll show you.”

The promise lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, as he held you close, the room around you fading into nothingness. For now, in this moment, you were his entire world.

Jing Yuan's gaze darkened as his hands slipped to the hem of your lingerie top, his breath heavy, his movements deliberate. With a fluid motion, he pushed the delicate fabric up and off, revealing the soft curve of your breasts. His eyes lingered, golden and molten, as though the sight of you alone was enough to undo him completely.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence and desire.

Before you could reply, his lips descended, capturing one pert nipple between them, his tongue swirling feverishly. He suckled with an intensity that left no doubt of his hunger, his large hand cupping your other breast, kneading, and teasing. Every soft moan and gasp that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on, his groans vibrating against your skin as he lavished attention upon you.

His kisses trailed down, wet and open-mouthed, over the curve of your stomach, lingering at your navel before he retraced his path back up. His lips found yours again, searing and demanding, his hands never leaving your body, holding you as if you were a treasure he refused to let go.

Without a word, Jing Yuan sank down into his chair, his strong form commanding even in the act of sitting. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to place you astride his thick thigh.

The moment your clothed pussy settled against him; his sharp inhale betrayed just how much he could feel. The thin fabric separating your body from his was soaked with your arousal, a warm, damp heat that sent a pulse of need through him.

"You’re already so wet for me," he rumbled, his voice a deep, velvety growl. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to grind against his thigh. "Go on. Show me how much you want this."

The friction was delicious, the firmness of his thigh pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your hands clung to his broad shoulders for balance, your body moving instinctively to his rhythm.

Jing Yuan’s eyes never left you, his intense gaze locked on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure. His lips quirked into a sinful smirk as he watched you lose yourself, your breath hitching, your movements growing more desperate.

"Good girl," he murmured, his words a heady mix of praise and possession. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you faster, harder, his own breath growing heavier as he watched you unravel. "Let me see everything. Don’t hold back."

You trembled in his lap, your soft, perky nipples pebbled from the cool air and the intensity of his gaze. Jing Yuan’s large hands skimmed down your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His golden eyes flicked lower, settling on the thin scrap of fabric that barely covered your most intimate place.

The sight made his breath hitch—a damp patch spreading across the delicate fabric, clinging to the shape of your pussy lips, leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. The thin barrier split against the firm muscle of his thigh, framing you in a way that sent his thoughts spiralling.

Jing Yuan's jaw tightened, his head tilting back for a moment as he groaned low and deep. The image of your leaking cunt pulled taut around his thick cock flashed unbidden in his mind, the mere thought causing his grip on your plush hips to tighten.

"Not yet," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, his restraint hanging by a thread. His arousal throbbed painfully beneath his robes, but he refused to let the tension break—refused to give in until he had you entirely, in the only way he could truly claim you.

His hands flexed against your flesh, fingers sinking into the soft curves as he guided you to move against his thigh again. His golden eyes burned with raw want, but there was something deeper there—something possessive, primal, and utterly consuming.

"You’ll have me, but not like this," he rasped, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm and heavy. "The only way I’ll give you my seed is when I’m inside you. Completely. Do you understand?"

The words sent a shiver through you, your body trembling even more as his intent settled over you like a tangible weight. You nodded, unable to form words, lost in the way his hands and his voice claimed every part of you.

Tears welled in your eyes as Jing Yuan’s strong hands gripped your hips, roughly guiding you against the firm muscle of his thigh. Each drag of your soaked core over the thick fabric sent shockwaves through your body, your clit throbbing with an ache so overwhelming it made your head spin. You clung to his broad shoulders, gasping for air, your cries a mix of pleasure and desperation.

Jing Yuan’s mouth found the delicate curve of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked hard, determined to leave a mark—a vivid bloom that declared you his. The sting only heightened the sensations coursing through you, and your moans spurred him on, his movements growing fiercer, more relentless.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his deep voice sending a tremor down your spine. His golden eyes, darkened with unrestrained hunger, never left your face, drinking in every reaction, every sound, every shudder of your body.

Your back arched, a broken cry spilling from your lips as the tension in your core snapped. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as your release soaked through the flimsy fabric barely clinging on you. Jing Yuan’s large hand splayed across your lower back, holding you steady, his grip firm yet comforting as he guided you through your climax.

You collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling. Your underwear, a soaking mess as Jing Yuan’s arms enveloped you, his large hands moving gently now, one rubbing soothing circles along your back.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, a stark contrast to the possessive fire that had consumed him moments before. “I’ve got you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, the touch grounding you as you nestled into his embrace, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Jing Yuan’s hand glided gently along the soft, velvety fur of your tail; his touch light yet deliberate. A small, breathless whine escaped your parted lips, your cheeks warming as you instinctively nuzzled into the solid warmth of his chest. His scent, calming yet intoxicating, filled your senses, easing the tension in your body while making your heart race.

“M-My tail... it’s sensitive, Jing Yuan,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, shy and muffled against him.

He paused, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity as a faint smirk curved his lips. “I see,” he replied simply, his tone smooth, holding an edge of playfulness. Instead of lingering, his hand shifted to rest on your back, his large palm moving in slow, soothing circles. Though his touch remained comforting, the knowing look in his gaze hinted that he had filed away this discovery for some other time.

All Jing Yuan wanted, with every fibre of his being, was to bury himself deep into the irresistible warmth of your slick, aching pussy, to lose himself entirely in the pleasure you could give him. But he could not—not yet. Not when he knew you deserved more than just raw passion. He wanted to show you his devotion; to prove he was a man worthy of claiming you fully.

His chest rose and fell with effort as he reined in the primal urges clawing at his restraint. The soft tremble of your body against his own pulled him back to the present, grounding him in the tender moment.

Jing Yuan’s large hand moved to thread gently through your hair, his fingers combing through the strands with a soothing rhythm. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. His other hand continued to rub light circles on your back, coaxing you to relax as your breathing slowly evened out.

When he finally pulled back slightly, his golden eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he asked, the question tender, yet filled with an underlying intensity that promised this was not a mere casual invitation.

The warmth of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. You blinked up at him, dazed and blushing, but managed a shy nod, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, “I’d like that.”

His smile widened, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Good,” he murmured, already envisioning how he would make the evening one you would never forget.

Author’s Note:

Part 2 ? Dinner turns into a full-on session of raw fucking cause reader got her heat ? :3

reblogs, likes, comments, and follows are highly appreciated <3

also check out my masterlist if u are interested in any of my other works <3

[endearng]

Doomed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: If you and Spencer had a nickel every time someone teased you after witnessing your interactions, you'd have two nickels, which isn't much — but it's weird that it happened twice. WC: 4.4k Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I'm so obsessed with them... in a normal amount of course. I'm thinking about writing casually for them, who knows... Also,,,, who am I if not a morcia truther….. I hope you enjoy it! Feedbacks are always appreciated <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

You were doomed from the moment he bid you goodbye.

"So, who's he?" Victoria inquired, a sly smirk on her face and a bashful expression on yours.

"Who's who?" You asked, trying to feign nonchalance.

She groaned playfully, "You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't." You winked, sitting on your couch again, between the two women. Sex and the City was playing on the TV across from the three of you.

"You're acting like us as freshmen when the seniors looked at us—" she retorted.

"I thought we didn't talk about that," Jude deadpanned.

"You're 'I don't know what you're talking about' me? I thought we were friends!" Victoria poked you in the rib.

"Ouch! He's just a friendly neighbor, that's it." You said, trying to cut the subject. Jude looked at you suspiciously. "White wine time."

From Spencer's apartment, he could hear the sound of chatter, joyful laughter and opening bottles for the rest of the night. He didn't know how to feel by your invitation, now that he had calmed down after looking you in the eye for a moment, technically, all by yourselves. He would definitely feel inappropriate at a kid's birthday where he barely knew the people who invited him, but he thought that Olivia's gesture was amazingly endearing. What could possibly be more childishly adorable than an infant trying to help and making a 'mistake'? And what could possibly be more devastatingly endearing than a mother taking advantage of said mistake to make it right?

Spencer studied the card for a moment. It fit the palm of his hand, tiny and delicate. It had a different address from yours and the time of the party, all of it lovely handwritten, just like the letters from calligraphy practice notebooks. It seemed like Olivia put a lot of effort in trying to perfect her handiwork. It read:

Hey, it's Oli!

I'm turning six and I want to celebrate it with you!

The contents of the slip of paper were adorned by dainty drawings related to birthdays: party hats, cake, gifts, some decoration and so on. It suddenly dawned on him that he was actually becoming closer to the people he always thought lived a perfect life. His mind had a tendency to wander and, for a fleeting moment, he thought about what it would be like to be part of that perfect life.

Olivia was a perfectionist child. He saw the expected behavior of the age in her manners, but the care with her work almost made him think someone else had done it for her. Something told him it wasn't the case, though.

Secured by two magnets, he placed Olivia's birthday party invitation on his fridge. You know, just so he wouldn't forget it — he tried to convince himself.

Everybody knew about his otherworldly memory, but he decided to forget it purposefully.

"Good morning, good ghost. I didn't see you anymore." Olivia greeted as she saw Spencer in front of the elevator. You were just locking your door closed, hyping yourself up for the week ahead of you when you heard it and a shiver ran down your spine. This, whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia!" He said, a sweet tone of voice. You melted. "It's true. It's been a while. I was here on the weekend, but it seemed like you had other plans." He stuck his hand out for her to shake. She did it in a heartbeat.

"I was with my grandma and grandpa. They took me to the movies and grandpa made me lasagna." She explained as you approached them, adjusting your bag and Olivia's backpack in each of your arms. "Did'ya get my birthday party invitation?"

"Yes, I did! Thank you for inviting me. But, you know, your mother probably needed the rest of them for the other guests." He said as the elevator opened. He gestured for you to enter it first, so you did it with a grateful nod.

"Sorry, mommy. I didn't mean it." Olivia looked at you briefly, ashamed that you would call her out.

"I know, baby, 's okay. Everyone has one now." You assured her with a light tone. Breathe. "Hi, Spencer. Good morning." You said as he joined you in the elevator.

He breathed out, "Good morning. Hi." He had a big smile on his face, standing right next to you, you both facing the door and Olivia in front of you. Internally, he felt like a puppy who had his owners’ undivided attention.

Olivia pressed the button to the lobby. You noticed a book in his hands. Courage. "So, what are you reading, Spencer?"

He gulped. Were you talking to him? It took him a moment to get a grip and realize that he hadn't answered you. Struggling to find the words and suddenly unable to remember what he was actually reading. "Me? I'm just re-reading one of Dostoievski's books. Notes from Underground."

"Dosto-what?" Olivia chipped in.

You looked at her, ready to tell her to not interrupt someone, but couldn't stop yourself from giggling. Spencer watched it fondly. "It's Dostoievski, baby. D'you remember that one book with the 'ugly' cover that mommy was reading the other day?" You asked her, air quoting the word 'ugly'. “It wasn’t ugly. It just wasn’t pink.” You explained it, looking at Spencer. He grinned.

"Yeah. You didn't read to me because it was work." She said, getting distracted with one of her braids.

"Are you a teacher?" He asked, intrigued.

"No. I actually work for a publishing company. Sometimes I have interesting content to revise." You said, a tinge of irony in your voice. He smiled at you, feeling comfortable enough to joke around him without the awkwardness of that first encounter.

The elevator door opened. Olivia jumped out. "I bet it's interesting," was the best he could come up with. Tongue tied.

“Yeah. It’s a good book.”

Like a fucking teenager, he watched as you left with your daughter. Your mixed laughter echoing in the lobby as Olivia spinned around while you carried the weight all by yourself.

He scolded himself for not remembering to offer you help.

Two days later, a few states over, Spencer sat on a chair at the conference room of the precinct they were working with. The case was exhausting and he just wanted it to be over, but it wasn't that simple. He waited for Derek Morgan — he was his ride that night back to the hotel they were crashing on. He was in front of Derek as he and Penelope talked, her image on the computer screen. The man's nonchalant tone was a riddle for her to unsolve — everyone else was aware that there was definitely something between them (an unspoken dictionary worth of words), even if their interactions were deemed as jokes. Penelope, feeling very shy, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at her lap after a particular comment about her smile. As she did so, her eyes caught a glance of her watch. "Oh, shoot. I have to go," she murmured, relieved to have a way out of the exchange that had high chances of turning her into a nervous wreck. "I'm so sorry, handsome! Tomorrow is one of my friend's daughter's birthday."

A flash of disappointment crossed Derek's features. Not that she'd noticed. Instead of pressing her, he chose to say, "Need extra energy to keep up with the kids, babygirl?" Ah, there was it. The teasing tone. She was definitely imagining things.

"Not as much as I need to keep up with you, tiger," she replied with a wink, the dynamic between them quickly shifting back to the usual playful banter. Both of them wanted more than playful and far more than banter, but none of them had the courage to admit it, to be straightforward about it. Spencer understood it, really. Speaking made things too real. "But, seriously. I totally forgot to pick up her gift. Olivia loves reading, so I'll go to the mall. I'm glad I already bought it, so I won't get home late."

If he was a dog, Spencer's ears would have definitely perked up from how quickly he associated one thing to another. Could it be the same Olivia? Your Olivia? "Okay, mama. Be safe." Derek said.

"I will," she smiled as she hung up.

Idiots.

Maybe Derek was too serious about the "no profiling each other" rule they set.

"Let’s go, pretty boy," The dark-skinned agent stated. Spencer got up, grabbed his bag and made his way to the elevator with her.

As they chatted about nothing in particular, walking out of the precinct, he desperately wanted to ask him if she truly didn't see past Penelope's sudden shyness. It wasn't in his nature to do that, of course, but as Derek and Penelope were two of the most important people in his life, he wondered why wouldn't they be a thing by now, since they enjoyed themselves so much and were so open about their affections towards one another.

He was quickly ripped away from his thoughts when the man suddenly spoke up, “So, what's your deal lately, Reid? What's she like?"

The doctor choked on his own saliva, which made him cough like crazy. Derek laughed, but tried to help his panicked friend. "What was that, man?" he asked worriedly, once he saw Spencer had finally inhaled a gulp of air.

Face as red as a tomato, cough dying in his throat, "what was what?" Derek returned to his normal self once he noticed his friend was able to finally form a coherent sentence.

"You're gonna act dumb now that you almost died when I talked about her?" Derek questioned, teasing tone, "it was just a lucky guess, but I see you, Reid. You're daydreaming far too often for what's acceptable for the boy genius who's as focused as a laser beam."

Spencer looked straight ahead as they got to the exit. He should have cornered Derek first. "Why would you think it has anything to do with a 'her'?" He chuckled, nervous to be caught red-handed — even if he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Was it wrong to want? He felt like it was. All his life, really. Had no chance to want anything because either was a far too distant reality, person, happiness for him to grasp it or it was ripped away from him too soon, before he could even acknowledge what was happening inside him. That's why want was almost a foreign sensation for Spencer. He had been deprived of it for as long as he could remember.

"Because people get a little dumb when they're in love. At least, ordinary people do. Apparently, so do geniuses," he snickered, his mind also set on teasing Spencer.

Maybe it was dumb to reveal his secret, jaw dropping crush on his cute neighbor, but he wanted some sort of relief to that mess of tangled thoughts inside his head and the strange, to say the least, feelings brewing on his chest whenever he saw you. You barely knew each other. But he supposed it was yet another part of the want he wasn’t familiar with: it didn't need much and it took all consciousness out the door. It wasn't uncommon for him to feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest whenever he was on the field, especially since he was often facing danger. The way the events were unfolding were scarily similar to his cases: he noticed you, made up theories based on your behavior and routine, and slowly, oh, so slowly, started to approach you. Not to put you away, but for more personal reasons.

What was different was the feeling in his heart, instead of the sensation of being squeezed painfully inside his ribcage, often leading to ragged breathing, now felt like it was being held delicately by a pair of caring, dainty hands. Either way, his heart was fighting in the frontline and relied on the other part to be calmed and saved. The least he could do was try to be careful, finally opting not saying anything to Derek.

"Just a lot on my mind lately," he chose to say, instead. Derek dropped the subject, too tired to press it further.

Olivia's party had come to an end an hour ago. You got to see old friends and talked until they got every single ounce of information about your life lately and so did you about theirs. Your daughter had enjoyed her party greatly, and hugged every. single. person. who came to wish her happy birthday and thanked them for being there. She paid little attention to the gifts, too focused on spending time with her friends, playing with them until the sugar rush wore off — all of them had a massive candy intake that day. You didn't spend much time with her, but she promised you that she would unwrap her gifts the next morning with you, the most adorable toothless grin on her face.

Despite everything flowing accordingly, all day long, your stomach churned with anticipation. You wondered if Olivia's dad would show up, since the day she was born was, quote, the happiest of his life. His parents did, and when you looked at them anxiously, his mother shot you a neutral glance. Not a word from his end was its meaning. Your daughter never asked anything about him during the day, which made you even more jittery. You feared she would have a breakdown at any time, so you paid extra attention to her.

It never came.

You had missed the deadline of a book chapter that you had to revise, too caught up on trying to balance everything in your life, so your parents told you they'd stay with her so you could go home to work and take her in the morning. Normally, you wouldn't accept it, but your father had decided you were too tired to wake her to go home, so you complied. Right after the guests left, you did all the steps of her night routine, except for the bedtime story — she was that tired of all the running around in the backyard. You were sure she would sleep all night long.

Once she dozed off, you stood for a moment in her grand-bedroom (she had come up with that and it kind of stuck with you). Your parents had decorated it while you were still pregnant. She needs to feel at home, was what your mother said when you walked in on them assembling her crib. You almost cried, overwhelmed with joy. Your fiancé, then, had rolled up his sleeves to help out. Oh, the irony.

Her room was full of photographs that held many memories of her six years of life. You could never imagine that you could love this much, let alone dedicate yourself so entirely to someone like you did for her. Even though it was hard and you often didn't feel like you were enough to raise her on your own, Olivia was a wonderful child and her gestures and overall behavior assured you you were doing a good job. The reflection brought tears to your eyes. You drove home by yourself.

Currently, in your apartment, it felt a little too big without Olivia in there — too many books, too many chairs, too much space on your sofa, too many toys scattered around with nobody to play with them. You sighed, deciding on going to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea — you felt like your brain was hammering inside your skull and you still needed to spend time in front of a computer screen. Going back to your small office to wallow in self pity and second guess yourself even as you read whatever material it was, you heard a knock on the door.

You checked your watch. 9p.m. On a Saturday.

Weird.

Through the peephole, you saw someone you truly weren't expecting. "Spencer?" You asked as you opened the door, surprise filling your being. "I didn't think you'd come, I supposed you were at work. I mean, sometimes it feels like you barely have a routine, heh. But, um, thanks for dropping by." You said, a little unfiltered. Not even five seconds in his presence and you were already making a fool of yourself in front of him.

He held a small bouquet of flowers in one of his hands and a gift in the other. To a stranger's eye, it seemed like he had missed your birthday and was trying to apologize for it. You blushed at the thought. He shut his eyes, sorry crossing his features. "I know. I'm sorry I missed it, even though I really didn't want to. You were right, I was away on a case." You smiled, dismissing his apologies and soothing his worries once you did so.

"It's alright with me. She was totally expecting you, though. Kept asking where you were for the first hour. Then she got distracted with candy," you told him, "so she's the one you're gonna need to apologize to." You joked.

"T—that's why I'm here."

"I'm just not sure if Olivia is old enough to get flowers," you said, face serious. His eyes went wide and it took him a moment to understand, but once he looked at your serious expression cracking, his shoulders shook with laughter, with you. If you had more attention, you'd seen the moment his ears turned red.

Your laughter died down. A beat of silence. "These are actually for you." He revealed.

You were stunned. "Oh," you said, suddenly at a loss of words. "Thank you so much."

He gave you the flowers and you gracefully accepted. You were mesmerized by them; colors swimming in harmony before your eyes and the scent making you feel dizzy. Maybe not the scent, but the emotions you were feeling with the surprise. He went out of his way to get you those flowers — it's safe to say that it had been a while since you felt that way. "I—I have no words, Spencer. Really. Thank you so much," your voice choked.

You looked at each other for a brief moment. You tried to show how much you appreciated his gesture. You grinned, trying to get out of that haze, "Do you want to come in? Oli's with my parents, so you won't be able to apologize today," you quipped, making room for him to enter.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"You can place the giftbox on the coffee table." He went inside, toeing off his shoes in the small space you had before the living room. Once he was there, he saw you enter the kitchen to find a vase. He could see you from where he stood. "Make yourself at home. Do you want some tea? I have Earl Gray."

Your voice was distant as he took in his surroundings. "Yeah, I'd like it." He murmured as he looked around. Your walls were a light gray, adorned with pictures of you and Olivia, some people he assumed were some of your friends. The wall behind the sofa was entirely covered by a big bookshelf that went from one end to the other, filled with books and souvenirs from basically everywhere. The dark wood of the furniture complemented the light walls in a cozy way, some toys and kids books scattered around the floor. The apartment smelled like fresh printed sheets of paper and earl gray tea. You had a few indoor plants that looked well taken care of. Spencer was admiring your degree from Stanford, which hung on the wall beside the TV, almost close to the door.

"One of my biggest achievements. Besides Olivia, of course," you approached him with his mug of tea. Turning to you, he noticed through his peripheral vision that you had placed the flowers inside a vase and in your coffee table.

"Thanks," he said.

"So... are you okay?"

The question caught him off guard. What?

You smiled a little. "You always look kinda tired when I see you," you said, not thinking about how your words might be interpreted. Your eyes widened, realizing it. "I mean, no! Sorry! You're still pretty, don't worry. It's just— I asked because you might be going through something. Forget I said anything about your looks."

He would definitely never forget.

Spencer laughed, flustered, eyes softly gazing at you while you rambled like a madman. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Sometimes my job is a little demanding and I'm forced to see some things that usually people don't even think exist," he confessed.

You bit your lip. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," he retorted, "I have a great team to work with."

"I'm glad to hear that. Sorry I brought it up, you probably don't want to talk about work right now." You said, sipping on your tea.

"Yeah, you're right, again," he chuckled. "How was Olivia's birthday?" He tried a change of subject.

"That was actually the reason I was moping when you got here," you said, trying to force a chuckle. "It was nice, I guess. I was just on edge all day trying to anticipate her emotions regarding her dad, but I guess they never came. At least, not today." You beckoned him to sit with you on the couch, now facing each other directly.

"May I ask why?" He asked, tentatively.

"Why what?"

More hesitance. "Why wasn't he there?"

"From what I know, he moved away." You said, tone unreadable.

He worried that he was overstepping and wasn't sure that he would like to hear more about it. He was scared to find out unpleasant news, such as you still had feelings for him. "I'm sorry." Was all he could muster.

"Don't be. I have a great team," you repeated his words from earlier and he smiled at you.

His brain and tongue didn't seem to be working together that night, he was so avid to know more. "Did you always have support?"

"My parents didn't like the idea of having a single mother when they first heard it. It hit me hard back then, but then I realized it was better to be alone than to stay in an unhappy relationship, especially since Olivia was already in the picture." You said, setting your own mug on the coffee table.

"What happened?" Stop it.

He couldn't help it, he was too curious. It was his first opportunity to truly know the novel sort of family that you had. Apparently, not so much.

"He was distant before leaving. Someone else, maybe?" You asked, rhetorically, a crease between your eyebrows. "I never found out, but I don't want or need to, either. His parents absolutely love Olivia and they were there today, 's all that matters."

"You’re a very strong person."

"I have to be," you said, softly. "You’re a very good listener."

A rush of courage running through his veins. Deciding on not taking the road of unsaid things, like his friends were earlier. Don’t dance around the subject, take the opportunity. Dare. "And you're just as pretty."

The world stopped. You looked at him in disbelief. It didn't last much. A knock on your door. Scratch that: someone banging on your door.

You pinched your eyebrows together. Spencer stood up, almost as if he was doing something wrong. You looked at him, apologizing, "I'm not expecting anyone."

You walked to the door and he stood behind you, telling you he was going to let you be. You didn't want to and you were already chastising yourself from not trying to talk to him and focusing on your problems instead. You opened the door and in the threshold stood Penelope Garcia, gift basket in hands. Before you could speak, both of your guests spoke at the same time.

A mortified "Garcia?" from Spencer.

A surprised "Spencer?" from Penelope.

Finally, a confused "Do you know each other?" from you.

"Yeah. We work together." Spencer replied. "What are you doing here, Penelope?"

"What are you doing here, boygenius?" Her tone now was teasing, a cheshire grin on her face. You were acting confused, but you were loving to see Spencer so out of place.

"I... I was..." He trailed off.

Poor thing. "He came to drop Olivia's gift. We're neighbors." You explained, trying to save him from further embarrassment.

She glanced between you two, eyes full of mirth behind her glasses. "I'm here to do the same." She said, smiling as she handed you the basket, which you took carefully and thanked her with a side hug. "There's her present, sweetcheeks. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, you know how much I miss you and Olivia. But I'm sure our genius told you all about it." Her sentimental words truly held emotion, but she turned her attention to Spencer once again. The opportunity was too good to let go.

Spencer looked like a fish out of water. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. "Garcia, can we talk?" He asked abruptly. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He murmured in a much more soft tone to you.

He could never resume whatever was going on in there because he felt like he had been caught with his pants down.

You were so surprised you didn't even process what was your answer, forgetting to ask if Penelope wanted to come in or anything. "I—Okay. I'll see you, then." With a small smile and slight disappointment in your voice. He all but dashed out of your apartment and took Garcia, who had a mischievous expression on her face, with him. You closed your door and looked at the mix of flowers. A sigh escaped you. Damn, Garcia.

Spencer was escorting Penelope back to her car, ready to bury himself alive because he knew she would run her mouth and knew precisely to whom she would tell about it. And, of course, the endless jokes he would hear during the next few days. "Sooooo..." She trailed off, suggestively.

"I—don't want to talk." She opened her mouth, but had no success in talking. "Not. A. Word."

She entered her car and started the engine as he waited for her to go. But before she started driving, she yelled, "I knew you had it in you, Reid."

From your balcony, work long forgotten, you watched Spencer hide his face in his hands in utter embarrassment.

You were doomed.

[museenkuss]

“How I transformed my body in 90 days” type video but I’m becoming a Renaissance Woman. Vlog footage of me reading the classics for hours on end, writing vocabulary lists, drawing in my sketch book to epic music. On day 15 I talk about how I’m slowly adjusting to my elaborate home cooked meals and how I struggle with the genealogy of the Borgias. There are montages of me educating myself on history, astrology, astronomy and dressing well, I take horseback riding lessons and go to museums. Erasmus, Machiavelli and Lucretius are stacked on my bedside table.

There’s a segment where I say “it’s day 53 and I’m really struggling… I can’t even write a sonnet. I don’t see any improvement in myself. Is this even worth it?!” The stakes are rising. I’m shown ripping up pages of rhymes in calligraphy. I swear as I rush around the kitchen, trying to prepare my oysters. I sit at my desk and sigh, head in hands, my desk covered in stacks of notes, huge volumes on art history and printed out articles. The dramatic moment comes when I for the nth time try to walk and gesture with sprezzatura while balancing books on my head for better posture. I fall. The books topple to the floor. I’ve reached rock bottom.

Black screen. Voice over: “It was really hard. I felt like Dante, in the dark forest, having lost my way. And then, I realised what I needed: I had to go on a grand tour.”

Music swells again, there’s a montage of me packing and travelling in busses and trains. Landscape rushes past. I read Goethe’s Italienische Reise on the journey. Finally, there are snippets of me in Munich, in Vienna. I take a selfie in front of Parmigianino’s self portrait in a convex mirror, showing off my own elegantly contorted hand. I’m in Florence, breathing heavily with excitement as I walk along the outside walls of the Galleria degli Uffizi. “Oh my god, there he is—“ I film the Petrarch statue, the phone visibly shaking. “I can’t believe I get to meet him…” I whisper with awe. Cut. I’m blowing a kiss at the right Grace in Botticelli’s Spring (I have a crush on her). I’m in the Loggia di Psiche in Rome, I’m kneeling on a bridge in Venice to touch it, “Tintoretto walked on these very stones..”, I’m filming the ceiling of the Camera Degli Sposi in Mantua. I’m in the streets of Grasse showing off a bottle of Fragonard perfume I bought, I’m teary eyed in front of the Concerto Campestre in the Louvre. Cut.

I’m back home. “It’s now day…79. Those were the most unrealistic two weeks of my life. And the most expensive. But now I’m back on track. I feel like I can really do this.” With newfound vigour I get back to my battered Reclam German/Latin edition of Ovid’s Metamorphosis. Day 81, 85, 89. Emotional/hopeful music. I show a Shakespeare sonnet written in beautiful calligraphy. I’m in the museum sketching the composition of an annunciation and taking notes on a Venus by Cranach. I practice a speech I’ve written following Cicero’s rules on rhetoric. I’m back on horseback. I present a cake of some sort.

DAY 90. I’m at my desk. “Wow, what a journey. Now let’s see the transformation I underwent in those 90 days.” I show side by side footage of me from day 1 and day 90. I look the same, except day 90 me is wearing all black, Castiglione style, and has better posture. Back to the desk. “I changed so much. I learned so much about myself and my limits. I’m still not fluent in Latin or Italian. But what I learned is that beauty is everywhere, especially in the struggle, and it’s worth cherishing. And now, I’m back and stronger and more curious than ever. If you haven’t followed me on tumblr @Museenkuss at this point, what are you doing? Click the follow button and give this post a like because NOW, the fun really begins. A renaissance woman never stops learning.” From under the desk, I grab two books and put them on my desk. The Tale of Genji and Sei Shōnagon’s pillow book. “It’s time to expand my horizon.” Black screen.

[jetblack4realz]

better - jj maybank

summary - in between season 3 & 4 when they're building their lives with the gold and jj wants to get his act together for you

word count - 1.9k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

you were an artist. you always had been - whether it was drawing random doodles on the side of your worksheet in class, or sketching out the boys' names in fancy calligraphy, or coming up with a new layout and decorating scheme for the chateau when you deemed it bland (after john b refused to let you paint all over the twinkie), or even reworking furniture to flip and sell to make a few bucks, you were always artsy. it had begun to work out really well for them.

you designed the surf shop and all of poguelandia with the help of your uncle, who was a contractor by trade. you carefully curated the indoor and outdoor decor, picking out pieces unique to your friends and your story and making it a homely, pseudo-trendy little shop. only when that was finished and you had it running did you turn your attention to your guys' home.

jj loved watching you work. at the moment, you had sarah helping you finish up the paint for the main living room as you put a final coat of white on the shiplap accent wall you'd had jj install for you. you had him put a similar one in your shared room upstairs, but had yet to paint it, claiming that you'd rather have everyone's space finished before focusing on your own.

john b walked in the kitchen and spotted the boy seated at the bar, his fingers typing away at the laptop you had gotten from your parents when you were sixteen - you know, before you'd jumped ship and left home to find treasure with your friends. he grabbed a can of lemonade from the fridge as he furrowed his brows, coming up behind his best friend. he squinted his eyes at the screen.

"job listings? what are you-?"

the lid slammed shut on the computer, jj spinning around with a shake of his head.

"it's nothing, bro, okay? don't worry about it."

john b stared at him incredulously. "j you have a job here. we literally own a business now, what are you-?"

"outside," jj said shortly, standing and walking out the back door quickly, john b following after. you looked up from your spot in the living room, glancing back at sarah with a shrug once the boys slipped outside.

once they stood face to face again, john b gestured for him to go on. "so?"

"look," jj said with a sigh. "i know we've got this shop, and it's so great. but, i just keep feeling like it's all too good to be true. like, we have this money now, but it's all gonna be gone in a second."

"it will be if you're the one in charge of it," john b said offhandedly. jj sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"and i know that too, alright? which is why i need more," he answered.

"why? what's going on that you need more money - and money that's separate from us?" john b asked, staring the boy down in pure curiosity. jj's eyes weren't on him though, instead going through the sliding glass door that separated them from their girls right to where you were painting once more, bobbing your head to the rhythm of the music sarah had turned on. "oh."

jj let out another heavy breath. "you and sarah are like, married now, right? and i can hear you guys when you're talking about starting a life together and me and y/n have started talking about it too recently... just, when the time comes i want to be able to provide for us. i want to be able to go out and buy her a ring and a dress and marry her and never have her worried about finances ever again. we've both had to deal with too much of that."

"wow, jayj," john b breathed out, a soft smile pulling at his lips as he rested a hand on his shoulder. "i'm impressed. you're really pulling it together, aren't you?"

"i'm trying," he said with a sigh. "i've worked a lot of jobs before and i'm willing to do it again. anything to make sure she's happy."

"she'll be happy with you no matter how much money you make," john b promised as he smiled at him. "and we'll all always have each other's backs. even if when y'all decide you want to be together forever you don't have all the money you want, we'll help you buy that ring and that dress and get it done."

"thanks, jb," jj breathed out, but with the lack of a smile and the tenseness in his shoulders still, john b knew he wasn't going to be accepting handouts anytime soon. even if it was still shared money between friends and not just handouts.

you'd recruited him to help finish up a few things in your bedroom, managing to finagle a thrifted and refinished dresser up the stairs and below the tv you'd stolen from your old bedroom. jj began hanging curtains as you put both sets of y'all's clothes away, giving yourself one extra drawer for your extra clothes. he finished before you did, watching you with a smile as you tucked his shirts into the top drawer all organized by color, finally shutting it to be done with the task.

"last thing to do is the bed," you hummed as you turned to him with a smile. you moved to begin pulling the white sheets on, jj tucking the corners before you grabbed out the blue comforter with a simple white stripe pattern that alternated thicknesses. "i nabbed this from my grandparents - my nana always buys them when they're on sale for christmas and never does anything with them."

"i know," he said with a light laugh, grabbing the opposite edge from you and helping you pull it over the sides. "she gave one to me for my birthday once. didn't exactly know why."

"because that's what she had and she probably felt bad," you answered, laughing softly with him. you tossed the throw blanket kie had given you for your birthday a few years back onto the corner to add dimension to the look, finally placing the two throw pillows you'd let yourself splurge $30 on at kohl's at the center. you smiled, glancing around the room before looking back at jj. "there. our room is complete."

he sauntered around the bed with a grin, taking you in his arms and leaning in close to your face as he met your eyes. "our own room, with our things, in our house with our friends, on our land, with our business down the road by our boat."

"our boat?" you asked with a teasing smile, hands wrapping around his neck as he held you close to him. "it's mine too?"

"what's mine is yours, princess," he told you, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

"even the dirtbike?" you asked, a brow raised in jest as a teasing smile tugged one corner of your mouth up.

"well, sure. it's yours too, but that doesn't mean you get to ride it, sweet thing," he answered with an amused grin, pressing more kisses to your lips and jaw.

"our next purchase should be a car. or a truck. an old truck. i like old trucks," you told him as his lips trailed to your neck. he paused, bringing his head back up to meet your eyes again, though his grip tightened on you.

"me too," he mumbled. "but, i think there's something we need to buy first."

"what?" you asked, tilting your head curiously. he glanced his focus between your eyes, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

"well, actually... i already bought it," he hummed. you sighed.

"and how much was it?" you asked, raising a brow.

"does it matter?" he asked, raising his brows as his smile grew.

"jay..." you groaned, head falling back in exasperation. "we talked about budgeting-"

"hey, hey, hey, hold on," he said, pulling you closer to him and catching your eyes again. his smile was mischievous as ever as he turned slowly, turning you with him. "you don't even know what it is yet."

you sighed, a small smile sneaking its way onto your lips. "alright. what is it?"

"well, my first paycheck just came in from working with your uncle, and i thought i might as well get it now," he said, dragging his words in the suspense as you continued to eye him. he looked you up and down, his smile still wide as he winked. "have i told you how good you look in that dress?"

"every time i've worn it," you laughed. "reckon that's why you bought it for me."

"damn right," he said, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. you giggled against him before pushing him back, raising your brows.

"what is it?" you asked, almost eager now. "what'd you buy?"

surprisingly, he released you, stepping back as he shoved a hand in his pocket. his smile was wide, but his eyes softened as he brought his hand out in front of him. he breathed out his next words nervously; "i really hope you like it."

and then he was on his knee, and in his fingers was a dainty, gold ring with a small circle diamond on top. right there, in the room you'd just finished, the room you shared, in the house you and your friends rebuilt, with the shop you owned just down the beach - he was proposing.

"i really want to marry you," he breathed out with a nervous laugh, his fingers squeezing the ring tightly. "you're the love of my life, y/n. i really don't know what i'd do without you. being with you has been the easiest and best damn thing i've ever done and i want to be with you for as long as you'll let me. so, will you please marry me? i promise to provide for you and be there for you and-"

"yes," you said, beaming as you took his face in your hands. you laughed lightly. "absolutely yes, jayj."

he kissed you quickly, standing and wrapping his arms around your waist as he leaned into you. when he pulled back, he was laughing, causing you to let out a few giggles, wiping away a small tear at the corner of his eye. he kissed you shortly before bringing the ring to you, slipping it on the proper finger with a certain look of pride in his eye.

"it's uh, it's not much, it's not even a real diamond but i-"

"i love it," you cut him off, holding his hand as you glanced between him and the ring, beaming. "i love it, jayj. thank you."

he smiled, a breath of relief slipping past his lips as he gathered you in his arms again, spinning you quickly. he pulled back and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips again before stepping back away from you. he let out an excited whoop, grinning at you. he grabbed your hand and pulled the door open, dragging you with him down the stairs.

"she said yes!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

masterlist!!

[copinghex]

Sincerely yours, me | T.S

Summary: Tommy receives anonymous gifts and letters. All the signs point to a single conclusion - he has a secret admirer.

The first gift was misinterpreted, as harmless as it could be, a man like Tommy wouldn't simply eat anything sent to him.

Sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, Polly waited for Tommy to get home. On the table, a delicate box from a nearby bakery and a letter caught everyone's attention, not only for the gesture but also the date.

If anyone would search for Thomas Shelby in city registers, all they'd find would be his army register, indicating his date of birth was 19th September, months earlier than the true date, a cold Wednesday morning of November. Whoever sent the gift was close enough to the family to not be fooled by the erroneous papers.

That day, Tommy entered the kitchen in quick steps, unconsciously or not, he always worked more on his birthday, not being particularly fond of celebrating.

“Is anything special about the age of thirty?” Polly asked.

“...no,” noticing the suspicious gifts on the table, Tommy reached for the letter, the envelope contained no information other than his own name, “who bought this?”

“No one, it was left on the door this morning,” she turned the box to show him the bakery’s name, “the place isn't cheap, they wouldn't leave it at the door without someone to collect it,”

“So someone ordered and left it at the door,” Tommy concluded.

“What does the letter say?”

The first thing Tommy noticed was the calligraphy, it wasn't neat nor horrendous. He could see the author tried their best to look nice.

Dear Tommy,

Originally, I was excited to write you this letter. Now that I have your cake and shall deliver it tomorrow, it makes me question if this was a good idea.

I believe birthdays are meant to be celebrated with those we have dearly. You seem to think otherwise, nevertheless, I hope you (and your family) enjoy the flavor I picked.

I wish I had bought you a gift as well, I had an eye on a pocket watch from a pawnshop in London, it'd seat nicely with a brown three piece you have, unfortunately my budget is not endless.

I hope you enjoy your birthday and wish you all the happiness, prosperity and good fortune.

Sincerely yours, me.

P.S I've taken notice I mentioned the cake spent a day in my house, if the thought ever crosses your head, do not worry, it cannot have spoiled, I kept it on the ice box all the time ♡

“So?” Polly questioned.

“Take a look at the calligraphy,” he handed her the letter, “does it look familiar?”

“Not at all, I can check in the books, but it's too neat to belong to any of our men, also there's a heart in the end,”

“Alright,” he sighed, “I want you to go to the bakery and ask who ordered it, then ask all the neighbors about the person who left it at the door, anything is useful,”

“Oh, for Christ's sake! I've things to do but to investigate a birthday cake!”

“Polly,” Tommy opened the box, “whoever sent this is watching from close, what do they plan to do with all this information? It can't be good,”

“Alright,” she sighed, “I'll ask, but I bet is nothing more than some of the neighbors’ daughters wearing her heart out for you,”

“Fucking finally,” John suddenly entered the kitchen, “Polly said we'd only eat when you arrived,”

“No one is going to eat,” he looked at the cake, the white topping could be easily deduced as vanilla while the bottom was chocolate.

“What?! What not?”

“We don't know who fucking sent this, it can be poisoned,”

“Or someone wants to send a message,” Polly added.

“Or it's just fucking cake,” John argued, “ugh, forget it,”

As John left, Tommy threw the box in the trash, the light sweet scent rose up to his nose and looking superficially, it seemed like nothing but an innocently sent birthday gift. He wouldn't risk it though, if he was wrong about it, it'd be shameful to die over a piece of cake.

Weeks went by without further information, all the bakery was able to tell was that the person who made the order was a woman, nothing they hadn't already deduced. The dust settled, with no signs of danger or special dates coming by, nothing disturbed Tommy's routine.

The second gift was delivered by Scudboat, at the end of a shift in the betting shop he sneaked his head into Tommy's tiny office with a bulky envelope.

“Tom? I'm going home,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” Tommy didn't lift his eyes from the papers on the desk.

“Someone left this on my desk today, it's for you,”

His shoulders dropped in a tired move, one more problem was everything he didn't need, “Who did? Did you see?”

“No, we had a full house today, I'm sorry, man,” Scudboat left.

First, a wooden horse fell from the paper. The delicate miniature wasn't bigger than a pocket watch, but the details revealed it was made by talented hands.

Dear Tommy,

Although throwing the whole cake away did offend me, I admit I'm the one at fault for this huge miscalculation, I have no enemies myself and yet, I'd be hesitant to eat something anonymously sent to my door.

Therefore, please accept this horse as a gift instead. It sat dusting up on my shelf for way too long, if you ask me, it resembles Monaghan boy.

Sincerely yours, me.

Tommy placed the miniature in the corner of his desk, it immediately set amongst his other belongings as if it was made to be there.

Slightly crumbling the paper, he fought the urge of ripping it apart, no harm was done and he couldn't find any subtle threats between the lines, but the thought of being observed made him tremble.

The possibility of someone being truly in love with him crossed his mind and was quickly shaken off. Tommy knew he wasn't lovable, at least not anymore, at most it must be infatuation from a stupid woman.

Putting the letter in a drawer, he carried on with his paperwork.

The third gift came three weeks later, when Tommy thought she had given up on him. A worn out bracelet he recognized from an Appleby fair, years ago he bought one for Greta Jurossi and managed to sneak up some more while the seller turned around to get his change. He remembered distributing them amongst her friends.

Those faces were all blurred in Tommy's memory now, shadows from a past that seemed so distant it felt like another life.

The envelope wasn't neat like the previous ones either, delivered by Ada herself, all she offered as explanation was an entertained smile and a “read the letter, Tom”

Relief washed over him learning that Ada was the one collecting information. The worry’s weight left his shoulders and then, the whole scenario felt as laughable as a joke.

Tommy,

It has come to my attention that my letters do you more harm than good. What a shame, I had planned to toy with you a while longer, but seeming it doesn't have the expected effect, I believe there's no option other than revealing myself.

I assure you I never intended harm and Ada was of great help in keeping an eye on you. Please, do not be upset at her, she was manipulated by having me watching Karl whenever needed.

Thomas, you are very dear to me, I've made it clear through the last few months, because of it, I'll be at the Garrison this Friday from 17:00 to 18:00, at the last table in the corner, we've never been complete strangers so you'll recognize me.

All I ask you is to not show up with selfish intentions, to mock me or satisfy your curiosity. I want to be someone close to you, someone you trust and perhaps like. If this possibility exists, come meet me, if your heart is permanently closed, I understand, but please do not come.

Sincerely yours, //////////

Tommy slowly put the letter down, the red scribbles where her name should be evoked sympathy within him. He imagined a simple girl, a silhouette between Greta's friends, switching pen colors and ruining the end of a tidy letter.

Lighting up a cigarette, he rubbed his tense brow, decisions that involved others were always harder and he doubted he'd get used to it someday.

He also couldn't deny curiosity was eating him alive, he needed to know who was sweet enough to look away from the atrocities he committed after France and still love the man he became.

Love, the word sounded so foreign to him he made a decision. He'd go to the encounter, even if he wasn't sure he wanted a relationship, having someone who loved him would be useful.

The week went by fast, around a quarter to five Tommy ordered everyone out of the Garrison, two cups and a whiskey bottle waited with him. He wouldn't define what he felt as excitement, perhaps satisfaction in finally closing that case.

Leaning on the counter, he stared at the doors, a hesitant shadow showed up on the glass panel, the knob moved down and a few seconds passed until she got in.

Her eyes widened seeing the pub empty, a shiver ran down her spine as her eyes met his squinted ones. She gulped, frozen at the entry. Tommy sized her up and his gaze softened, an afternoon tea at the Jurossi’s house years ago, he'd barely noticed her, apparently she had noticed him.

“You came,” she greeted.

“I was curious,”

“Tommy, I asked you to not-”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, “it was brave of you to keep me in the dark for so long,”

“It was barely two months,”

“Could've been much more if so you decided,”

“Why would I? You didn't see to enjoy my… admiration at all,”

Pouring them drinks, Tommy called her to the counter. She shyly smiled as he handed her a glass and made a tiny toast.

“It was clever,” he complimented, “I recruit clever people,”

“So this is business focused?” she looked down, disappointed.

“Amongst other things,” with his glass, he lifted her chin, “I think we can achieve great things together,”

[o-sachi]

Wishlist! - Headcanons for WinBre Week!

ᯓ what are the furin boys putting on their wishlist this year? ᯓ characters; sakura haruka, suo hayato, sugishita kyotaro, mitsuki kiryu, kaji ren, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, togame jo ᯓ tags; just plain platonic headcanons

[🐟]: for day 5 - holidays prompt! @windbreakerweek

Sakura Haruka

"Ehhh? No... I don't want anything..."

He's only saying that because he'd feel like too much of a burden knowing someone might go out of their way to get him a present.

But he's like the easiest person to give a gift to because he will appreciate anything you give him. Hell, the fact that you even thought to get him anything is a gift in and of itself.

Although, he'd prefer something that isn't super expensive.

Wishlist: a new blanket, coupons for omurice, another pair of shoes (pls get our boy a new pair of shoes)

Suo Hayato

"Oh? A gift? How thoughtful of you."

Not really choosy when it comes to gifts either. He's probably hella rich and has everything that he wants already, so gifts are like a kind gesture to him if anything.

Although, he prefers gifts with meaning over ones that are practical.

It's because he can buy the practical stuff, but he can't put in meaning into things that he buys for himself.

Wishlist: rare tea leaves, lucky trinket, calligraphy brush (a hobby he picked up recently)

Sugishita Kyotaro

"For me? Why."

Doesn't really think about gifts, both in the sense of giving and receiving it.

But if you give him one, he'll be over the moon. Doesn't matter what it is really. He's similar to Sakura in this regard.

However, his issue with gifts is that he doesn't know how to react when he's given one. Is a thank you enough? Should he get them a gift too? He's so overwhelmed. Poor guy...

Wishlist: a small plant for his room, a plain shirt, Ume's approval (he's been told you can't put things like this on a wishlist, but he got mad)

Mitsuki Kiryu

"Yippee! You're the best. Thank you so much."

He likes to joke about stuff that he likes to receive. Also jokes about not needing gifts because his fangirls already give him more than enough.

He judges gifts based on aesthetic appeal rather than its practical use. He doesn't care if its useless as long as it'll look good on him or in his room.

I just know this dude has the best reactions when given any gift. Even if he has experienced it soooo many times, he'll make you feel as if he's so thankful for it each time.

Wishlist: gems for the game he's playing, a cat charm, a hamburger phone case (so he can alternate between that and the hotdog phone case)

Kaji Ren

"Wha? What's the occasion? Well, thanks. I guess..."

Super adamant about not wanting to receive any gifts. He says he's happy enough to have loyal friends by his side. Honestly, he's just scared to get emotional if the gift ends up being too good.

Gifts from close friends hold more value to him regardless of what the gift is.

It's pretty easy to predict the things that he would like...

Wishlist: a box of lollipops, a new hoodie, a year's worth of Spotify subscriptions (me too actually sob)

Umemiya Hajime

"Whaddaya know? I also have a little something for you here!"

It actually puts a bit of pressure on you to find Ume the perfect gift because he is THE GIFT GIVER. It's like he always knows what everyone would love.

A really simple guy. Even quality time is considered a gift in his eyes.

Ume prefers gifts that aren't the usual kinds of things you'd buy from the store, so stuff like handmade gifts, home cooked meals, and letters are his favorite things to receive.

Wishlist: a new trowel for gardening, a shirt that says "Tomato Dad", a dinner party with the entire Furin student body (awww)

Hiragi Toma

"Thanks. I'll make sure to use this."

He's like an old man, so gifts that are practical are is preference. His eyes go wide when the thing is multi-purpose and a steal for its price.

He's also the type of person to preserve gift bags to use for another time. Although, he has definitely gifted back to a person using a bag given to him by that same person before...

A big believer of the saying, "It's the thought that counts."

Wishlist: stomach medicine... lots of it, hair gel, perfume/cologne (I JUST KNOW HE SMELLS GOOD)

Togame Jo

"Aww, this for me? You didn't have to."

Nonchalant as fuck when receiving gifts, but trust me, he is sobbing inside. He's so happy someone thought of him.

Also prefers practical gifts, but it hardly matters. As long as you got him something, he'll be grateful for it.

He won't admit it but he enjoys the moment of unwrapping the gift. Even better if it's wrapped neatly and with a bow on top. Kame's not sure why, but he just loves that part.

Wishlist: food foood fooooood, a new pair of sandals, fancy shogi set (to show off to the old men he plays with lol)

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[akashis-waifu]

Excerpt from Beyond God and Evil (Aizen Sōsuke/Female Reader)

Continuation of An Eternity of Mind Games with You

Canon-divergence set months after TBYW. Reader is the new Soul King, so is Aizen if you squint hard enough. Your name is "Hana" for plot-purposes.

Tags: Romantic comedy, fluff and angst, enemies to old married couple, banter as love language, mutual pining, immortality, so good luck with the slow burn, Aizen is a menace but your menace <3

THAT NIGHT, in the Greater Soul King Palace, Aizen can be seen looking for you as you were not in your shared office nor in your personal quarters. He eventually finds you in the tearoom, reading a scroll while leisurely sitting on the tatami mat, near the window.

He stops himself from speaking, simply staring at you from a short distance away. You are already dressed in your usual nightwear — a white yukata so plain that it does not seem to befit a woman of your status. Nonetheless, with the gentle moonlight shining down upon your form and accentuating your regal yet serene features, the soothing breeze swaying your long, ivory strands in languid waves, the sight is incontestably ethereal — the image akin to a goddess in a painting.

Except that you are actually one. In every sense of the word.

After minutes of engrossed reading, you rise to return to the table when you finally notice Aizen standing in the doorway. He saunters towards you and stops in front of the low table, his eyes — that were previously appreciative — instantly narrowing in disdain upon sighting the poorly-written characters on the scattered papers.

“Can you, for the hundredth time, get off my case?” you groan while taking a seat.

He makes no retort and merely picks up your calligraphy brush and a blank paper, demonstrating how to write characters properly before handing the brush back to you.

“Like this. Do it again,” he commands, sounding like a stern teacher dealing with a wayward student. You repeat his strokes but the result is nowhere near satisfactory. You glance at him gingerly.

Although the displeased frown is ever-present on his face, he surprisingly does not insult you and simply sits beside you.

“Again.”

This time, he carefully guides your hand, pressing against your knuckles and fingers as he adjusts your grip. It is arguably an intimate gesture yet both of you pay it no mind, your entire focus on your calligraphy.

Strange enough, when he moves your hand along with his, you are able to write beautiful characters. But when left alone, your penmanship is almost comparable to that of a toddler. Hence, it is probably no exaggeration to claim that your innate inability to write legibly remains to be one of the greatest mysteries in the Three Realms.

Aizen observes your crestfallen expression. A mischievous idea suddenly crosses his mind, causing a smirk to spread across his face.

“Shall we make this more interesting? Every time you fail to write correctly, you will have to do one thing I want.”

You regard him with an look that screams you find his suggestion idiotic. “You must be out of your mind if you think I will ever agree to that.”

He leans closer to you, his grin widening in taunt. “Why? Do you have zero confidence in your own writing skills?”

“Your obvious provocation won't work on me.”

Aizen simply stares at you for a moment before leaning back with feigned nonchalance. “Shame. And here I was thinking of treating you to your favorite restaurant for the next decade should you win.”

Your ears instantly perk up at his offer. “Really?”

He barely stops himself from laughing derisively at your piqued interest. The way you fell for such an obvious bait, like a child who has been promised a treat, was downright pitiful.

“Do you accept the challe—?”

“Wait a minute,” you interject with a hand raised. “But your money technically comes from the Soul King Palace.”

“Which is my palace,” he argues with arms crossed over his chest. “Your point is?”

“It actually belongs to me but since I’m feeling particularly generous right now, I will share it with you,” you start rambling to buy yourself more time to consider his offer. “Anyway, your money is my money. Even if you say that you’ll treat me—��

“Hana. Do you want the unagi or not?”

Your mouth instantly shuts at his question and the way he called your name, sternly but also in a familiar manner. After a long moment of silent contemplation, you surrender with a sigh.

“Fine, but make it a millennium.”

He raises an eyebrow at your bold haggling. “Five decades.”

“Millennium.”

“A century.”

“A millennium, Aizen,” you declare with finality. “I refuse to play your game unless you agree.”

“Alright,” he relents. “I’ll treat you for the next one thousand years if you win.”

However, unbeknownst to you, the game is but a scheme, as per usual, to make you spend more time with him in the next decade — which you unknowingly extended to a millennium. Aizen smiles to himself, beyond pleased to witness you digging your own grave.

“Then, let the challenge begin.”

After handing you the brush and paper, he gives you the first character to write. You have never been so focused in your life as you are determined to win at all costs. However—

“Huh?” you mutter in disbelief as you stare at your own disastrous handwriting.

Aizen smirks, having seen your failure coming from a mile away. He already has an order in mind but feigns uncertainty to prolong your agony. His index finger drums the table, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm, shame. What should I make you do now?”

You watch him with narrowed eyes, already well-acquainted with his antics. “Stop beating around the bush and say it already.”

“How about this?” he deliberately pauses for dramatic effect. “I want you to say ‘All hail Lord Aizen, the new Soul King of the Three Realms’ ten times.”

A deafening silence falls upon the room as you meet his taunting gaze with a bemused expression. When he shows no indication of changing his command, you unwillingly surrender but not without a catch.

“All hail Lord Aizen, the self-proclaimed new Soul King of the Three Realms,” you deadpan.

Obviously, Aizen is far from impressed. “If you refuse to adhere to the terms, you will not get that unagi even if you win.”

With your beloved meal held hostage, you grit your teeth in annoyance and reluctantly heed his order. The grimace on your face worsens as you watch his shit-eating grin widen with every repetition you make, his head nodding with purposeful slowness to further grate your nerves.

Once you’re finished, he praises you with a sarcastic applause. “Well done, Hana. I never knew you appreciated me that much.”

You hiss under your breath and impatiently pick up the brush, glaring down at the empty paper, determined to win the next challenge. However—

As Aizen has predicted, you still fail at your second attempt. And miserably at that.

Slamming your hands down onto the table, you stare at the paper with profound disbelief, eyeing the barely decipherable scribbles as if wanting to wipe them from existence. How is it even possible to be that bad at something that was supposedly easy to do?

At the realization that you lost to him again, you look down, refusing to meet his gaze due to humiliation.

Aizen only sighs before shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I’m starting to think that you’re losing on purpose so I can get to order you around.”

“Please shut your mouth and just get on with it,” you beseech almost pathetically.

Thus, without further ado, he declares:

“You have to sit in my lap for the rest of your calligraphy practice.”

[asemicaustralia]

Made in Procreate.

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

10. 3 shots, 2 lips, 1 kiss

Time became a fluid concept.

Scara’s fingers poised over the guitar strings. Each pluck demanded attention, reminding you of the beauty of Scara’s tunes. For two hours, both of you have been playing covers, singing his new works, and performing improvs with mismatched melodies that somehow grew with each chord progression.

The night sky arrived, you should have left, but being in Scara’s presence froze the hands of time.

“I finally convinced you,” Scara broke the silence, head resting back on the couch–his eyes closed. He looked serene in the dim-light–even with his disheveled state. It became a battle not to pat his cloud-like hair. Each strand invited your hands to lay in its softness.

You chuckled, feeling too bubbly, mind hazy, as you swirl your intoxicating drink, words becoming a stumbling mess, “Technically–I only agreed to do background vocals and to go under a pseudonym,” you leaned in, now inches away from his face and pointed your finger at him, “Don’t get too excited.”

Scara’s gaze weighed on you. He simply stared, indigo eyes bearing emotions you couldn’t decipher. He grabbed your raised hand, and rested it on the couch without letting go–his light hold on top of yours, “Why do you…” he blinked in between the pause, cheeks dusted pink, voice a whisper, intended to keep his next words to himself but slipped anyhow, “...make me feel this way?”

What did that mean?

In your intoxicated state, your head was hammering through your skull.

What did that mean?

What did that mean?

What did that mean?

You pulled away, kept a distance, and gestured at the empty food containers and bottles of Sake lying on the glass table in front of the black couch you sat on, hoping to change the subject, “You know, every time we hang out, we always end up having a feast.”

Scara reached for the Cherry Bouquet flavored Sake that his mother had gifted him for his birthday. He had one more left since the two of you have managed to finish three bottles.

“It’s to keep you from talking,” he said, pouring the last of the liquid.

If words were spelt out on faces, the word “offended” would be in bold, red calligraphy. You let out an exaggerated gasp before slurring your next sentence and beginning a petty banter, “Heizou wouldn’t treat me like this.”

The thud of the shot glass echoed in the dimly lit room and Scara released a dramatic sigh “What is your obsession with him?”

“How are you not obsessed with him?”

He grumbled, "I'm a sane person.”

“Any sane person would admit that he’s great at everything.”

“I’m better than him,” he whispered—you almost didn’t catch it.

You chuckled, raising a brow, “Really? How?”

“Like this—”

His soft lips brushed yours. The taste of cherry covered your senses. His right hand rested on your waist, drawing circles with each touch, as the other guided your neck, pulling you closer. Each movement grew intense and clumsy reeling you for more, wanting more, needing more.

Nothing else mattered.

Scara stopped briefly, his eyes burned on you, caressing your cheeks with his finger as if he was afraid of shattering you. What was he thinking?

You fell back on the couch, his disheveled self on top of you–messy hair, flushed face, and longing gaze, leaving you more impatient than ever. You pulled him closer and his lips were back on yours with the same passion as the first time. Now it was tender and delicate–no rush, just savoring the moment while it lasted, his hands still on your waist, offering warmth and comfort that almost sent you in a coffin.

Three bottles for bravery.

Two lips for passion.

One kiss for Aether to walk in at the wrong moment.

“Fuck.”

The door slammed, but you pretended not to hear it.

notes:

ummm i guess that happened

Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

masterlist | previous | next

Taglist (open!): @aruatsu @magicalink @featuredtofu @scarasbaby @veekoko @scaranthropy @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @vernith @thystarsshine @lily-lmao @lovemari @mellowberrie @kunikuzushis-darling @skyoverkill1 @alatusorrow @kukikoooo @kyon-cherri @keiiqq @tzuw1ce @xiaossocksniffer @kaitfae @infinitetrashbag @lvnalxve @lovelypadisarah @ulquiorraswife @sketcheeee @atyour-kitchencounter @pirate-of-the-dark-seas @neiiuna @sn1perz @kazioli @inelenastyle @hearts4shu @wisheslost @Kazeyozuha @kazumiku @eutopiastar @chemiru @bananasquash @mujiwuji @danhenglovebot @chocolatesandvanilla @boomie-123 @kookiibun @help-whatdoimakemyusername @vavrin @beaniedoodz @misterpoofin @justpeachyteastea @one-and-only-tay @peaceindreams @strxwberryfetish @shutingstar @projectsfantasy @quacking-simp @morgyyyyyyy @cante-lope @k-cris

[spirk-trek]

Poem and calligraphy by Ingrid Cross Drawing by Merle Decker Sun & Shadow Fanzine, 1980

The Vulcan Kind of Love

So often I feel his presence, warming my days like a fire. He commands; I follow...

From time immemorial it was so; Illogically, I find I would not wish it to be otherwise.

His love flows freely, takes form in human gestures: a smile, a touch, a tear.

I take it all so easily, never knowing how to thank him without giving offense.

My ancestral prison holds me back, my heritage and cursed pride allow no forbidden gestures.

Still, I find I need to answer him, for love not repaid becomes empty. Yet he makes no demands.

So my outlet is to offer comfort of the Vulcan form and style. I am always there for him: protecting, guarding, shielding.

The Vulcan Kind of Love.

[matchadobo]

KIDD; it's the captain's birthday!

wc: 2453

summary: name prepared surprises for kidd's birthday, but unfortunately, it won't go as planned.

warning/s: fem reader, nsfw at the end 🔞

kidd woke up with the space beside him cold and empty. it was strange that he had all the blanket to himself and you weren't there to take it all from him. he shuffled through the mountain of pillows on his bed for you, blurry eyes scanning through the dimly lit room. he checked the bathroom and you weren't there either. so he opted to go outside where chaos ensued.

the crew members had stopped on their tracks from fishing out confettis and streamers from crates, looking at kidd like he intruded at his own ship. kidd was only wearing boxers but that wasn't the surprising bit. he had a scowl on his face and had a bedhead. but his presence that he had walked out that door made everyone turn pale.

"what the fuck are you guys doing?" he cocked a brow, eyeing each one of them to answer. "what? lost your voices or some shit?"

"you sure you don't need to sleep anymore, captain?" one member tried to salvage the situation, rubbing his hands together with a gentle expression as anxiety pooled through him.

"that's not what i asked, is it, rookie?" he got closer, bending down to the poor man's height who shivered at his proximity. "i wanna know where's name?"

there was total silence, no one wanted to speak and kidd was getting impatient. that is until, he heard a clang by the kitchen that followed your shriek afterward. kidd sauntered to the kitchen, had his mind straight to getting to you. the other crew members tried blocking him by the kitchen entrance, but one glare was enough to send them away despite their protests that you firmly instructed them to prevent him from entering.

kidd saw you entirely focused on decorating a cake with a piping bag. baking supplies were scattered on the countertop and on the floor. it was a mess. your hair and outfit was powdered up by what seems to be flour and your arms and apron had scattered stains of whipped cream. he didn't miss how your tongue peeked out from being way too concentrated at your craft.

his canines tugged at his lips as his smile slowly grew watching you. he crossed his arms leaning by the doorframe with the scared rookies at his feet. he waited for you to notice him but you were on your own world. so he made his way closer to you, leaning by the empty space of the table you were working on and crossing his arms. he glanced by the worn out calendar by the kitchen and saw that it was indeed his birthday. his heart swelled at the thought of you going an extra mile to even make a cake for him.

"ugh, what is it? i asked those ruffians to not let anyone in-" when you finally take your eyes off the nearly finished cake, you saw kidd with a cocky grin on his face. you looked up at him with a shit-scared face.

"hm? what's that? why did you stop, bunny? come on i wanna see how it turns out." he said with a teasing tone, gesturing to the cake.

"h-how-" he saw how your expression shifted and he kinda panicked. you pouted, shoulders dropping as you tossed the piping bag by the table. "those idiots had one job." you sighed, disappointed as you crossed your arms. "well, it's kinda my fault for sleeping in."

"hey what's got you so down, lovebug? you gonna stop makin' this?" he walked in front of you, bending down to your level as he pointed at the cake behind you.

"you're a big party pooper you know...!" you avoided his gaze, hiding your flushed face by your palms. "you're not supposed to wake up until 10 or something."

"can't help it if you're not cuddlin' me or stealin' the damn blanket. plus, crew's too loud." he pulled you in for a hug, hand placed at the back of your head. "come on, ain't ya finishin' your calligraphy? this shit's gold." he peeked behind you at the top of the cake adorned with flowers made from fondant, some edible pearls that contrasted the black icing, and the red lettering that spelled 'happy birthday to the coolest captain' in intricate calligraphy and 'hubby' written in little font with a heart. you couldn't see it, but he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from smiling so hard cuz his heart did a thing.

"you givin' up on me? alright, lemme take over. i think i can make a better lookin' one than you can."

with his last phrase, you suddenly pulled away, looking at him with the most offended glare. your hands loosen around his waist, pushing him away and escaping his grasp. "shut up! this is gonna be fire just you wait!"

so he sat on a stool and watch you decorate with much attention. mission success for him. he knows how to push your buttons and he really wanted to see you finish what you did for him. plus, he loves getting you riled up. he adored how your brows furrowed and the little noises you did when you almost screw up. you'd ask him to look at some little designs you do, he'd glance over and tell you it's cute but he ain't even looking at the cake, he's looking at you. he admires how you make everything look pretty. how some of the strands of your hair fall down your face amidst the bun. how beads of sweat form in your temples and he reaches over to wipe it off.

"there! 's all done." you stuck the candles by the cake and lit them with a lighter. you held up it for him and gave him a big smile, proud of your craft. "happy birthday, kidd!"

kidd took a moment to look at you. you were on your pajamas; panties and a silk, short-sleeved button up that looked too stained with the black and red frostings. your hair was too disheveled but the brightness of your smile made up for it, kidd liked you with messy, bedhead anyways. your eyes were tired but they still found a way to smile. you were so bright and so beautiful even if you just got out of bed and already sweated from working too hard. so he's happy that you were the first one to greet him happy birthday today.

he blew the candles with only one wish in mind after looking at you. he planted a kiss atop your head before grabbing a plate and knife. "let's slice 'er up and dig in."

kidd let you sit on his lap, letting you feed him the cake while you also munch on some yourself. he praised how well you did for the cake, urging you to get seconds. he'd eat the whole cake, not leaving anything left for the crew.

he'd reach over to kiss you, the frosting interspersing on your tongues. "thanks, baby." he mumbled through your lips, smiling. you'd comb on his locks while he presses your torso to his.

"that's not all my surprises though, you wouldn't figure this out."

"really, now?" he tugged on your bottom lip. "i can't wait for the surprise during the night." he planted a kiss on your jaw.

"come on, come on. let's get some breakfast!" you got off his lap, pulling his arm to lead him to the deck.

you took kidd to the decorated deck. red, black, and gold ballons scattered on the floor. colorful streamers and flaglets adorning the railings. a round table stood by the middle with two chairs. "what is this?" kidd asked, shimmying through the ballons and streamers that blocked his way as you led him.

"just sit your ass down, kidd." you sat him down and took a seat yourself.

you gestured to the assigned waiter, a.k.a. the kidd pirates' rookies you bullied into agreeing to be the butler for the foods, only to do the signal for about three fucking times kidd started laughing at how silly you looked. you looked back, seeing the group of men who were supposed to be your butlers to be drunk as hell, stumbling over themselves or lying on the floor. they must've drank last night, you haven't had the chance to check on them this morning since you were a mess yourself.

"love, i-it's okay, we can just-" kidd intervened, seeing how stress you are becoming.

"no...!" you promptly responded, finally facing him. "i'll just get them myself." you stood up, walking back in shame. good thing killer was there to help you bring food to the table.

after that disaster, kidd was fondly waiting and ready to start eating with you. fortunately, kidd lightened up the mood by cracking up some jokes here and there. well, he wanted to see you laugh a lot on his birthday. that's what he wished for.

you two spent the day singing and drinking with the crew. playing games with everyone to pass time. having a huge boodle fight. and chewing up the rookies who fucked up earlier.

until the evening came and everyone was either cleaning up or flat out drunk. you and kidd are already in his quarters as you donned a lacey lingerie in red. kidd was waiting by the edge of his bed, legs spread as he took in the sight of you.

"come 'ere, tiger." he bit his lip, doing the 'come' motion on his hands. you made your way toward him, teasing by walking slowly, keeping eye contact, your hands tracing your body from your hips to your chest. when he finally had you in his grasp, the door busted open.

"c-captain! th-there's fire!-" a daring rookie had bursted out of the door, he seems to be in real panic since he wasn't fazed by the glare of the both of you until he finished his sentence.

"what?" kidd answered, pissed at the interruption. "this better be fuckin' serious or i'll throw you overboard." he stood up while you grab your robe to cover yourself up.

"start talking." you crossed your arms, the blush on the boy's face was evident by the sound of you.

"h-heat-san and wire-san are washing up but... suddenly there was fire." he stuttered, nervously sweating under both of your gazes.

"there was fire when they're...washing up?" kidd repeated, puzzled at the fucked up statement. both of you rushed to the kitchen and there was indeed fire. the entire wall was burning and simmering in flames, heat must've been so drunk. kidd slapped the back of heat's head, asking him what the fuck he was doing while you stand disappointed in the corner.

since it looked like kidd had it under control, you sighed and silently went by the bow of the ship. your heart was heavy and you were so sad that today was full of fuck ups. your cake surprise was blown, the romantic breakfast was a bust, and the sexy time was interrupted. you couldn't even make kidd's day romantic and magical. you leaned by the railings, staring at the sea as you let tears flow by your eyes.

kidd soon took notice of your absence so he immediately went on his way to find you.

"hey." he called out, knowing that you're already crying from the way you were hunched over and your shoulders were shaking. he placed an arm around you, rubbing your shoulders as you rested your head on his chest.

"i'm sorry." you mumbled with wet cheeks and quivering lips. "this day was supposed to be special, but everything i planned for was a disaster."

"don'tcha worry about it, sweetness. you can always make it up to me later, with no clothes on." he squeezed your cheek, winking afterward. "but in all seriousness, i had fun today. it's all because you were there." he rubbed the tears off your eyes, kissing your forehead afterward. "the cake, the breakfast, and god the way you looked in that lingerie. it was the first birthday that i was entirely grateful for this day cuz you made me feel really, really special. aye?" he held your cheek with his hand, earnestly looking through your eyes. "you're the greatest fuckin' present i have ever received, you know that?"

"romance looks good on you, kidd." you smiled, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. his snowy skin soon being flushed from your gesture.

"aye." he tucked strands of hair by your ear. "but you know what else will look good on me? you." he instantly carried you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and carried you to his quarters. "let's fuck until daylight cuz that's what the birthday boy wants."

he started off by leaving lip marks on your thighs, biting, kissing, and licking the plump flesh while he was carrying you. he plopped you down the bed, his golden eyes teemed with desired as it peeked through his crimson locks. he slid your panties down with his teeth, his breath tickling your skin, and tossed them somewhere on the floor. he slithered his tongue down the crevice of your folds, his metal arm held your neck in a firm grip while his human arm played with your mounds. he eagerly sucked and nibbled on your folds, spreading them deftly. he elicited vulgar moans from you, moans that would make the crewmates from the other room sweat coldly. he loved the way you pulled on his hair as you screamed for more.

he then lied on his back by the bed, arm at the back of his head as he watched you bounce yourself on his length. his hard, girthy length spreading your cunt as you struggle to sit on it. your back was facing him, ass on full display for him to play with. it was his favorite position after all.

he savored how you periodically looked back at him with that helpless expression, lost in ecstacy and pain. how your pants were in rhythm with his grunts as he relishes on your tight warmth. so when you mutter that you're close, looking back with a pleading gaze as your cunt felt numb and your rear was red from his handprints, he felt himself release inside, not being able to hold back from the literal dream that was before him.

"fuck, sorry, i couldn't hold it b-"

"you're lucky my period just finished." you joked, smiling at him. "besides, it's your birthday. i'd consider it."

once you came, he planted a kiss on your shoulder before hugging you by your waist, tightly basking in your warmth and touch. "sun's still down." he bit his lip, anticipating your reaction.

"you're lucky it's your birthday."

waaaahh it's my baby's birthday!! 🌷i just rushed this during the 6th oml 😩 nsfw ver coming soon i promise!!

[talesofesther]

sweet like cinnamon

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: The small coffee shop became Jenna's favorite place in town, more so when she meets someone special there.

Requested by anon

A/N: The classic coffee shop story, we love to see. <3

Masterlist

When one is working on a movie, spending most of their day in a busy set surrounded by ten things happening all at once; it's inevitable to crave some peace now and then.

Jenna considers herself a little lucky. For the time of the filming, she's settled in a smaller town, and, all on her own, she found a small place to hide away sometimes.

It was the consequence of a wrong turn that brought her to the simple cafe; it was all warm colored, tones of brown and orange, overflowing coziness. Its back wall was brick, with multiple order options written on black boards; there were fairy lights all around, they were the main source of light, giving the place a dimmer look; the seats were 80s styled, insanely comfortable, and all around there were vintage decorations, from vinyls to an old arcade machine; not to mention they served one of the best coffees she's ever had.

Jenna fell in love with the place. It was her little secret spot.

She visits at least twice a week.

Today, she walked in hugging her hoodie closer to herself, feeling the cold air from outside dissipate into warmth and a fresh scent of cinnamon as the glass doors closed behind her. Jenna breathed in the calming atmosphere, smelling something sweet in the air. Maybe she'd have more than just a coffee today.

"Hello, sweetheart," the old lady who usually took the orders greeted Jenna, already used to her weekly visits, "the usual?"

Jenna nodded happily, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her hoodie; "and a piece of whatever this sweet smell comes from."

The lady smiled knowingly, writing down Jenna's order, "that would be my classic apple pie, you'll love it."

"I know I will."

Jenna sat by her usual spot by the window, it was a smaller table with just two seats and gave a view of the whole coffee shop whilst still being reserved enough. The actress slumped on her chair, feeling the weight of the week down on her shoulders — there was no better feeling than putting on her biggest and most comfy hoodie and sweatpants and finally taking a moment for herself away from the commotion; Jenna loves her job, but she's still human. The fairy lights in the ceiling were easy on the eyes, and the low tune of a 70s song was like gentle waves rocking her body. It felt like recharging.

"Jenny!"

The resemblance with her name got Jenna involuntarily looking up, and sure enough, a girl she's never seen before was placing her coffee and pie down on the counter. A rather cute girl, Jenna noticed.

She got up, walking over with a grin teasing at her lips. Her manicured hands closed around the coffee cup, feeling the warmth of it seeping into her skin; "it's Jenna, actually," she grinned, glancing up at the girl who now looked at her with comically large eyes.

"Shit," you mumbled, "that does not look like an 'a'." You gestured to Jenna's name written on the coffee cup.

Jenna turned the cup around, and sure enough, the calligraphy there wasn't the best.

"I'm sorry, I'm new."

Came your voice again and Jenna returned her gaze up, only to catch you pursing your lips, face growing hotter by the second as you shifted on your feet.

Surprisingly, Jenna felt her own cheeks warming up. "That's alright," her glance darted down to the tag in your uniform so she could catch your name, "gives me an excuse to properly introduce myself."

That was the first time Jenna saw you.

Her visits evolved to three times a week.

———

The small bell above the door dinged, and you looked up from the cappuccino you were making. It was just a young man looking rather tired. You cursed under your breath for the involuntary expectation.

It's not like you were waiting for her. Or maybe you were. Thing is, she only showed up once this week, and it's already Friday.

And when, for the last two weeks, she's been showing up at least trice without failure, your heart tends to jump to your throat every time you hear the doorbell.

You remember the first order you gave to her, a latte and an apple pie; simple, yet delicious.

She usually asks the same, the coffee at least. You know it by heart.

She was also the prettiest girl you've ever seen; touche, you knew who she was, but you liked to think that her social status didn't influence your relationship — could you call it a relationship? — she certainly doesn't seem to care.

The bell dinged again but you refrained from looking up this time, keeping your eyes on the filled-to-the-brim mug you were carrying to the old lady on the table nearest the door.

"Fancy seeing you here."

You flinched at the sudden sweetness of her voice right beside you, feeling a drop of warm coffee spill on your thumb.

"Christ, Jenna," you mumbled, glancing up at Jenna only to see that dazzling smile of hers being directed at you; her shoulder-length hair half up and half down; cheeks a little pink from the cold outside; black headphones hanging from her neck. She took your breath away so easily these days.

"Missed me?" She teased, getting your stomach all fluttery.

With a chuckle, you indulged her; "you could say that," before turning around to deliver the old lady's order.

Jenna made herself comfortable on her usual table, keeping her gaze aimlessly out the window as she soaked up the cozy atmosphere. The smell of freshly baked goods hang in the air; there was no music playing today, just the sound of the coffee machine and cutlery clinking together.

A mug was suddenly placed in front of her, catching Jenna's attention. A perfectly made latte macchiato. She bit back a smile.

"Can I get you anything else?" You asked, standing beside her with your hands behind your back and the ghost of a smile on your own lips.

"Maybe a bit of your time?" Jenna raised a brow, bringing the mug to her lips and taking a sip, she hummed approvingly at the taste.

Taking a deep breath in, you take a glance behind the counter to where your manager stays. You wonder if you'll get in trouble for getting too cozy with a customer.

Jenna does that sometimes; ask for more of your presence, flirt — at least you think that's what it is. Most of the time, you don't know what to do with yourself when it happens. You don't know what she wants. She has the habit of making your heartbeat skyrocket.

"It's your fault if I get fired," you said as you sat down on the chair in front of her.

And then Jenna scrunched her nose, almost closing her eyes as she said something about five minutes not killing anyone; and your heart just about melted.

"Did you always live here?" Jenna was itching to know more about you.

"Not really, I visited before" you hummed, leaning your arms on the table, "but I've moved here recently, wanted a change of scenery I guess."

You could feel her eyes on you as she twirled her coffee, spoon clinking against the porcelain. "It's a pretty little town," you shrugged.

"It is pretty," Jenna agreed, her eyes not leaving you once.

Conversation flowed quite easily between you both, she felt comfortable around you, something that doesn't happen often. It didn't help with the natural attachment she was already developing for you.

Frost was collecting on the corner of the windows yet Jenna could feel her hands slick with perspiration. Nervousness is creeping up on her more than she thought it would, the words she rehearsed this morning are shuffled in her mind.

Eventually, she cleared her throat, feigning calmness the best she could; "I was thinking, maybe we could go out sometime, explore the town together?" She finally averted her gaze from yours, "I don't have any filming to do this weekend."

You panicked, "Oh, uh-" unable to form a coherent sentence for a second, so you blurted the first thing you thought of; "I'm working this weekend."

It was the wrong thing to say because Jenna deflated a little, she pursed her lips and curled in on her herself; "that's okay, I was- it was," she shook her head, forcing a smile, "it was a stupid idea."

No. You wanted to say. It's not stupid at all. But you didn't have the courage yet, you just mumbled you had to get back to work and left her table.

Jenna watched you leave with her heart in her hands, sure she'd ruined whatever you two were or could be.

———

Jenna didn't show up for a week.

It felt like a part of your day was missing.

———

It was late at night when Jenna finally managed to walk out of the set — or more so, drag herself out. Her feet were heavy to lift off the floor with each step, her posture not as straight as it usually is.

She didn't register where she was walking until she came face to face with the glass doors of the familiar café; its fairy lights, comfy seats, and general warmth were calling out her name.

Given the time, there were only a few people inside, already finishing their drinks. Jenna spotted you through the window, her breath got a little stuck; you were cleaning the counter, swaying gently from side to side, no doubt following the tune of whatever old song was playing inside.

Jenna pushed open the door. You looked up instantly, almost as if feeling her presence.

She raised her hand in a timid wave, unsure of what to say.

You regarded her for a while and Jenna felt some kind of vulnerable under your eyes, until you simply motioned with your head toward her usual table.

Jenna understood quickly, thankful for the way you read her. She sat down, and not long after, her coffee order was being placed in front of her.

There was no need for her to ask you to stay today, you did so willingly, making yourself comfortable in front of her.

"Hi," you said softly.

Both her hands closed around the warm mug, Jenna blinked slowly, managing a smile; "hi."

"Are you okay?" The look in your eyes didn't mask your worry, her sudden fragility was tugging at your heartstrings.

Jenna nodded slowly, becoming hyper-aware of her hanging eyelids, darker eyes, and tousled hair. "Yeah, just tired."

You smiled something melancholic, "you look the part."

Jenna chuckled humourlessly, brushing away strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes, "I know you're closing soon, I won't stay long."

"I'm the one closing today," you explained quickly, leaning on the table so your hands were just short of brushing Jenna's, "so you can stay as long as you need."

Jenna tapped her mug with her nails, her eyes focused on your hands. She wondered if you could hear her heart and its frantic beating, if you could tell how much she wanted to drown in your warmth.

"Please, your company is my favorite." The tip of your fingers brushed her knuckles and you hoped she understood what you couldn't say.

Jenna took your hand. You felt gratitude, relief, and something else lingering on her touch; unaware that you had become part of Jenna's safe haven.

———

The next time Jenna walked into the café, it was because you had asked her to.

She sat down on her table, butterflies going wild on her stomach and her knee bobbing up and down as she waited for you to appear.

You came to her with two to-go coffee cups in hand, a scarf snug around your neck, and a beanie pushing your hair down, with a smile reserved only for her; "I thought we could take a walk around town."

Jenna took one of the cups from you, her hand touching yours just a tad too long, and she knew her cheeks were as red as a tomato. She didn't care.

She didn't care, because you intertwined your fingers with hers on the way out. While the coffee kept one hand warm, you kept the other.

Jenna is one of those people who just happen in your life. She shows up on your first day at work and invades your dreams on the same night.

She's the one who makes a walk around town feel like the best date ever.

She's the one who kisses you when you're in the park, with brown leaves beneath your feet and cold wind on your cheeks. Her lips warm and tasting like brown sugar and something spiced, all cinnamon and coffee. 

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Jenna’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @aahdiieb @mindingmybidness12 @melthedwarf @smugchorizo @the-lazy-turtle