#i had the concept for this that she decided to 'paint her nails' though she doesnt have nails so really its just painting lines on her meta

[voidcatgalaxy]

caption? what caption

A little about the art: This is a robot OC of mine! Her name is Nex, and she's a protagonist in a story I'm working on. She went through a bit of a redesign recently but I'm really happy with how it turned out.

[catopoliscat]

nail day / fem!reader/atsuya kusakabe.

you always had a way of catching atsuya off-guard in your relationship. you decide to take things to a whole new level with just your nails, and then atsuya's doing things he never thought he would be doing, in places he never thought he'd be doing them.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab!reader. established relationship (you've been together a few months). ‘get your nails painted the colour of his tip’. canon!verse. atsuya gives me heavy boomer energy ngl. sexting. semi-public sex (kind of, solo masturbation). mentions of edging (reader). shades of dom!reader but feels more like more sexually-open!reader lmao. shades of insecure kuskabe. man has feelings but don’t tell him. toge, maki and panda cameo at the start because i love them. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 6.9k

a/n: a masterclass in how to stretch a 2k concept into nearly 7k for no reason ft. an overlooked side character, blegh

also tumblr keeps fucking up my formatting with the texts in this so,,, ignore that. i've tried to fix it twice.

mdni.

The ‘ding’, though faint, rings out through the quiet walls of the classroom, disturbing the languid, tranquil air. 

Atsuya purses his lips around his lollipop, eyes slowly opening. He’s reluctant to move his body from its semi-comfortable position—feet propped up on the edge of the worn desk in front of him, hands behind his head. It was a favourite of his during the warmer hours of the afternoon on a slower work day, like today. From his spot, the soft sun filters in through the windows just right, warming his body and making him just the right amount of relaxed. 

He doesn’t have to look at the clock above the dated chalkboard to know what time it was, his body told him that. Just another twenty minutes and then it was home-sweet-home. 

Swinging his eyes lazily across his cluttered desk, he spots his phone amidst the ungraded papers and documents. The screen is lit up, lighting up the cracks on the glass he is still yet to replace. He can make out the faint outline of a text message, from you no doubt, but once again, he’s reluctant to move to check it just yet. 

Astuya rolls his tongue around the sweet in his mouth once, then twice. The stick rolls from the left side of his mouth to the right. 

His eyes flick up to his students across from him, his gaze moving across each one. Panda’s head rests in his large fist (paw?), his beady black eyes slowly blinking, clearly still trying to stay awake although his teacher was almost napping mere moments ago. Toge was reclined in his chair, feet kicked out across the aisle, fiddling with his phone underneath the desk where he presumed Atsuya couldn’t see it (he could, and he could definitely recognise the sound of Candy Crush when he heard it). His eyes finally meet Maki’s where she sits, arms folded, spear resting against her desk like a faithful dog. 

She holds Atsuya’s gaze with a strength a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t have, something searching in her gaze. After a few moments of uncomfortable eye contact (at least on Atsuya’s behalf), she raises an eyebrow at him, the thin arch peeking above the rim of her glasses. 

The ‘ding’ rings out again. 

“Are you going to answer that?” she finally says. Panda jolts in his seat, straightening up, looking across the classroom as if expecting someone to come running in. Toge’s eyes do not move from his lap, ‘delicious!’ echoing through the classroom a second later. 

“Get back to work,” Atsuya grumbles, shooting Maki a withering look before reaching for his phone anyway, pulling it toward his eyes. 

pain in my ass sent you a photo. 

He squints, just about making out the small icon of the photo in the corner of the notification. It looks like your hand. 

Oh yeah, he thinks to himself, nail day. Even when you were away on a mission, you always seemed to make time for it. 

Atsuya flicks his gaze across his students again and sees three sets of eyes trained on him despite his earlier order. Seems like he was the most interesting thing in this classroom right now. 

Ignoring the expectant look of his students, he unlocks his phone with a swipe of his thumb. He pulls up the text thread with you, presses on the photo and low and behold, there’s your hand, nails adorned with a fresh new colour. A pretty kind of dark pink.

Atsuya exhales a gush of air through his nose, admiring the contour of your hand for a moment. You hadn’t sent a message with it, and for a moment he’s tempted just to leave a thumbs up on the picture and call it a day. After all, what the hell did he know about manicures? Your nails looked nice, he guessed, but you always looked nice, even without them.

But then he remembers the lecture you had given him about his ‘lacklustre’ responses once and he hesitates. Despite having a sister, he still didn’t get women. At all. And it showed sometimes. Sometimes.  

He clears his throat and glances across at his students. “Woman sends you a nail picture, what do you say? Go.” 

Maki raises an eyebrow at him again, her expression the definition of the question ‘really, idiot?’

Panda perks up a little though, scratching at his chin. “Something complimentary, maybe? How about… ’looks very nice?’” 

Atsuya nods, pursing his lips around the lollipop in his mouth for a moment. It sounded good to him, at least. 

Toge shakes his head, a small, negatory ‘fish flakes’ falling from his lips. Atsuya frowns at him for putting doubt in his mind—and for the fact that the speech-user didn’t give him any sort of clue as to what he should say instead.

“Is this really necessary?” Maki drawls at last, kicking one heel over the other, “She’s your girlfriend.” 

A beat of silence passes in the classroom. 

“Give me a good response and I’ll let you leave now.” 

Maki holds his stare for a moment longer, before pushing back her chair with a loud scrape. She walks over to Atsuya’s desk and holds out her hand, even that small movement is somehow aggressive. 

Atsuya hesitates for a second, glancing down at the girl's slightly calloused palm. His eyes flick to the message thread after, scrolling up a little, making sure there wasn’t anything… obscene, before handing her the phone. 

He watches as she types something, both thumbs moving faster than Atsuya could ever manage before he hears the little familiar ‘woosh’ of a message being sent. She hands him back the phone a moment later. 

She folds her arms across her chest again. “Well?”

Atsuya raises a finger, looking down at the message. 

Gorgeous as always. I love that colour on you. 

He keeps his finger raised as he stares down at the message, watching as the small ‘read 2:37 pm’ pops up underneath his forged text. 

A little heart pops up a second later, and Atusya clicks his fingers before jabbing his thumb in the direction of the classroom door. His students waste little time in grabbing their things and filing out of the classroom, the door shutting a moment later. 

Wow, who knew you could be so adorable, Cutiekabe? 

Atsuya smiles, a touch smugly, to himself. He briefly contemplates how weird it would be if he got his students to write more of his texts to you. They clearly understood something he didn’t. 

what can I say? I try

He slumps back in his seat a little more, pleased with himself. His pride quickly melts away, however, when you reply again. 

So, who was it? Maki or Toge? 

Atsuya mutters a small ‘shit’ around his lollipop, before pulling it from between his lips with a pop. He should have known better. You had always been freakishly… aware of things. 

… what gave it away? 

The correct grammar. idiot 

Dumping his phone in his lap with a sigh, Atsuya scratches the back of his neck, wondering how he can try and salvage the situation. He knew you weren’t mad-mad, but still. It wasn’t exactly a good look for him—and he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of this for a good long while. A grown man having a sixteen-year-old write his message because he was useless with genuine affection and emotion? Embarrassing. 

The phone dings again, and he picks it back up, shoving his lollipop back into his mouth. 

Do you like them though? The colour’s special. Really special.

Raising an eyebrow, he scrolls up back to the hand photo to see what he just missed. Was pink your favourite colour? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t think so… but now he was doubting again. He had already messed up once, and now he was on a fast track to digging himself a deeper grave. 

i like them  a lot its a real nice pink

Atsuya cringes at his choice of words and wishes he could unsend the message, but he knows you’ve already seen it. 

You should. You look at the same shade every day, you know. 

…?

“…the fuck did I miss?” he mutters to himself, frowning down at the screen. 

It’s the colour of your tip, Kusakabe. 

He raises an eyebrow at his phone as his thumbs tap out another reply. 

the tip of my what? 

It takes Atsuya three heartbeats before he realises what you’re saying.

He almost drops his phone in his haste to scroll back up to the photo, his feet sliding off the desk as he leans forward in his seat. That pinkish shade on the tips of your nails glares back at him, and his eyes grow wider and wider by the second. Only now you’ve pointed it out, the shade is really fucking familiar, and it’s all he can see now. 

His lips part, the lollipop falling from his mouth and onto the floor. 

The tip of his dick. You got your nails painted the same colour as his fucking dick. 

ur kiddingreally? why

There’s a pause before he sends another stream of messages. 

is this some trend thing?  or a prank? seems fucking weird u couldn’t have done my eyes or something?  anything that wasn’t to do with my actual dick???

It’s as if he can hear the echo of your laughter in the room with him right now, even though he knows you’re a few hundred miles away. In his mind's eye, he can make out the crease of your eyes and cheeks as you take in his borderline shocked and repulsed expression. 

Atsuya knew you were younger than him, though only a little—but sometimes it felt as if you two were worlds apart when it came to things like this. He didn’t know how you kept up with it all. Especially if the main trends of today were getting your nails painted dick-colours. 

What, you don’t like it, baby? It’s like I have you with me wherever I go, now. Or your dick, anyway.  

He rolls his eyes, your teasing tone heard loud and clear. He briefly contemplates letting the message hang, let you bask in your own foolishness while he heads back to the apartment—though he had been spending more time at the school lately. Home felt a little weird without you there, as much as he loathed to think about it. 

Another ding. 

It’s gonna be so much more fun touching myself later. 

And just like that, Atsuya feels his whole world grind to a halt with just a few words. In a flash of smoke, all thoughts of his dick shade (was it really that pink though?) disappear out of the window, replaced instead with an image that comes as clearly to him as his own reflection. 

You, sprawled out on some dusted futon in a rundown hotel, naked and flushed—thighs parted, pussy glistening and wet, ready for him; clit swollen underneath those pretty pink fingertips and—

Atsuya’s head whips over his shoulder left and right, clutching his phone a little tighter to himself, despite the classroom being blissfully empty. Still, he’s cautious—as he should be while at work. In a fucking school no less. 

goddamn womanare u trying to kill me? im still at work

Atsuya’s hand drifts down, adjusting himself as discreetly as he can manage. He’s not fully hard, but his cock is definitely sitting a little heavier in his slacks just from the mere thought of your words alone. You always had that affect on him. 

Well, that, and two weeks (15 days to be exact) without you was starting to drive him insane. His hand could only do so much—even with your panties wrapped around them. 

Atsuya curses, trying (and failing) not to think about that as he feels himself swell a little fuller. Luckily, another ding registers before he can dwell on what he’s more than likely going to do as soon as he gets home. 

Why? I bet you sent the kids out ages ago. 

He purses his lips. There was that freaky-woman-sixth-sense you seemed to have. That, or he was just that predictable. 

still!!!u know what u do to me…u really gonna do that tho?

Atsuya pauses, his thumbs stilling a moment, before he continues on. 

send pics if u do 

He hesitates again, his face pulling into some sort of grimace. 

i really fucking miss you

Cringing a little, he locks his phone before you can reply, shoving it into his pocket and standing from his desk. He couldn’t deal with anything else right now, not while he was at work. Not with Satoru hanging around too. 

The last thing he wanted in the world was for that white-haired fool to see him walking around with a goddamn boner. 

Packing up his things in an even more harried and rushed way than usual, papers half-spilling out of his briefcase, he throws on his coat before heading out the door. All he had to do was pick up a few things from the store for dinner and then he was home free and he could… indulge.

Although the idea of another night fucking up into his fist imagining it was your hand around him wasn’t ideal, it would do for now. Maybe you really would send a few pictures to help him along. Hell, at this point he’d use that damn hand picture. 

Continuing down the hallway, his mind a million miles away, he tells himself he won’t check his phone until he gets back home just in case you do. It was safer that way. You were… unpredictable sometimes. Especially when it came to sex.  

“Not until I get back home,” he mutters under his breath as he strides down the hallway. 

He tells himself that, anyway. 

What Atsuya Kusakabe tells himself and what he actually does are sometimes two separate things. 

Standing in a small supermarket an hour later, looking at the different packages of instant ramen (God, you’d moan at him if you knew he was eating ready meals instead of something sustainable, but what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you), he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

His eyes move from the rows of brightly-coloured plastic packaging down to the square lump in his slacks. He chews on his bottom lip indecisively for a moment, telling himself it was probably just you goading him for actually admitting he liked having you close—and not the pictures he had already spent an entire train journey fantasising about. 

Atsuya swallows, ignoring the vibration as he pulls a random ramen packet from the shelf and dumps it in the basket on his arm. 

He’s standing in the beer and wine aisle when his phone vibrates again, reminding him about the notification. His eye twitches, but once again, he ignores it—dumping a four-pack of cheap beer into his basket alongside his cheap meal. 

Again, his phone vibrates in the fresh-food aisle (he doesn’t pick anything up, just passing through on the way to the candy), and again, he ignores it. 

Three more times it chimes, in quick succession, as he picks up a lollipop. His fingers twitch around the stick as he stares at the packaging—strawberry and sakura-flavoured! 

Flushed pink colour, stick included. 

Atsuya swallows, throwing the lollipop back on the pile quickly and instead grabs a watermelon-flavoured one. Bright green. 

His phone vibrates once more on his way to the checkout, and Atsuya’s resolve breaks like a taut wire. Impatience finally wins out. 

As he digs his hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone, he tells himself it’s because he cares. After all, you rarely texted him this much. What if you had run into trouble? Maybe you were asking for help? Burying the voice that tells him that if that were the case, then you’d at least call him—he swipes open his phone— 

—and then he nearly drops the damn thing on the floor. 

Phone opening straight back up on the message thread, he’s greeted by several photos of you—fully naked, spread out across sheets, just like in his earlier fantasy… but fucking better because this was real. Right in front of him. So close, yet so far. 

Atsuya slams the screen against his chest so fucking quickly it makes a loud thump, and an older woman further down the aisle sends him a strange look. He offers a strained smile in return as he turns his back to her, his heartbeat thumping against his ribs. 

Close the damn thread, Kusakabe, he tells himself, wait until you get back home. 

What he tells himself and what he does, however… 

Atsuya walks quickly, quicker than he ever did at work, until he disappears down an emptier aisle, heat prickling at the back of his neck. His footsteps draw to a stop right next to some laundry detergent, and with a quick look left and right, he peels his phone from his chest like a bloodied bandage, slowly, as if scared of the damage underneath. 

He takes another peek at the images, and sure enough, there you still are. It might not have been some rundown motel or futon (thank fuck), but the white sheets underneath make the familiar flush of your skin practically glow. The first few images are of your face and chest, smiling up at the camera above you all sweet and saccharine like you have no idea what the fuck that look does to him. His eyes trail over your face, your lashes and the curve of your lips, before slowly dragging downward, down your neck and across your collarbone, until his eyes lock onto your breasts. 

You’ve got one hand squeezing one of the mounds, freshly done fingernails digging into the plump flesh just enough to leave indents. The pink of your nails shines in the low light, and his mind snaps to the thought of his cock between your tits, sliding between the valley slick with spit and pre-cum as you looked up at him from underneath your lashes. It was something he hadn’t done yet but fuck if he hadn’t thought about it. Dreamt about it sometimes too.

“…oh fuck,” Atsuya mutters under his breath, glancing around him once more to make sure he was still alone. He was, but this was dangerous—he knew it. He became distinctly aware of the potential of cameras around, scoping out for thieves and delinquents. All it would take was one dedicated employee who was paying attention to see a grown man lusting at pictures of a naked woman on his phone in the middle of a fucking store. 

Was it… wrong that Atsuya kind of liked that idea? Not the thought of anyone else seeing you like this, fuck no, but… the thought of someone seeing that this was the person he got to go home to every day. The woman he called his own. The woman he got to see like this in the flesh. The woman he got to touch, feel, fuck. He’s always been proud to show you off in his own way, but this was a whole new level. 

Atsuya’s really glad he adjusted himself earlier, but fuck if the growing thickness in his slacks wasn’t uncomfortable. And embarrassing. 

Glancing down at the photos again, he releases a shuddering breath. The POV of the pictures taken above makes Atsuya feel like he’s there, right above you, hips between your thighs like he fucking should be—not about to pay up on some groceries and go home alone to an empty apartment that still smelled like you. 

Another picture comes through, this time of between your thighs, and Atsuya has to suck in his bottom lip to stop from groaning aloud. 

Those pretty folds of yours, already glistening with arousal; underwear hanging off the soft thigh of one leg… the sight is fucking sinful. Your middle finger is already buried deep inside you all the way to the knuckle, the rest of your fingers splayed out around. 

That fucking shade of pink is staring at him once again, reminding him of your choice, your reasoning, and Atsuya finally gets the prank, the trend, whatever it is. He fucking gets it now. 

As his grip on his phone tightens, threatening to bend the already damaged plastic underneath his fingers, another message comes through. 

I miss you too, ‘kabe. See how much? Two fingers deep and all I can think about is your cock instead. 

Atsuya’s mind spins, clouded with lust and thoughts of you and you only. He feels like he might sway on his feet as the full force of his need and longing seems to hit him square in the chest, sending him dizzy. 

Oh, how he missed you. He missed you so fucking much. 

He leans up against the shelves, some of the boxes of powdered detergent rustling underneath him, but he pays it little attention. His eyes are locked on those photos, and the reminder that you missed him just as fucking much as he missed you. 

Are you hard for me too? 

Atsuya’s quick to adjust the basket hanging off of his arm as he brings both hands up to his phone. 

u have no fucking ideaur so goddamn sexy you know that??i’m hard as a goddamn rock right now

Show me. 

Atsuya’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in surprise. He glances over his shoulders once more and sees a young couple walk past the aisle and onto the next one, giggling about something. 

i canti’m in a storenot in the mood for getting arrested for public indecency

Oh? Opening my nudes out in public? Dirty old man. 

Atsuya can’t bring himself to disagree with you, although the use of ‘old’ does sting a little. 

Do they have toilets? Go there. I want to see you. 

Oh, now you were playing with fire. Opening your messages in public full-well expecting what was in them was reckless enough, but if this was heading where Atsuya thought it was—and it probably was if his resolve was all that was holding him back—then this was downright idiotic. Dumb. Stupid. Gojo-coded. 

And yet the sound of his shoes against the tiles rings out across the store anyway as he marches toward the public bathrooms, the half-filled basket abandoned on the floor.  

He swings open the door of the male bathrooms a touch more forcefully than necessary, quickly scoping out the space. It’s clean, thankfully, although the scent of bleach and other cleaning chemicals hangs heavy in the air. Hardly the sexiest place, but it’s empty—though that’s always in danger of changing. 

Striding past the sinks and urinals, he heads toward one of the stalls, pushing open the door and stepping inside before shutting it once more—and locking it too. He rests his back against the door with a sigh as he swipes open the camera app on his phone. 

The fluorescent lighting isn’t the best, but it’s all he has to work with as he takes a slightly shaky picture of the swell in his dark trousers. His cock sits thick and proud against his zipper, the outline of it abundantly clear. 

He sends it to you without a message and without a second thought, staring down at the screen intently as he sees those familiar three dots immediately pop up. 

Fuck, you really are hard. Just for me? 

Atsuya scoffs out loud, though the sound is weaker than usual. 

who else???u think I’d send pics like this to anyone else? in a public bathroom??u drive me goddamn crazy

So cute.Take it out. I want to see it properly. 

Atsuya freezes for a moment. Although getting your dick out in a public bathroom wasn’t exactly new, this was… different. For him, anyway. Sexting, sending nudes, let alone in a public place… he wasn’t exactly well-versed in this type of thing. It had always seemed a little young for him. None of his previous partners had done anything like this. 

But he had no idea whether this was a regular thing with your past partners though… 

…and the thought of that alone has his one hand fiddling with this button on his slacks, trying to tug it free of the hole. He just about manages, though his zipper requires a little more finesse, but eventually, that gives too.

He heaves a small sigh of relief as the constriction on his aching cock finally lessens, and inching his trousers and boxers down just enough, he lets it spring free. He shivers slightly as the cool, stagnant air of the bathroom hits his overheated skin, the flushed head (pink, pink, pink) shining up at him. 

With a slightly shaking hand, he wraps his free hand around the base of his cock, twitching at the minute stimulation. He snaps another picture and sends it once more.

see what you do to me? god I wish u were herethe things I’d do to you right noweven in this fucking bathroom

Your reply is almost instantaneous. 

Touch yourself and tell me. 

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He wonders if that would be too far for him right now considering his environment. He wonders how the hell he’s even meant to type one-handed. He can barely do it with two. 

A second later, you’re answering his questions for him as he sees his phone light up in his hand, displaying your caller ID. A picture of you and him on one of your first dates stares back at him, the pair of you smiling together in a dimly lit booth, his arm around your waist, your head on his shoulder. You look so happy to be there. Atsuya still looks faintly surprised you turned up. 

It’s one of Atsuya’s favourite photos. His students had teased him for it when he had set it as his lock screen, so he had changed it back to default and set it as your caller ID instead. It’s how they had found out you and him were even a thing. He still remembers feeling smug at his student’s surprised faces… before the questions had started. You and her?! Is she okay in the head or…? 

Atsuya stares down at the vibrating phone in his hand, looking at your soft smile staring back at him. It’s a romantic picture. Doesn’t quite fit the vibe of what he’s about to partake in at all. 

He answers the call, holding it up to his ear. He’s immediately greeted by your breathy purr, dispelling all doubts or hesitancy like wind on sand. 

“Hey, baby,” he hears you say down the line. “You have no idea how fucking wet I am for you right now.” 

Atsuya groans, his head hitting the cool door behind him with a dull thunk. 

“Fuck, don’t say it like that,” he groans, before wedging his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why not? It’s the truth.” 

Atsuya doesn’t doubt your words, because he can fucking hear it. Behind muted moans and breathy sighs, he can hear the sound of your fingers plunging in and out of your heat, the wet squelch so audible it’s lewd. His cock twitches at the sound, and he scrunches his eyes closed.

In his mind's eye, he can almost see himself with you, between your legs, thrusting into you like his life depended on it. Though your fingers are slower than what he’d do if he was there right now, he lines his imagination up with the audio queue you’ve given, and another guttural groan seeps past his bitten lip. 

“Come on, baby, talk to me,” he distantly hears you purr into the receiver. “Are you stroking your cock for me? Just like I would?” 

Atsuya spits a curse as his free hand curls around his shaft on instinct, giving the base a small squeeze before he drags his hand up to the flushed tip. He repeats the motion a few times, practically milking himself, trying to mimic those irritating fucking teasing motions you always worked him up with. 

Not as if he needs much working up though, not now. 

“Yeah,” he exhales shakily. “Fuck, ‘s pretty fucking s-sensitive right now.” 

He hears a breathy chuckle in response to his words. “Aw, too worked up?” 

“Pent-up, more like,” he replies, fighting back another groan as he feels himself leak. He quickly collects it with his fingers, smearing it down his shaft and lubricating the way. 

“Been saving yourself for me, ‘suya?” 

Atsuya huffs a breath that’s almost like a chuckle. “N-Nah, not really, ngh—“ His hips buck up into his palm as he grazes over the sensitive tip. “Just ‘s not the same without you.” 

You coo down the line in response but the sound abruptly cuts off, replaced by a breathy moan instead. Fuck, those were amongst his favourite sounds of yours—almost as much as when you’d moan his— 

“Fuck, Atsuya,” you moan, and his cock practically jumps in his fist. He hears the sound of your fingers working faster, and his eyes roll back underneath his closed lids. 

He widens his stance and leans back further against the door, his hips jutting outward as he quickens his pace to match yours. He can feel his loosened slacks dropping lower on his thighs with every buck of his hips, his untucked shirt ghosting across his lower abdomen. His mind is trying to scream at him that this isn’t the place to be letting go like this, but it’s been so long without you, without hearing you, without touching you that he feels like God himself could break down the bathroom door and he wouldn’t care. Not while you were moaning his name like that. 

“God I miss you so fucking much,” Atsuya groans, his voice thick and choked. He works his fist a little faster over his cock, focusing on the tip mostly—just like you would when you really wanted him to make some noise. “Are you close? God, tell me you’re fucking close.” 

The urge to say ‘please’ is on the tip of his tongue but he just about resists for now—but his pride was quickly melting down into pure, unadulterated desperation as he felt his balls draw tighter and his stomach clench harder. He thinks this might be the quickest he’s ever cum. 

“Mm, I’m so close,” you reply in a semi-strained whisper. “I’ve been close for days.” 

Atsuya’s hand stutters on his cock, his eyes slowly blinking open. “…days?” 

There’s a pause before you answer, and he can already picture the way your brow arches pointedly. “You should know me better by now, ‘suya,” you chuckle. “I don’t mind edging myself now and then, especially when I’m away from you. It’ll just make it all the more better when I finally do see you.” 

Atsuya’s breathing is still ragged as he stares at the far wall of the toilet stall, his brows pinched in slight confusion. He realises that those wet noises on the other end have stopped too.

“You haven’t… cum since you left?” 

“Of course not,” you chuckle. “You think I want to cum around anything other than your cock?” 

Goddamn, does Atsuya’s cock throb something fierce at that. His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes widening at the wall. He immediately stops moving his hand, pinching his fingers around the base instead in the hopes of stopping the climax that just snuck up on him like a tornado in the dark. 

Your words, fucking hot as they were, put Atsuya in a little predicament though. Whilst he liked (actually loved) the idea that you were waiting just for him… did you… expect the same of him? Was this just all a little fun? Because he was hard as a rock right now, throbbing in his own palm, and all he could think about was how close he was and how this climax was probably going to knock the breath from him. Not the little ports-in-the-storms he’d been having since you had left fifteen days ago.

“Did you stop?” 

Atsuya blinks, feeling strangely awkward like some teenage boy on his first date all over again—exactly how he had felt on his first date with you, seeing you all dressed up for the first time, just for him. 

He becomes distinctly aware of how loud his breathing is, how it carries against the cold tiles around him. “Yeah… I mean, did you want…” 

“Don’t stop,” you say, saving him the agony of asking. “Just because I like edging myself doesn’t mean I expect the same of you.” He hears the rustling of sheets on the other side as you change positions. “Keep going, baby, let me hear how much you want me—and I’ll return the favour and then some when I get back.” 

Words fail him for a moment, because all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss you right now, to cover your body, head to toe, in kisses that he hopes portray his gratitude for you better than his words ever could. For once, he wants to leave his cock neglected and bury his face in your cunt until you’re screaming out, clawing at his scalp as he shows you just how much he fucking loves y-

Slowly, his hand starts moving again; slow, languid pumps from base to tip. His eyelids flutter, a half-choked moan pushing out from the bottom of the chest.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbles, his words thick and laced with something not even he knows. “You’re so fucking sexy, everything I want.” 

“Mm, you’re always so sweet when you get worked up,” you purr into the phone, the words so breathy that Atsuya swears he can feel the heat against his ear. “Keep going. What would you do if I were there, right in front of you? Would I be on my knees?” 

Atsuya’s eyes roll as his lids shut, his chin jutting up toward the ceiling as he picks up the pace on his cock. He can picture it so fucking clearly that the stagnant air of the bathroom fades away. The image of you on your knees, looking up at him from underneath those lashes of yours… you’d swipe your tongue over your bottom lip just to tease him, and it’d work every damn time. 

He nods his head in eager, stuttered movements, as if you could actually see him. “On your knees, on your back—ngh!—I don’t fucking care,” he groans. 

Through his haze of lust, he knows what you’re trying to do, what you always tried to get him to do. Dirty-talk. It wasn’t his forte, you usually took the lead with that (he much preferred actually fucking you rather than talking about it… that and his imagination wasn’t exactly the best), but you seemed to lap up whatever pathetic attempt he usually tried to give you. 

Swallowing thickly, he clears his throat once. “Y-you’d be naked, just for me,” he mutters, his eyes fluttering open again as he gains a little confidence. “You’d use your mouth just how I like, y-yeah?” His grip around his shaft tightens, his pace quickening a touch more. His breathing grows ragged, harsh puffs slipping past his bitten lips. “F-fuck, you always look so goddamn sexy when you look up at me with my cock in your mouth.” 

A resonant hum greets him in response. “Oh, yeah? What else do you like?”  

“The way your tits bounce as I fuck you, s-shit.” Something scarily close to a whimper coils at the back of Atsuya’s throat as he feels himself nearing that precipice again. His thighs tense up and tremble, most of his weight supported by the stall door behind him now. “W-When you, mmf, dig your nails into my b-back like you’re trying to fucking kill me—oh fuck—“ 

Atsuya’s hand is working almost fervently now, the slick sounds mingling with his harsh breaths and low voice. He’s loud, far too fucking loud for a public bathroom, but he’s so close, so worked up that it barely becomes a concern anymore. If he focuses, he can smell your perfume instead of cleaning chemicals, feel the heat of your body against his instead of the cool door against his back—feel the heat of your pussy hugging his cock so tightly it’s like you’re begging him to fill you up with every stroke— 

“I’m close,” he rushes out, his tone almost panicked as he feels the intense prickles working up the base of his spine. His skin feels like it’s burning, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention like there’s a storm coming. He knows this climax is going to be intense—intense in a way that only you can ever work from him, even if you weren’t actually here. 

“Waiting for my permission?” you giggle, and Atsuya wants to snap at you but he can’t, not right now because… well, he is. He just wants to hear you say it, that you want it. That you want him. 

“F-fuck, don’t joke right now I c-can’t hold i—“ 

“Cum for me, Atsuya.” 

And just like that, Atsuya lurches over the edge so fierce it sucks all the air from his lungs. 

A sharp gasp catches in his throat as his cock pulses in his hand, ropes of his essence shooting from the tip so suddenly it makes his back arch. A loud, guttural groan bursts from his lips, his hips stuttering, expression pinched into something almost pained as he cums harder than he can ever remember before. Thick, pearlescent ribbons land across his fingers, shirt and tie, some even hitting his collar too. Pitchy curses leave his lips in a symphony, his vision swimming. 

Distantly, over the pounding in his skull and the blood rushing in his ears, he can hear you coo praises down the line as he continues draining himself of every drop he has, stiff grunts accompanying each stroke. His hand only stops when the sensation becomes far too much to bear, and he lets his hand fall from his cock back to his side with a ragged sigh.

His body slumps against the stall door, his eyes hooded as he tries to catch his breath. He can’t even bring himself to look down at the state he’s in, not right now—not while his head was swimming with endorphins and he finally felt sated for once. 

Fuck that warm, sunny spot at his desk. That had nothing on this. 

“Fuck, I wish I was there to see that,” you finally say after a moment of silence. “Feel good?” 

“…you have no idea, babe,” he murmurs, a small, lazy smile tugging at the side of his lips. “God I needed that.” 

You chuckle again. “Sounds like it, babe. I’m surprised the whole store didn’t come running to see what that groan was.” 

Atsuya can’t help but chuckle in response, though his smile is a touch embarrassed. He makes a mental note that he should probably avoid this store in future. It was going to be awkward enough leaving. 

And he still had to get something for dinner. He’d probably order takeout. 

Fuck it, it was worth it. 

Going to raise a hand to his clammy brow, he swiftly pauses, the sight of his soaked fingers making him curse. His eyes finally flick from his hand to his stained shirt after, the mess causing him to grimace, almost repulsed. “Fuck, it’s everywhere,” he grumbles, wedging his phone in the crook between his ear and shoulder as goes to grab some tissues. 

This, of course, makes you practically howl with laughter into the receiver—but Atsuya can’t bring himself to be pissy. Not when he hears you like this, not after you just talked him through an orgasm so explosive his legs are still trembling. 

Not while you were… well, you. 

As Atsuya does his best to wipe himself down and pull his trousers back up, your laughter eventually dies down. “Now I really wish I had been there to see that… just a pity it wasn’t inside me.” 

Atsuya pauses as he curses under his breath, his oversensitive cock twitching in his repsonse. “You and your goddamn mouth,” he mutters, dumping the soiled tissues in the toilet and flushing. “You’re the whole reason I’m in this toilet, you know.”

“Hey, you chose to open those photos in public, perv.”

He doesn’t argue with that. Though he would never admit it aloud, lest he give you the pleasure, he was weak for you. More than even he was aware of–and time away from you was only proving that.

“When are you coming back?” 

“Tomorrow morning,” you reply easily, making Atsuya wonder just how the hell you were so relaxed after supposedly edging yourself for days. “The cursed spirit was dead before twelve today. Got my nails done afterwards as a little treat.” 

Atsuya shakes his head with a snort as he steps out of the stall finally, making his way over to the sink as he continues to try and fix the damage he caused. He places his phone gently on the counter. “You’re strange, you know that?” 

You hum in agreement, and he can already envision the way your lips pull to the side in that little smile he loves so much. “You love it.” 

Atsuya washes his hand in the sink, glancing up to catch his reflection in the mirror. His face is still a little flushed, his clothes still dishevelled—he’ll definitely have to throw out his tie probably—but he realises he looks… 

…happy. 

“Yeah,” Atsuya mumbles, shaking his hands in the sink. “Yeah, I do.” 

masterlist.

[madisockz]

Hello! I wanted to share my process of how I made my Easter Pony! She is my second ever custom and she made all the trouble I had with the first one seem like a walk in the park in comparison ಥ_ಥ Let's begin!

DISCLAIMER: Custom ponies like this one are not to be played with by children nor made by children. This pony was made with the use of nail polish remover (acetone) which is toxic. You need to wash your hands throughly after use and use in a well ventilated area. This pony was also made with sharp tools such as an xacto knife, sewing pins, rehairing needles, and an awl.

First, the concept art! Trial and error caused her to look a little different than the concept art but I still love the end result!

I wanted to start with a white base to give myself a clean canvas for dyeing so I got this G3 Breezie off Ebay for only $3. I decided to first remove her mane and tail which requires removing the head. If you know anything about G3 pony customzing, you know their heads are difficult to get back on once they come off. Even when you run them under warm/hot water. So to get it back on for dyeing, I tried trimming a little excess of vinyl off the neck ring with my xacto knife. It slipped and got me right under my nail! Bad omen for what's to come!

After getting her prepped (removing her mane and tail, cleaning her, using acetone (nail polish remover) to remove her cutie mark) she was ready for a dye bath! I used Rit DyeMore as regular Rit Dye won't dye the vinyl material that ponies are made of. This was my first ever time dyeing anything that wasn't fabric so I was thrilled when she came out this warm rich brown! So pretty!

I read online that dyed ponies will leach dye onto other ponies if they touch, so I wanted to try and prevent this as much as possible with some matte sealer. Lesson #1: Even though she was dry, the matte sealer reactivated the dye! The smallest touch left a print! :(

I pushed forward! And tripped immediately after! I thought, "Surely matte Modge Podge will seal her just that much more" and to my dismay, the Modge Podge kept every brush stroke I made when it dried!! She looked like a leather hand bag! ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚ I learned later you can buy matte Modge Podge spray online but all I had was the type you brush on to your surface.

Thankfully, with the help of sixteen cotton balls and a q-tip with acetone, I managed to remove all the sealer but she was no longer that nice rich brown. Oh well I still loved her!

And whoever said the paint will protect the eyes from the dye has clearly never dyed a dark pony! Her eyes were so brown after this lol

Painting, adding of polymer clay easter themed confetti, and adding her 3D chocolate bunny cutie mark went great! It was all going well until the eyes.

I had never fully painted pony eyes before so the first attempt was pretty bad. Not even my multiple attempts at glitter and using clear nail polish as a cheap gloss on the eyes could save them.

It was so bad that I almost didn't take any pictures but when I went to seal her head, this weird white powder covered half of her face?? I had never seen this before and it freaked me out thinking I just ruined her. I managed to get it off with a cotton ball and some acetone but her paint was fully damaged.

Turns out this was caused because I didn't shake the can of sealer well enough. I needed a break....

While I took a break for a few days, I decided to watch tutorials on how to paint doll eyes and learned that it's actually pretty common to use high quality watercolor pencils; either Faber Castell or Derwent (which is what I ended up buying).

When I came back, I made the hard decision of removing all the paint and decorations from the head and starting over. Hours of work gone but it was so worth it! 🩷 Removing the paint with acetone ended up making her head lighter than her body so I had to redye her head lol. This time I mixed Derwent pencils with acrylic paints for her eyes.

Time for the hair! I've never done curls before and my original plan was to buy curly hair online but it's so hard to find in the color and curl size I wanted.

So my second idea was to buy small curlers to use on regular nylon doll hair bought from ShimmerLocks on Etsy. But when I tested them out on poor Flower Bouquet it looked so bad ಥ_ಥ

I discovered a Youtube channel you may know called Dollightful where in one of her Stock Box videos she used yarn that she unraveled to make super cute tight wavy hair for a doll. It was a perfect solution! It looks so good but omg it was tedious haha! I used it for her tail too; sectioning off the colors hoping they'd stay separated (they didn't lol).

She's nearly complete! Time for small decorations! I tried so many different ears from air dry clay to stealing some from bunny decorations I bought at the store and nothing was working! But I had one last idea...

I gave these old Littlest Pet Shop costume bunny ears some use with a flat top sewing pin and some glue so now my pony has bunny ears! Yay!

I forgot it in the concept art, but I originally wanted to add flowers to her mane but I couldn't figure out how to do that without glue which I didn't want to do, too permanent, so I opted for some beads I had on hand. I didn't have any light blue so I made some with the use of acetone (nail polish remover in my case) and boom! Light blue beads! Then I washed them off so the acetone wouldn't damage anything :)

I used a gold topped sewing pin, a butterfly charm, a felt flower and two faux flowers to create a cute hair accessory!

Finally I sewed a hair tie to a puffball to give her a removable cottontail if I ever wanted to take it off.

And DONE! She looks so good after so much time and effort! I worked on this girly for two weeks I think? She actually had a partner I designed but I've run out of time to make her :') Maybe next year? 👀 🩷🩷

[nyctoaerah]

𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐒”

[ SYPNOSIS ] You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows.

[ WARNINGS ] Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au.

[ PAIRINGS ] Yandere! Jjk x Fem! Isekai’d! Goddess Reader.

[ LOVE INTERESTS ]Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

[ NOTE ] Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Also posted in Quotev and Wattpad

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[ MASTERLIST ]

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

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WITH A TILT OF your head, you felt a slight shudder travel through your body when Ataraxia's fingers grazed your at your skin. The warmth of her breath against your skin sent a comforting sensation as you took a deep inhale.

“I know you already have a plethora of jewelry, but... I want to give you this as a token of my affection,” she whispered, her nimble fingers placing a delicate necklace on your neck. You noticed that her nails were currently painted with an azure hue that mirrored the depths of her eyes that was akin to the vast ocean.

“Your nail color, it's different,” you murmured, recalling her once pristine nails that were adorned with silver accents.

“Yes,” Ataraxia replied, pausing to meet your gaze, feeling the pad of your thumb tracing the curve of her lips.

“It suits you,” you complimented, prompting her to release a flattered laugh.

“Well, you mentioned adoring the color of my eyes, so I decided to match it with my nails, my lady, ‘have to hear some compliments coming from my girl’s  pretty mouth, you know?” she confessed with a laugh.

You heaved a contented sigh, pressing a tender kiss on her forehead, your lips pressing against her forehead longer than expected.

“mhm, ‘course i do,” You mumbled. “After all, why wouldn't i?”

“I could look into your eyes for all eternity and not get bored at all. your eyes is orphic and i see the stars in them. You're the half of my soul, my lucent apricity inscape.”

As you spoke, the words flowed smoothly from your mouth as you reclined back. Ataraxia blinked, feeling butterflies on her stomach because of your words. A laugh bubbled up in her throat as she leaned in to gently kiss your neck, making you hum. Her hand lingered against the curve of your waist, her fingers deftly caressing it before moving to place the necklace again.

“What a romantic goddess i have,”

Ataraxia murmured, her voice laced with a touch of fluster. A pink hue kissed her cheeks, caught off guard by this unexpected display of romance from you. Normally, you exuded chaos and an adventurous spirit, with a penchant for using vulgar language, even in the presence of Aionarch—Like a total brazzen mindless rogue. She couldn't fathom who had imparted such vocabulary to you though. Yet, in this moment, your unexpected romanticism rendered her speechless, your words leaving her in awe.

“I never pegged you for a romantic, sinta.” she jested, and you responded by playfully rolling your eyes.

“I'm not,” you insisted, exhaling heavily as your chest rose and fell with each breath.

“But you are,” she countered with a tender smile. “Only with you,” you admitted, for It was true; you didn't display this side of yourself to others and Ataraxia was the singular exception.

“I'm flattered then.” She replied.

"Maybe I keep some surprises up my sleeve,” you mused,

“You make it sound like I've uncovered a hidden treasure,” she jested.

“Perhaps you have,” you whispered as you looked it the necklace, the upper part of the necklace resembled a tiara that was adorned electroplated chains with a blue sapphire at its center.

“What's the significance of this though?” you questioned softly, feeling Ataraxia's warm fingertips brushing against the curve of your neck, fastening the necklace tighter so it won't fall.

“It's pretty,” you whispered, a smile playing on your lips as your eyes reflected a mix of wonder and perplexity as you felt the cool metal of the necklace pressed against your collarbone.

“You're prettier,” Ataraxia responded before stepping back, a satisfied look on her face. 

“I know,” you acknowledged, reaching up to gently touch the necklace, marveling at its craftsmanship with parted lips as you glanced at Ataraxia.

“Enlighten me, though, sinta. Why did you give me this?” you inquired once more.  

“You radiate beauty,”  Ataraxia responded with a tone of admiration, her voice filled with warmth and a bright smile lighting up her face as she cleverly sidestepped your query, leaving you momentarily confused.

“I know, and so are you radiating beauty,” you stated nonchalantly as you fluttered your eyelashes, peering down at her intently.

“You seem to be evading my query though, why is that, hm?” you added with a hint of teasing, prompting Ataraxia to playfully roll her eyes at you. 

“Am I really?” she quipped. 

“Yeah? and I want you to answer my question,” you persisted, a playful pout forming on your lips as you lightly poked her cheek, eliciting a giggle from her. 

“So persistent and curious, are you?”

She softly told you, her voice smooth as a velvet as her fingers glided along your jawline in a relaxed and leisure manner, following a pattern with attention to detail.

“But where's the fun in giving away my secrets so easily?”

She said, earning an amused scoff from you.

“Fine, keep your secrets then.” you responded with a hint of amusement playing on your countenance.

“But know that I'm not one to shy away from a challenge.” your smirk was strained and forced.

“Hmm, Are you sure?” Ataraxia inquired, a quizzical expression crossing her features as she observed the subtle transformation of the smirk on your countenance suddenly dipping down into a frown. 

“Hey, now, don't let your emotions boil over, do not sulk, beautiful,”

Ataraxia soothed, her head shaking gently as she witnessed you folding your arms across your chest, a petulant pout betraying your irritation as you averted your gaze. Ataraxia couldn't help but notice the sporadic bouts of childishness that colored your demeanor, yet it was precisely this aspect of your personality that endeared you to her. She cherished you for your authentic self.

“That exquisite visage of yours was sculpted to be worshipped, not for melancholy,” Ataraxia whispered softly, her touch delicate as she caressed your cheeks with a tender hand. 

“Don't be mad, goddess,”

“That necklace, it's just a gift from a girl who's hopelessly in love with you,”

She finally revealed, seemingly wanting to end the banter, but unfortunately for her, you won't let the reason slip through your fingers like the morning mist.

“Is it really?”

“Why’re you feeling so suspicious about my intentions, my soul? Is it truly objectionable to give a gift to the one who brings brightness to my darkest hours and warmth to my coldest moments?”

She evaded your suspicions once again as she pinched your cheeks as if they were her own personal stress reliever, You could feel her soft hands and the pads of her fingers pressing against your facial muscles and you couldn't help but smirk as you allowed her to have her way while your fingers gently ran through her dark, glossy onyx hair, humming as you felt the velvety texture of each individual strand, her hair was soft and smooth,  akin to the luxurious feel of fine silk against your skin.

The memories of her lingered in your mind, the gentle brush of her touch, the melodic tones of her voice, and every detail of her presence filled your thoughts.

...

...

Your brows knit in puzzlement, a furrowed ridge of hesitation etching across your features as the memory of her giving you the necklace suddenly came in your mind—your divine intuition was telling you something, and you know it.

But what was it telling you?

Your hand dipped down to your neckline, feeling the sensation of the chilled metal meeting your fingertips before letting your hand fall down to your collarbone, tracing the lines of your clavicle.

‘Are you trying to tell me something, ataraxia?’ You wondered.

Your shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, a subtle tension creeping into your muscles as thoughts of ataraxia plagued your mind. Could she be alluding to a hidden warning? Telling you about a foreboding  danger?

You raised a hand to touch your neck, your finger tips pressing against the scalene muscles as you listened to your pulse, it was a rhythm that perhaps was a bit fast than usual.

You noticed the incongruity between your mind and body, you could sense that even your body language and  rigid posture was telling you that something was wrong.

Your eyes then drifted downwards and you noticed the faint outline of a scar on your wrists, along with other cut marks.

‘What the hell?’ You lifted your wrist up for closer examination, and it was indeed a scar. 

Why did your wounds turned into scars instead of just disappearing like it always did?

Though, that wasn't the only thing that was confusing you in your regeneration ability, you also noticed that the wounds you sustained refused to heal in your normal form, leading you to speculate if aionarch had intervened in some way—probably, and that is why you were forced to shapeshift.

Transforming into a phoenix granted you the ability to regenerate, a trait that allowed you to heal all traces of injury—but why did your body marred scars?

Suddenly, you remembered that when you woke up an inexplicable sense of foreboding stirred within you, because a very heavy something probably smacked and was thrown into you—You ended up transforming back into your human form though after that.

You paused as recollections of past adversaries of throwing heavy obstacles your way resurfaced in your mind. One particularly vivid memory involved being ostracized by the people of your celestial empire, who had secretly formed an official aionarch haters fanclub.

And since you have a deep-seated animosity towards your father, you attempted to join the group, only to be rejected by its members, all because you were his fucking daughter.

Despite your attempts to distance yourself from aionarch's actions, and to claim that you're not like him, you were branded as a sycophant , a pick me girl and ostracized. The fanclub went as far as hurling a massive pillar at you that probably was around 27 ft.

The memory made you cringe, but ultimately, you slightly found satisfaction in the fact that aionarch took revenge by killing all those who had dared to harm you. It was perhaps the only act of paternal care you received from that tyrant throughout your life—protecting you at all costs.

It was a bittersweet realization though—that while he shielded you from external threats, there was no protection from his own tyrannical tendencies. In the end, the question remained—who would safeguard you from him?

No one. Not even your mother can protect you from him. He was the most powerful being after all.

And as there was no one else to shield you from him, you had no choice but to take matters into your own hands. Your instinct was to safeguard yourself and also protect ataraxia, yet the repercussions eventually caught up with you. Now, he has transported you to this weird realm, leaving you feeling disoriented and uncertain.

Wait, hold up, How did your thoughts went from ataraxia to this? Why can't you just focus on one thought?

A sudden sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, signaling that something dangerous was imminent.

Your brows knit together in concentration, your hearing sharpening as you instinctively straightened your shrimp posture. 

The wind began to howl, the leaves on the trees and on the ground rustled loudly. Suddenly, there was sounds of movements followed by silence—and two creatures emerged out of nowhere.

The silence around you seemed deafening, with only the faint ringing in your ears breaking through the quiet, and as you focused on the scene before you, your eyes suddenly widened, your pupils shrinking, lips parting slightly.

Your face twisted in disgust as you gazed upon the strange creatures before you. They bore a striking resemblance to the hideous beings that inhabits the underworld—They were ugly as fuck.

One of the creatures had a grotesque appearance—three eyes and a bird-like body armed with sharp blade-like wings. Another creature appeared more human-like—a woman one at that. it was wearing a white kimono yet its elongated neck twisted in an unnatural way, resembling marshmallow, it has a smile on its face like a porcelain doll, as well as make up.

“What the fuck is that?” You gawked.

The sight of the woman's unnaturally contorted long neck caused a sickening sensation in your stomach. As her head twisted and inverted before your eyes, you felt a wave of revulsion wash over you. A feeling of nausea caused bile to rise up in your lower esophageal sphincter then to your throat. Desperately trying to suppress the urge to vomit, you forced down all the stomach acid that threatened to spill out.

“Uh.. who are you two?” You said awkwardly, not knowing what to say as you took a step back.

Suddenly, the strange woman-like creature extended its fucking hair which transformed into long blsck tendrils, it swiftly shot forth in your direction and coiled around your ankles, securing its hold with such intensity that it felt like a leech stubbornly latching onto you, it has a sharpness akin to thorns on a rose, causing a sensation of pain as it pricked at your skin.

“Wait— what the fuck?!”

Your throat constricted as the tendrils tightened its grip, almost as if it were attempting to fracture your bones, the tendrils reminded you so much of the vines from Xeranthi's magical (cursed) garden—that was crafted specifically to harm Aionarch. those vines possessed a deadly poison capable of harming deities, with thorns as sharp as blades that could pierce through the skin of anyone who came into contact with them—and you know it, after all, you first-hand experienced those.

For you had the same eyes as your father and lacking any resemblance to your mother, you were mistaken for aionarch by the vine. It took a week to completely rid yourself of the poison, but you managed to survive the ordeal though. However, the main focus here is the tendrils of the woman, which bore a striking resemblance to the vine found in your mother's garden—so perhaps they could be removed just as the same way xeranthi's vines could be removed.

You leaned forward, a grimace on your face, you gritted your teeth together, hands dipping down and wrapping around the tendrils in an attempt to pull out the stubborn thing embedded in your skin. The sharp thorns dug into your flesh, causing a sharp sting that made you involuntarily let out a ‘tch’ of discomfort.

“Hey! Let go” you exclaimed, annoyance evident in your voice. your fingers constricted tight on to the slimy tendrils with all your might as your knuckles grew taut and pale as you strained against the creature's grasp, pushing through the flesh-like appendages, your fingers pierced through the tendrils like a needle piercing through a fine cloth and Purple-hued blood seeped from the torn flesh, staining your skin as you finally managed to break free from its hold on your ankle. The creature let out a piercing shriek of disbelief and pain, its grip faltering as you tore through its twisted form, the sound reverberating in your ears long after it had let you go.

Your lips compressed into a tight line, brows drawn together in consternation, while a swift, harsh inhale rushed through your nostrils as you took in a fighting stance.

Just as you dared to believe you had eluded the danger, the sinewy tendrils struck once more, ensnaring both your hands and seizing your ankles. It yanked your limbs all together , binding them securely. Your jaw slackened in a moment of shock. A sharp sound of frustration escaping your lips as your body contorted, attempting to escape the sinewy grasp encircling you.

A growl of frustration bubbles in your throat as you began to babble and rant.

“First that manwhore aionarch almost killed me and tortured me on that light thingy and then something smacked my back, and then my wounds refused to heal and.. and ”

You don't even know why you're ranting right now but you know that you needed to buy time, to find out the weakness of thede creatures. Squinting down at the ugly creatures, you noticed that The creatures remained ominously silent while their visages showed a snarl—teeth baring at you.

“and.. now you're trying to fuck the already fucked up things up!” you exclaimed, each word dripping with annoyance as you exhaled sharply, your breath billowing visibly in the air. Your nails dug fiercely into the writhing tendrils, the pressure of your grip akin to a vice.

“Well, tell you what—”

Your monologue was cut short by a startled yelp that involuntarily erupted from your throat as the  tendrils tightened.

“You! I'll kill—!”

the tree-eyed creature suddenly spun around rapidly, resembling a beyblade hurtling towards you with the intention to cut the shit out of you but with swift reflexes, you managed to roll to the side and narrowly avoid its attack.

“WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL IS THAT?!”

Your vocal cords scraped against the confines of your throat as a shriek clawed its way out of your lips with the whites of your eyes stretched wide, aghast as the tendrils hoisted you into the air by your lower limbs, suspending you in air like a  prey awaiting the jaws of ravenous predators.

Unexpectedly, the twisting tendrils of the woman like creature forcefully slammed you to the ground, causing pain to shot forth through you as your face made impact with the surface. Clenching your jaw in pain, you felt the tendrils hoist you up once more, the movement accompanied by the sharp stab of a broken nose and crimson-tinted blood dripping from your nostrils. The coppery flavor of blood mixed with the ache as it trickled down your forehead as the collision with the ground seared your skin upon contact.

‘Kill them.’

A voice in your head said, and your hand began to heat up and generate fire as your eyes shook with fury as you placed your hand in its tendrils.

With a piercing shriek, the woman recoiled as its tendrils were engulfed in a searing inferno ignited by you, and soon enough, the woman was set on fire and burned.

The creature, spinning, refused to retreat unlike its predecessor though. You raised your hands, fire already beginning to take form, and With lightning speed, the distance between you two evaporated, and a breathless moment ensued as the lethal edges loomed perilously close to your flesh.

But just as the lethal edges were about to make contact, your necklace suddenly exploded, and sharp ice shards surged forth forward towards the threat.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, the rush of adrenaline drowning out all sound except for the erratic drumming of your heart in your chest. A gasp escaped your lips, your jaw slackening in astonishment, as you witnessed the shattered remains of the necklace metamorphose into icy constructs, aswell as the way those massive, sharp icicles erupted from the ground, impaling the creature and causing its innards to spill out as it was skewered by the ice. The body slowly slumped down along the icy pillars, while the creature's organs remained suspended at the tips of the shards.  

More icicles suddenly shot up from the ground, heading directly towards the other burning creature that slammed you on the ground. The icicles pierced through the creature's body,  leaving it impaled by ice shards. The sharp points of the icicles penetrated deep into its skull, specifically targeting its cerebral cortex and the intricate folds of its brain spurted out of the broken skull. purple-colored fluid began to trickle down from the creature, The sounds of the ice breaking through flesh and bone, mixed with the creature's faint sound of being in pain, filled the air.

You stood there in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide as you took in the sight of the two creatures impaled by the ice. Your focus shifted from them to the source of the ice itself, causing a chill to run down your spine and making your hands hesitate to summon fire. As you glanced down at the broken necklace given to you by Ataraxia, a sudden realization struck you. Could it have been Ataraxia who created this ice? Recalling the intricate ice statue of you she had made for your room, you couldn't help but connect the dots. It seemed entirely possible that Ataraxia was behind this. You studied the ice on the ground, noticing the resemblance to the ice crystals you were familiar with from Ataraxia's creations. 

As you felt a lump forming in your throat, your brows knitted together in confusion upon realizing that it was, in fact, Ataraxia. Could the necklace she had been a deliberate act to shield you from harm? You couldn't help but recall that she had always been vague about the true purpose of the necklace, but now it all made sense—it was meant to keep you safe. A sense of relief washed over you, causing your shoulders to sag slightly in a moment of realization. However, your brief respite was interrupted by a flash of crimson light hurtling towards you, causing you to freeze in your tracks. And the only thought that raced through your mind was the urgent need to transform into another form as a means of defense.  

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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For unknown reasons, the strange impulse to morph into a worm consumed your thoughts, leading you to to shapeshift into a fucking worm. Now, as a grotesque, oversized worm, you slithered awkwardly amidst the wreckage of the forest you and ataraxia's ice decimated, bewildered by your own actions.

Why had you chosen to shapeshift into this repulsive form? The mere thought of humans catching sight of you in this state made your skin crawl—Because imagine seeing an oversized worm that has a fucking face. You let out a frustrated groan, humiliation flooding your senses as you dragged your elongated body through the damp soil.

While you cannot fathom the reasoning behind it, you acknowledge that it proved advantageous when a crimson light materialized, because you mannaged to burrow onto the ground and maneuver like the very creature you had become. Though decidedly larger than your average worm, the discomfort of your current guise paled in comparison to the necessity for survival.

But still, it's fucking weird to turn into a worm!

Sure, you may have had asked ataraxia if she would love you even if you were a worm, but you did not expect that those whimsical musings would soon turn into a reality. Now, as you squirmed in your transformed state, embodying the guise of a worm, a gnawing curiosity plagued your mind—would Ataraxia love this wretched appearance now? 

But speaking of Ataraxia, you were convinced that the creatures that had viciously attacked you was killed by the said goddess. Ataraxia's handiwork was unmistakable. And you were grateful, for had it not been for her protection through the necklace, you would've been six feet underground.

Crawling clumsily across the ground, a sudden interruption shattered the eerie silence. A deep, voice pierced the air, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“There you are,” the voice echoed, sending a chill through your exoskeleton. Confusion gripped you, your worm-like mouth forming slurred words in an unrecognizable tone. Before you could comprehend the situation, strong hands enveloped your form, lifting you from the ground easily as if you're not an overweight worm, and you could feel the rough touch of the calloused palms against your slimy exoskeleton.

You stared in disbelief. You couldn't comprehend the situation unfolding before you. Whose hands were these that had picked you up so abruptly? The touch of the fingers that gripped you felt slimy against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. 

Looking upwards, you saw a burly and muscular man with shoulder-length straight black hair framing his face. His eyes bore a greenish hue, and it bore into yours with an intensity that made you uneasy. The man had thin eyebrows, a scar on his lip, and a ruggedly handsome appearance, but that was not your main focus, because your focus is on unexpectedly large boobs.

You couldn't tear your gaze away from the sheer size of his manly bosom.  Because what the fuck, why is his boobs so big?

“Finished eatin’ already, huh?” he remarked, amusement evident in his tone.

“Good, ‘cause we’re leavin’, need to get money, ‘cause we’re currently broke,”

What. You gawked.

Without warning, he hoisted you onto his shoulders, his broad frame supporting your weight effortlessly. You barely had time to process the situation before a pungent odor assaulted your senses, emanating from the man's body. 

The stench of sweat mixed with expired saliva overwhelmed you. What the fuck is this smell? You felt like crying, does this man even showers?

He smelled so bad.

Trying to resist the urge to revert back to your original form took every ounce of strength and willpower you possessed.

Reflecting back, you were beginning to regret transforming into a worm in the first place, given the uncomfortable situation you now found yourself in. However, you couldn't have possibly predicted that the man would jus casually pick you up and place you on his shoulder; it seemed illogical for anyone to treat a large, worm with a face in such a peculiar manner.  

The stench that emanated from him was unbearable, a putrid scent that was assaulting your senses. It was so overpowering that you couldn't help but wonder if your reaction was warranted or an exaggeration in the moment. and In your effort to distance yourself, you wriggled and twisted, desperate to evade the offensive grasp of his unwashed shoulders.

Because what's the point of surviving death from the two creatures that attacked you when this man's smell is killing you instead?

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𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟎𝟐 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒

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Suguru placed a restraining hand on the small of satoru's waist, a gesture meant to prevent the white haired man from impulsively lunging at their teacher. It was clear that Satoru was poised to do just that, fueled by his intense enthusiasm.

Satoru continued to speak and babble about the phoenix, telling yaga and shoko how powerful they would become if they were to cook and eat the phoenix, while Suguru let out a resigned sigh and turned his eyes away. Suguru had an initial plan to have his powerful cursed spirits subdue and incapacitate the phoenix, but unfortunately for him, they were killed for some unknown reasons.

These grade one cursed spirits were incredibly strong and not easy to defeat, so how did they get killed? The mystery of who had killed his cursed spirits lingered in Suguru's mind, causing his brows to furrow as a sense of unease settled in. His throat constricted imperceptibly, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on Satoru's waist, but the man didn't seemed bothered as he was too deep in telling shoko and yaga what they found in the Forrest.

“I swear! There's a phoenix in the forest and it was talking too!” He raised his hands and utilized dramatic gestures to emphasize his point. 

“Oh yeah?”

Shoko drawled, showing her interest in Satoru's statement. However, a closer examination of her eyes revealed doubt about the truthfulness of satoru's words. It was clear that she did not believe him, as it seemed far-fetched to think that someone like Satoru, who seemed immature and is a total manchild, had actually encountered a talking phoenix in the forest. After all, phoenixes are mythical creatures and they are extinct and animals can't speak.

Therefore, it was likely that Satoru was simply dreaming. Shoko's gaze shifted to Suguru, noticing his discomfort and the disoriented look on his face, as if he was deep in thought. This observation caused Shoko to raise her brows, questioning whether Satoru's story could be true after all. 

Humoring Satoru, Shoko asked, “How large was it?” This simple question made Satoru feel heard and acknowledged.

Puffing out his chest, Satoru exclaimed,

“It was huge!” He illustrated the size by making a wide circle motion with his hand. 

 “Like very huge!”

Yaga, feeling exasperated, questioned,

“Are you sure that this isn't just a dream?”

After listening to Satoru's verbose monologue for nearly thirty minutes, yaga had become extremely tired. Yaga observed Suguru's uncharacteristic silence, making yaga believe that there's something fishy happening.

The relentless rambling had started to erode Yaga's confidence in Satoru's credibility, making it challenging for him to believe in the veracity of his words—especially since satoru's words were delivered poorly.

“I swear I'm not lying!” Satoru insisted defensively, his jaw tensing slightly.   Why is it so difficult for them to trust him? Is their faith in him so fragile? It is quite baffling, because if only Yaga would have faith in him, they could successfully capture the phoenix, cook it, and enjoy a lavish feast!

Who wouldn't be excited about having a mythical creature like the phoenix as their meal? After all, the phoenix supercharged version of chicken.

Why is it so hard for them to grasp the potential powers they could acquire by eating the phoenix? Satoru was dumbfounded by the inability of the others to comprehend his plan. While he was trying to be strategic, they dismissed his ideas as mere fantasies. It was truly frustrating for him to witness such narrow-mindedness.  

Satoru shifted his gaze towards suguru, hoping that his friend's word would hold more weight in the situation. suguru had always been known for his honesty and reliability, qualities that could potentially sway others' opinions in their favor.

While satoru considered that his own credibility might not be enough to convince others, he felt confident that suguru's reputation would lend more credibility to their shared message. essentially, there was a slim possibility that yaga would be more inclined to trust suguru's account of events than satoru's.  

“Suguru saw it too!” Satoru said, pulling the black haired man out of his thoughts.

“Uh... yes..” Suguru murmured in a low voice, his brows knitting as Satoru gradually shifted his weight and leaned closer, the warmth of his back pressing into Suguru's chest.

“See? Even suguru knows it!” 

“You're blackmailing him,”   Yaga spoke in a flat tone, observing Suguru's unease and coming to the conclusion that Satoru was likely pressuring the man for some reason.  

“I would never do such a thing!” Satoru denied vigorously, shaking his head, feeling offended.

“Well, in reality, you might,” Shoko chimed in, a smile playing on her lips as she leaned her head in her palms in intrigue.

“You blackmailed utahime-senpai back then, so who's to say that you won't blackmail geto?” Shoko pointed out as her mind drifted back to the time when Satoru had wielded a juicy piece of blackmail against Utahime after catching her in the midst of doing some bizarre ritual while wearing a cult mask. As the memory resurfaced, Satoru swiftly interjected,

“That was back then”

“He did what?” Yaga's voice cut through the room like a dagger, his eyes boring into Shoko. The air crackled with tension as she met his gaze with a nonchalant shrug, her fingers deftly weaving intricate braids in her hair.

“He blackmailed Utahime-senpai,” Shoko confessed with a chill grin dancing on her lips.

“Gojo,” Yaga uttered in a low, warning tone.

A deep groan escaped Satoru as he shifted uneasily, the vein on his neck pulsating with frustration. He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of irritation at the changing dynamics of their conversation. Satoru was in no mood to dwell with a topic consisting utahime.

“Come on! Let's just shift our focus back to the phoenix,” Satoru pleaded, his exasperation palpable.

“But i assure you guys, I have no intentions of resorting to blackmail, Suguru.” His words were tinged with a hint of grumbling discontent. Shoko couldn't help but chuckle softly at the exchange, finding amusement in the banter unfolding before her.

Sensing the escalating tension, Suguru let out a weary sigh, his patience waning as he longed for the ordeal to reach its resolution.

“Seems like someone’s on the verge of tears,” he remarked with an air of exasperation, unable to suppress his frustration any longer.

“Crybaby.”

Satoru’s gasp of mock offense filled the air in response to the taunt.

“HUH? you're supposed to be on my side!” Satoru whined.

“you know what? Suguru, just speak up and tell em’!” Satoru said, his succulent lips curved into a petulant pout, and his long, white lashes fluttered as he fixed his imploring gaze on Suguru.

Suguru’s brow knitted in confusion as he reached a hand to knead the tense knots in his neck, feeling the stress of the situation coil like a viper within him. “Tell them what?” he questioned dumbly.

“That I’m tellin’ the truth” 

“This is stupid”   Yaga let out a deep sigh, filled with exasperation, as he watched Satoru seemingly wasting their precious time. The exaggerated claims made by Satoru, such as talking about a speaking phoenix, sounded so far-fetched and unrealistic to Yaga. The idea of cooking and eating a phoenix seemed particularly foolish and nonsensical to him too.

“It is, sensei.”

Shoko agreed, her indifference palpable as she lounged on her chair, feigning interest while observing the unfolding drama.

“UGH! If you guys won’t believe me then just ask suguru!”

Suguru was completely unprepared and struggled to find the right words, his mouth moving—closing and opening as if he were a fish out of water. He shifted his eyes away, unsure of how to properly convey the situation. Yaga, Shoko, and Satoru watched him closely, their eyes fixed on him as they waited for a response from him.

“Well?” Yaga tapped his foot.

“Why me?” suguru asked them with narrowed eyes, mouth dipping down into a frown, shoulders slouching in tension.

“Nevermind,” he muttered, a strained yet bemused smile playing on his lips as he endeavored to maintain a facade of composure.

“Satoru is telling the truth,” Suguru finally affirmed, his gaze sincere as he sought to convey his conviction to the skeptics before him.

“You're only defending him because he's your bestfriend ” Yaga said, the skepticism evident in his tone while watching suguru poke Satoru's cheek with his forefinger, the pads of suguru's fingers lightly traced the curve of satoru's jawline as he looked at yaga, a small smirk forming in his lips.

“It's true though. You guys should see it for yourself.”

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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.Ataraxia’s given necklace

So the necklace is specifically made to protect [Name], it won’t get triggered if [Name] was fighting, but it will get triggered if [Name] is gonna die from the attack that she was about to receive.

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.The fight only lasted for about 3 minutes and it was really fast, just kind of placed sn expanded version of the cringe fight or whatever.

𝟎𝟎𝟐.Toji had mistaken [Name] for his worm because [Name] ended up shapeshifting into toji's worm unintentionally and coincidentally, he also doesn't know that it's not his worm because he doesn't know the difference, save for the smell.

𝟎𝟎𝟑.When toji said that "you finished eating" it means that the worm had finished feeding on whatever dead animal/human is on the forest because the forest [Name] was in is sort of a suicide forest.

𝟎𝟎𝟒.Toji's real worm was still eating.

𝟎𝟎𝟓.Yaga accepted after hearing the 2 hour explanation of suguru and sent the first years to confirm whether there really is a phoenix.

𝟎𝟎𝟔.Red was released after two minutes because gojo kept on getting distracted

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

╰┈➤ ; 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru is already imagining how you would taste<3. He begged to join yu and kento in searching for you in the forest, but kento didn't want him to join them.

╰┈➤ 𝟓% (𝐔𝐩 𝟑%)

—𝐒uguru was already having suspicions about you, he asked if you were a creation of yaga but the older male said no, and suguru was very much starting to have thoughts that you're not really a phoenix, and he was starting to suspect that you're a shapeshifter or something. (He watches theory videos about shapeshifting things)

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐓oji was confused because his worm is acting weird, though, he's still clueless that you're not actually his worm. He's still confused though, because you doesn't smell like his worm.

╰┈➤ 𝟐% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒hoko was intrigued by you. She wanted to see you. Or maybe she just wanted to conduct experiments on you. She still doesn't believe that you exist though. 

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𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

Satoru is very much gonna act like a brat in here. Also, I'm kind of pissed at gege for giving my boy suguru an L. Like he nerfed suguru and all that, like giving all the attention and power to yuta, satoru and yuki but making suguru weak. It just pissed me off. I intend to make him powerful as he is, just like his and satoru's title as the “strongest”.

Anyways, It's kind of a thing in my country where we count toji as "maasim" (smelly) cause he seems like he doesn't take a bath or something HAHHAHA, and also, enjoy the readers life as toji's worm<3 (for now).

[somnolenthour]

𝑨𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x f!Reader

CONTAINS: Fingering, nudity, unconsentual touching, light human trafficking(?), rich people nonsense, unconventional marriage

A/N: I had this concept in my head for like ever so... If people like it, I'll continue it.

You hissed out of habit, the sharp astringent scent of alcohol burning your nose as the nurse prepped your arm. It was obvious what was going to happen next and frankly, you didn’t want to see as the needle pierced your skin like it did several times before. The phlebotomist was skilled, probably doing this a million times before and while the prospect of getting your blood drawn again never got old and the fear of needles never exactly went away. The bundle of nerves that twisted and tied in on itself like an ouroboros-esque manifestation of anxiety trumped the other fears you usually had.

“You have beautiful veins.” The voice of the doctor was distant, your mind wandering to another place while they pressed down on the small wound with a rolled up piece of gauze.

“Thanks..” You looked down at your feet, focusing a bit on the glitter left in the cherry red polish that went unnoticed the night before when tired eyes focused on the ceiling instead of your roommate that painted them when she ran out of her own nails to paint. Courtney was especially nervous that their time in this school was ending.

“So why did you join?” Courtney lazily slumped on your bed like a cat, her stuffed animals probably more judgemental than she ever could be. The magazine on your lap growing clammy as you mulled over the reason you decided to ‘throw your life away’ by joining your mother’s footsteps by joining St.Monica’s academy for prestigious young women. It was practically a finishing school with a focus more on the aspect of marriage than education. It was invite only with only girls coming from money (like Courtney) or coming from good stock (much like yourself).

“I sort of wasn’t going to join.” Your fingers trailed along the magazine, the scent of the perfume sample wafting in the air in thought.

Courtney raised a brow, wanting you to elaborate.

“My folks divorced y’know? I know that’s like a huge no-no around here.” You blinked in thought. “But I guess they put that whole pride in making successful wives aside.”

“So…” Courtney blinked a bit. “Why join then?”

“Bored.” You shrugged. “Apparently I have a unique gene pool, though. Learned that yesterday.” You rubbed your arm.

“That’s cool.” The blonde rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, too lazy to crawl back to her own bed.

“Why did you join?”

“Oh right.. yeah.. Uhm…” She closed her eyes tight, biting her lip as she forced the answer to the surface like it was the hardest thing for her to do right now. “My folks thought it was easier than just sifting through all these eligible bachelors or whatever. I wasn’t really listening..” She put her hand on her head.

“So in a few years they’re just going to auction us off.” Sure the idea of marrying into wealth was nice but it was all up to chance.

“Did you ever want to marry for love?” Courtney opened her eyes, her tired expression looking for some type of reassurance but you couldn’t pin what type she really wanted. Instead you closed your magazine and laid back as well.

“I never really saw myself getting married in general. Plus love is so… complicated. All these guys want is a pretty face that will smile and suck their dick, turn a blind eye to whatever they’re doing behind closed doors because what business is it for us to know anyways?”

“I think I just want a baby..” Courtney sighed.

“Here’s your number.” The assisting nurse pressed a temporary tattoo to your neck, the cool sensation making you shiver beneath the cardigan you wore to stave away the early winter chill that seemed to creep in through the cracks of the building that have stayed with minimal updates since the Victorian era. You hopped off of the examination table and joined your peers outside of the office. All of them in a similar state as they stared out at the shiny new cars that lined up outside. The men outside that they did see were all dressed in black with masks to match it.

“It looks like a funeral out there..” Courtney cut through to you, her soft voice hoarse from her crying last night.

“Because it is.” You shook your head and all those years of learning etiquette, studying high societal rules, cooking, child rearing, sexual education (with physical courses for learning positions..), and whatever was slipping your mind were all about to put you into play, and it felt like it all was about to be booted out of your head in a matter of moments. They all wore numbers, they’d all get sold off to the highest bidder, and they all would become whatever their husband they wanted to be. Maybe it was the regret settling in, or maybe it was the terror of the unknown, but you didn’t want that anymore.

“Who do you think will sell the highest?” Courtney joined you by the window sill, both of your eyes trailing to the crowd and the realization you’ve known almost all of these faces for years falls on you. The same uniform shirtdress style that everyone attempted to modify so it didn’t look downright geriatric, hair pulled up, accessories, layers, different colored tights, loafers of varying neutral colors. This was all they knew.

“Evelyn.”

“I think Kristie might have her beat.”

“What about Jean? She has a bright smile.” They both glanced over at Jean, who was busy laughing and pointing out the window without a care. Any smart man would choose her. She’d be easy to parade around. “Not me though, I’m going to be twenty dollars.”

“Twenty dollars?!” Courtney snorted, “If you’re twenty, then I’m worth a pack of razzles!”

“Courtney, have some self-respect!” She huffed, “You’re at least worth a pack of tropical razzles.” You both laughed now, leaning on each other.

“Keep in touch with me if you can, okay?” She sniffled. “I don’t know how, but if we meet up again..”

“You know I will.” The hug was crushing, you both sniffling. “Please don’t cry..”

“I should tell you the same thing!”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Despite various warnings and being told about this constantly from established matrons to the point that it became an inside joke for after the first year, you absolutely weren’t ready for the pre-auction showing where you’d wander the room completely naked with these men (who might be your future husband in the next few hours) could touch you as they discussed amongst themselves.

Of course, you counted your blessings that you weren’t popular. You watched as others were bent and fingered, breast squeezed. Soft noises of pleasure and embarrassment joining a chorus of casual conversation and laughter. With no hiding spot around, you wandered until a hand snatched you mid-stride. “Looks like I found a stray.” A particularly smooth voice chuckled, pulling you toward his large frame. His face was hidden, but his brown hair was masterfully sculpted to the point where the fly-aways seemed like they were there with purpose. His hand tilted your neck to read your tattoo. “One-four-three.. Cute..”

You side-eyed him, his sense of humor falling flat.

“It means ‘I love you’ sweetheart.” Even with his eyes hidden, you could feel his eyes wander along your body. The heat blossoming beneath your skin seemed to travel as his gaze settled between your legs. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling hot and feather-like as beautifully manicured fingers circled your clit slowly. “Are you a virgin?” You gasped and almost stepped away but the anonymous man held you in place, the immediate slickness made you want to shrivel up but the sensation was unlike any other.

“Yes..” Sure you fooled around a little before. You were in your mid-twenties, but it was nothing more than some kisses and a bit of groping.

His finger moved away, leaving a trail of transparent slick connecting you both. “I’ll keep that in mind, Sweetheart.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Of course you were last.

Something karmic had to happen at some point in your four years, and whatever it cost, it equaled being dead last in an auction where you were certain that it was just perverted old men or something worse. You pushed back a displeased groan as a matron guided you to a stage with harsh studio lighting that made it hard to see out into the crowd of dark masks but you were certain there were several of them left. You felt like a deer in headlights as the distant mummer of conversation began to die down.

“Meet number #143!” The audioner called out, “No known health conditions, curious disposition, has a lineage for hyperovulation for the fellas that need heirs! Perfect companion for the businessman who loves travel, hymen still intact. The starting price is twenty-five thousand!”

The crowd exploded into shouts and waving signs, and your eyes darting around as a pit grew in your stomach. The price on your head ticking up and up, much like your heart rate.

786-

872!

900!

The crowd began to quiet down, and others were either unable or unwilling to touch the price. You stood in disbelief.

“Nine-hundred thousand dollars! Going once! Going Twice-”

“A million.” A sign raised, casual.

“A million!” The audioner screamed, the excitement overwhelming. “Going once! Going Twice! Sold to the gentleman before me!”

They wrote the number on the man’s sign on a sticker before slapping it over your tattoo, guiding you behind the stage to sign paperwork. “Congratulations Mrs.Bateman.” A matron smiled warmly as you signed your name on the marriage license.

“That was nervewreck-”

“A million?!” Evelyn was inconsolable from the other end of the room, her friends consoling her. “I barely broke seven hundred, and she’s a million?! Fucking bitch-”

You shrunk back, the pen being taken from you as you rushed to get dressed again.

Mrs. Bateman..

Why was that name familiar?

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Page 81

Page 81

Imogen’s outfit here came from some concept art I drew for a 1950s-themed Bells Hells cosplay.

(Which you can see in person on this post!)

The plant Imogen is using to stuff the mattress is lady’s bedstraw, which, as its name suggests, was traditionally used as mattress stuffing because of its vanilla-like scent and natural insect-repelling properties. (She is not actually stuffing fresh damp flowers into the mattress; there’s a desiccated pile of them next to her that she has dried out presumably with prestidigitation.)

The middle panel here was originally different and showed them settling into their new home:

Panel 3: Evening. There's a fire in the wood stove, now cleaned of rust. The loft is furnished with the straw mattress and the blankets and furs from their bedrolls. A sideways wooden box nailed to the wall forms a kitchen shelf on which are stacked a few dishes and cups. (NB every time we see the cups they have switched between being rightside-up and upside-down.) The washtub and some pots and pans hang on the walls. A table made of crates and boards holds a vase of colored leaves. There's a rag rug on the floor. Sitting by the fire, Laudna is sewing a quilt patch from odd fabric scraps she has collected, with Pâté and Calamari beside her. Imogen is stretched out nearby on the rug, reading. It's very cozy.

I even got as far as sketching it but I felt like I needed to address how the two most noodle-armed farm girls in Exandria managed to get the dead tree off the roof with their combined strength of 13. (As unfortunately it’s too early for Imogen to levitate it off using Telekinesis or Laudna to simply ask it to roll away with Animate Objects.)

My friend Snow and I brainstormed for a little bit and came up with using pulleys and levers, having a friendly monster carry it away, or just leaving it there and using it as a coat rack, but in the end I decided that Imogen’s lightning magic could probably break it into pieces with the least amount of visual explanation.

Laudna working on a quilt was meant to be a recurring visual motif throughout this chapter though so I will have to find a way to put that in later.

The underlying sketch of the last panel is REALLY old, it was from that unfinished comic I have mentioned before that I was channeling all of my frantic energy into between episodes 33 and 34. So long before they had any kind of established romantic interest in each other. They were just Like That.

It was late and by the time I was painting the interior objects I was too tired to create a new color palette so the rug is just the Southern Gothic server colors. ;)

[nestastits]

Okay so a little headcanon/theory I have is that because the Archeron sisters retain a part of their human dna, they can have babies more easily and quicker than other fae. Which would explain why Feysand got pregnant quickly (other than sjm wanting them to have a baby cause she was pregs at the time 😭).

Now to add to this, I think it’s fairly uncommon for fae to have multiple babies at a time, so if a twin pregnancy happens it’s seen as a gift from the Mother. And because the fae struggle with conception they’ve never had any pregnancy more than one or twins. Never triplets or quadruplets. And twins only happen every so often.

Now, my headcanon is that when Nessian finally decide to have babies they break free of the faes conception “rules”. Lmao the first pregnancy they have triplet girls and when they are told this Nesta passes out in the Prythian equivalent obgyn office and Cassian’s just like: 😝😝. And I say all three are girls because nes+cass embody girl parent vibes. Like Nesta is the mom who wears matching outfits and hairstyles with her girls and Cass is the dad who wears matching tutus when playing “princesses” with his girls and paints his nails the same colors. Anyways, the fae see this as a sign from the mother and throw this huge celebration party much to Nesta’s dismay. She has the house do research on how the hell it’s even possible for the first pregnancy to happen so quickly AND for it to be triplets. No reason is found though.

The Illyrians see it as a sign of evilness and say it’s because Nesta is a witch and now she’ll have her own coven😭. Cassian of course punishes any of his soldiers that say this by making them do flying maneuvers until they literally drop out of the sky.

The birth is awful and long and Nesta just wants to give up towards the end but Cassian shares his power with her and tells her how wonderful she’s doing and how amazed he is of her. The girls all three have wings. I see one of them looking exactly like cass, the other exactly like nes, and the third is the perfect mixture of each.

When it comes time to teach them how to fly, Cassian can’t stand the thought of them potentially getting hurt so he brings in uncle azzy and uncle rhysie to help. Nesta watches from a balcony on the house of wind. Of course the girls are naturals and get the hang of it after like an hour of practice and they take midnight flights every day with their daddy while mama gets some much needed rest.

After like another century Nes+Cass decide their ready for another and to their utter shock they get pregnant with triplet boys this time 😭. And Nesta’s just like: how the fuck has this happened again?!?!? And cass again is just: 😝😝. The girls are fiercely protective of their baby brothers and will start fights over them.

I see Nessian being the couple who names their children after I guess prythians version of Greek gods? Eventually they also decide to adopt some children from Illyria. I also see Nessian as the couple who have their own little army of offspring 😭spread out over centuries of course! But they don’t stop until they have a complete level of the HoW filled with their children lmao.

Enjoy!

[kimberly-stocks]

So happy that you answered my ask and are open for prompts.I have no problem with your favorite phase of Literati.I too hate Logan with a passion.I do enjoy fics in which he is proven to be the asshat that he is and Rory/Jess ride into the sunset together though.

Some prompts:

Dean never moved to SH.Jess shows up as usual in early season 2.

Rory and Paris lose the election at the end of season 2 and Rory spends the sumner in SH.The kiss still hapenned.

Rory decides to keep going to public school in SH.What happens when she crosses paths with Jess a lot more.Maybe they even have projects they need to work on together...

What if Luke and Jess moved into the appartment in season 2?Luke still has the habit to stay above the dinner for deliveries and hook ups with Nicole. How will the lovebirds use the space and privacy once they figure their shit out in season 3?.

It's all I got for now.

Thanks again and take care.

My god, this ask stayed in my inbox for a while because I didn't know how to answer it. I mean, all of these prompts are AMAZING ideas for a full length multi-chaptered fic, not for short ficlets that I had in mind when asking for prompts.

I mean, I wanna read all of those stories! Please, somebody write them!

And what's good about them is that they are all unique, and I don't remember seeing anything like this already published on AO3 or FF.

If Dean never moved in SH, Jess could've been Rory's first boyfriend. It would completely change their dynamic as a couple. Jess wouldn't have to feel less than, when Rory was constantly comparing him to Dean, like how Dean always called when he said he would, and had plans and whatnot.

If Rory and Paris lost the election, she would've spent the entire summer in SH, while Dean was in Chicago. I think I remember reading something along the lines of Rory sneaking around with Jess and him teaching her sexual stuff 'to be a better girlfriend for Dean', but that concept seems kinda far fetched to me. I can't even imagine what that summer would've looked like. It needs some serious thinking.

Rory staying in SH high would be an interesting thing to explore, when Jess shows up. They could be friends, but all of those girls who painted their nails in class in a pilot episode would definitely be all over him. How would that go, I don't know either.

And Luke actually buying an apartment to move with Jess would be such an amazing concept to explore. Jess having his own space, his own room. Rory would definitely stay over a lot, and some nsfw things would definitely happen 😏

My god, these are all amazing ideas. I don't even know where to start. I would love to write long fics for all of them, but I don't know if I have a mental capacity for it at the moment. I mean I can't even finish the next chapter of Things I'd never say. We'll see how it goes. I'm definitely gonna think about these ideas. Thank you for sending these. Have you thought about writing them yourself? I would love to read them ☺️

[erabundus]

@curiouskinetic &&. said... It's been a normal, rather uneventful (and frankly kind of boring) day, but one Sora was still content to spend with a friend. Life didn't have to be all big adventures after all, some quiet time hanging out and reading books was nice too. Though she'd finished her book earlier than expected, and found herself at a loss for what to do afterwards. Flopping down at Ren's side she let out a little huff, trying to decide whether or not she should just go to sleep. Until a scent caught her attention, and she found herself leaning towards him and giving him a little sniff. ".... hey, Ren? What's that other scent that's like... always on you?" Hm. That probably sounded a little odd. She should clarify. "Uhm, I mean, it's from a person I'm pretty sure-- someone you hang out with a lot?" Not that she had a burning need to know about all of his other friends, but she couldn't help being curious about one that seemed so important... if only judging by the fact their scent was constantly on him.

he's  fully  preoccupied  with  his  own  book  —  to  such  a  degree  that  the  wanderer  doesn't  even  look  up  when  sora  flops  down  by  his  side.  perhaps  it  stands  as  subconscious  testament  to  what  extent  he  actually  trusts  her;  ren  is  oft  prone  to  erring  on  the  side  of  caution,  even  with  those  he's  known  for  quite  some  time.  it  takes  a  concerted  effort  to  win  even  the  barest  shreds  of  FAITH  —  for  though  his  understanding  of  the  BETRAYALS  that  have  haunted  him  for  so  many  years  has  changed,  force  of  habit  still  has  its  claws  sunk  deep  nonetheless.  it  makes  these  small  moments  of  contentment  all  the  more  precious,  if  only  for  their  rarity.  such  comfort  is  ordinarily  found  in  total  SOLITUDE,  when  he  isolates  himself  somewhere  far  too  deep  in  the  forests  of  sumeru  for  another  soul  to  find  him.

❝  ...  huh?  ❞  predictably, he's  so  distracted  that  he  barely  notices  the  question.  paper  rustles  as  he  turns  the  page  —  only  for  the  wanderer  to  FREEZE  as  understanding  crashes  into  him  like  a  massive  wave.  once  again,  his  expressive  face  stabs  him  in  the  back;  a  myriad  of  emotions  flickering  across  delicate  countenance  at  speeds  nearly  too  fast  to  register.  confusion.  shock.  suspicion.  embarrassment.  the  last  one  is  particularly  NOTABLE,  for  ren  tends  to  carry  himself  as  if  he's  above  the  concept  of  SHAME  —  not  out  of  a  lack  of  self  respect,  but  rather  with  the  confidence  of  one  too  stubborn  to  spare  what  others  think  so  much  as  a  thought.  yet  now,  a  dusting  of  a  distinctly  rosy  hue  paints  his  cheekbones  and  he  stares  at  sora  with  eyes  gone  impossibly  wide.  he  has  a  sneaking  suspicion  he  knows  precisely  who  she's  referring  to;  there  is  only  one  person  who  ren  spends  so  much  time  around  —  and  in  fact,  actively  seeks  out  his  company  at  every  available  opportunity.

it's just a bit awkward to explain. ( his scent? )

❝  uh.  ❞   the  wanderer  turns  away,  pretending  to  fake  a  cough.  as  if  that  alone  is  somehow  enough  to  smooth  over  the  MORTIFYING  display.   ❝  that  person  is  probably ...  ❞  words  trail  off  just  as  quickly  as  they  begin.  he  drums  painted  nails  against  the  cover  of  his  long-forgotten  book,  trying  to  think  of  a  way  to  respond  as  succinctly  as  possible.  when  nothing  comes  to  mind,  lavender  gaze  flicks  to  his  hands.  nose  wrinkles  in  thought.  after  a  few  seconds  of  contemplation,  ren  merely  settles  for  raising  one  for  sora  to  see  —  purposefully  trying  to  draw  attention  to  the  ENGAGEMENT  RING  he  wears  upon  his  finger.  a  bit  messy,  but  with  his  tongue  evidently  taking  the  opportunity  to  rebel  against  him,  it  seems  like  the  most  painless  way  to  answer  her  question.

[waters-and-the-wilde]

HEY @kyliebyelie I had a weird couplea weeks but I did say I would yell about Nureyev and Vespa some more so *launches enrichment pumpkins*

also OG post thread for anyone who wants context it was just getting a little unwieldy

First off! re: Nureyev still being willing to bet on the hope that Juno would still vouch for him – I’ve also been thinking about how he had to be willing to bet that it wouldn’t backfire on Juno. Like, ‘you have no idea how much I did to keep the Kanagawas off you’. The fact that tying Juno’s name to his own work could have very easily painted a target on him. Even if he couldn’t have known that Buddy and Jet were going to pull a ‘come with me if you want to live’, the fact that he put Juno on their radar suggests that he trusted Buddy to begin with. To not threaten Juno, or to use Juno to threaten Nureyev. Jet talks about how the criminal reputation informs a potential employer that their prospective is reliable, but it also must work in reverse – that a potential boss won’t screw you over.

re: Nureyev being a fan is something I think about A Normal Amount

You’ve absolutely nailed the whole vibe of their communication styles, the chain reaction of politeness/rudeness → perception of emotions and control → measurement of honesty → how that exacerbates the friction, like that is such a good breakdown goddamn.

to add to that since I am constantly frothing like the cappuccino about the concept of 'solid coping mechanisms that backfire in the wrong situations' so for your consideration: one of those pesky little first rules of thieving being 'don’t rise to the bait’. Oh it was intended for Being In Situations with weird rich people or standoffs with other criminals, but when it's his default setting for responding to things, it's just gonna just drive the wedge that much further every time Vespa questions his integrity and he doesn't show where he keeps his Give A Damn. (And it's probably even harder to untangle as a 'no that's for jobs not your personal life' thing when it still has its legitimate applications in his personal life, bc Juno’s own survival reflex MO is ‘how fast can I piss somebody off to find out what I need to know’ and that ability to stay focused and letting him know when that's uncalled for is probably extremely necessary for the both of them)

‘Vespa is terrifying’ – okay so funnily enough! i'd been telling @one-joe-spoopy (pssst hey come look I've got enrichment pumpkins!) about my headcanon of 'ranked order of members of the Carte Blanche crew by how much they scare him and why number one hands down goes to Rita,' which is a whole post in itself but long story short, I think out of everybody he gets the most sense of security around Vespa (though she probably still does terrify him, like, a normal amount and for the exact reasons you described, especially pre/during Man In Glass.)

Basically the concept I’ve been toying with (and I think moreso in a later, probably post-Cyberbots context given some time to settle in) is that her opinion of him is decided and earning her approval under the circumstances is What We Call A Non-Starter. When he's reflexively trying to manage everyone's expectations and invested in their approval, and realizes in no uncertain terms that he can't win Vespa over as long as the name thing is a going concern, the pressure’s off a bit there. Though not in the healthiest of ways, necessarily, if he’s just more comfortable with letting her believe what she wants about him because that’s how he usually deals with people.

And another aspect of this sense of security dovetails with your previous points about how Vespa and Juno are more reactive than performative, how they wear their principles on their sleeves and others recognize them as genuine. I bet Nureyev absolutely knows better than to make the comparison in her earshot, but I can see him just sorta unable to help liking her for the same reasons he’s drawn to Juno – he can brush off a little belligerence from someone whose integrity speaks for itself. Vespa abides by her own codes as well as visibly aligning herself with Buddy’s – she’s pissed about not knowing his name but won’t coerce it out of him even when the requisite leverage is right there – and like you said, she would be insulted by the idea of using underhanded means to get him fired. He knows where he stands and possibly figures that trying too hard to fix it is just going to piss her off further. And it's not like he's gonna stop being dramatic and making his gay little jokes and smooching Juno in the mess hall, he just needs to focus on comporting himself as a reliable crewmember and establishing himself the hard way with time and Buddy's family bonding activities (and yeag he wants to Get A Good Grade In Crewmate which is Normal To Want and Possible To Achieve).

oooh also I’m a little fucked up on the idea of him on bedrest with his broken leg and getting filled in on what he missed during Shadows, realizing that Vespa thinks he’s got it in for her right around the same time he’s having an epiphany that he trusts her to keep him alive and patched up even if she never likes him as a person and that the shapeshifting robot impostors don't stand a chance with her around. like not only is she not the thief she was twenty years ago, she's even tougher and smarter and cooler and doing it all with the brain horrors on top.

ALSO in light of Next Page I now think about ‘hey what if he’s Inherently Suspicious of Medical Personnel due to The Trauma and did he spend a bunch of his broken leg recovery time fretting that she was going to try to wring his name out of him while he was on painkillers only she never does??’ (god there’s this one fic where he and Juno get MacGuffined into kids and she’s like. ‘well shit. yeah I could find it out but goddamn. that’s a line I just can’t cross. Not Looking At It I Do Not See It’)

gah it's just. Nureyev's trust issues are so goddamn multifaceted, like. local baby boy too trusting, gets his only security ripped out from under him, tanks his shot at happiness bc the trauma gave him suspicion, becomes the suavest charlatan in the galaxy so he doesn't get taken advantage of again, craves genuine connection but hasn't actually had a chance in the last two decades to figure out what he's like around other people for any stretch of time, also still literally paying the price for the last time and can hardly bear the thought of confiding in his new connections because there's nowhere truly safe in the galaxy he's terrified of putting a target on them.

But I think about his little 'much more so than usual these days' to Juno's sarcastic 'happy now??' and that maybe he was a lot closer to an honest version of himself on the Carte Blanche. That he was getting places, that he was trusting them with as much as he could. something something 'Peter Ransom' wasn't intended for putting at least half the truth under their noses the whole time but he kinda let it turn into that the moment he let Buddy start calling him Pete.

Handful of miscellaneous thoughts on things they have in common:

- the debts thing. Vespa of all people is the most painfully, intimately aware of what it feels like to have a life that isn't one's own, so the way she approaches Nureyev being in massive scary debt with suspicion made me go huh. so I've been thinking about that one and tbh given how she internalizes shit and doesn't entirely trust herself (and god I have to imagine that she's really messed up about how close she came to killing Buddy in Time Gone By), I think seeing her situation in Nureyev's wouldn't engender sympathy because is that because she also knows exactly what she was prepared to do to get out from under it. and is just expected to tolerate the fact that they're taking their goddamn chances on him. there's this sense of 'even if he cares. even if he thinks this is real. even if he tells himself he wants to be a part of this. who's he gonna be when push comes to shove. probably not even Steel is safe.'

- They are both extremely functional under pressure and in more in their element in full on crisis mode, and are probably spending S3 figuring out what the hell to do now that they have access to things like reliable meals. privacy. affection. (pretty sure Juno is also experiencing a similar kind of 'things... getting better? after being. really bad all the time???' and having a lot of midmorning scuffles about it)

- Also they both have their shitty dads living in their brains rent-free!! and they are never ever going to talk about it but one (1) time Nureyev hears Vespa yell 'shut the hell up old man!' from another room and. sometimes thinks that very hard in her voice when Mag's advice is being unhelpful

re: feral kittens in towels - I want them to get into it that day after Heart of It All where Juno isn't getting out of bed and isn't there to get all protective, and for once she's in a half-decent place brainwise and he's riddled with eight kinds of guilt and half on the edge of a nervous breakdown and having all of his defenses shot is actually a good thing for him because she's not actually going to do anything with the upper hand except cuss him out a little bit. Like 'I was gonna cut your throat without hesitation yesterday and you're all fine and dandy about being in the wedding party? no shut up I'm not saying you can't. it's whatever. Bud thought it would be nice and I'm not against it. I am saying. the fuck is wrong with you.' hurt can sniff out hurt in-fucking-deed. I am dying inside like the fact that Nureyev himself would prevent any closure we might have gotten between him and the Lighthouse Crew after S4 is very him and also it hurts me and I need to pick it all apart with a seam ripper and see what spills out

likewise it’s hard to picture them ever reaching an actual rapport but I can’t even tell you how many times I pictured the prison break with all of them converging before Clean Break aired, where it’s like finally sunk in that he’s on their side and she goes ‘Ransom watch my goddamn back I need to kiss my wife’

also. does anybody want. some fic? I have some job interview/Man In Glass missing scenes where i am gnawing on this at all times

[jedusaur]

good things this week:

my boys took out the defending champs and then took Dallas to game 7 and that... is a good thing I guess :/ no but seriously they did spectacularly well this season and I'm really proud of them and excited to see what happens next year

the Firebirds are still killing it though! my man Joey Daccord! 60 saves in triple OT! Western Conference finals up next! let's go!

hit 6 months with Steph on the same day the Kraken got eliminated so we decided to reschedule date night for a day I was not busy lying on the floor staring at the ceiling in despair, so we did our date last night and it was lovely and I love my girl a lot

UNCLE'S DAY OMFG

my brother wears red/orange/yellow tie-dye shirts pretty much every single day and he also likes Ted Lasso so I decided to get on video chat with the fam in Chicago while they watched this week's ep and it was nice to check in with them (they asked somewhat dubiously if I always watch the episodes more than once lololol)

it was my sister-in-law's birthday this week so a bunch of us filmed tasks for her to judge Taskmaster-style and I maaay have taken it a tad more seriously than some others >.> I have not received the final points breakdown but I did get to see the compilation of videos and I am certainly a contender at least

the temperature hit 90 on Monday so I got rocket bae's air conditioner set up and holy christballs my life is going to be SO much better this summer than it was last summer

made iced tea and stuck in a couple sprigs of mint from the garden and that was very nice on the hot days

one of my closest friends started watching Ted Lasso recently and in S1 she was extremely dubious that she could ever like Jamie and yesterday she got to the Amsterdam ep and messaged me that she now loves "one (1) little asshole" :D :D

had to make an important phone call about my health insurance that could have been massively tedious and difficult but actually went very smoothly and for once nobody fuckin called me ma'am

discovered a local business that looks like a great concept but the website desperately needs a copyedit, so I e-mailed them like "any chance you guys wanna hire me freelance to clean up your site" and they actually seem interested! did not really expect that, maybe I should be cold-contacting more often

made stirfry with peanut sauce and cauliflower curry and creamy fettuccine and a super tasty cheese board and then used the leftover blueberry-lemon-thyme goat cheese on a blueberry bagel with fresh basil from the garden (Mom's suggestion) and Bolivian rose salt, and all of it was delicious good job me

some of my plants are starting to emerge! got tiny lil baby radishes, snap peas, chives, and cantaloupe \o/

painted my nails sparkly gold and they look amazing in the sun

[yarnlet]

March 18th 2024; Dilemma

It is currently 3:28am on March 18th 2024 as I am writing this.

I'm writing this for the purpose of suppressing the thoughts I have inside, my hope is that writing this document will sort of just allow the thoughts to subside and half-satisfy myself by getting it all out at once, albeit to nobody but myself.

Since I was about six years old, I had a strange feeling that I never understood, and somewhat still don't understand. I did things that I believe some others did not, based on this feeling when I was younger. At home I would play "dress up" with my sister, where she would put me in her play dresses and all sorts of accessories… Younger me enjoyed this a lot, and I thought that was normal, and so did she. I had this weird urge to be more feminine, which younger me decided could be exercised by this activity.

Before my peers were acclimated with the topic of queer people, I was simply the 'weird' kid, that people would sometimes engage in activities with, but outside of those activities, their opinions were the same on me (with a few exceptions of course, but it was a majority). I had a few friends that sort of looked past this, that thought it wasn't super strange for me to show up to school with painted nails or to do 'dumb girlish activities' like writing books or doing art. Looking back on this, I feel strange thinking that these activities were regarded this way by my peers, but nonetheless, the past is the past.

Sometimes I miss those times, and some of those friends which I've moved on from, mostly due to circumstances out of my control.

The point I make from all of that, is that during those times, it was easier, and everything was purely natural… Any things I did were purely for myself and satisfying my own wonders and interests.

Later on, as in more recent times, I've been called everything under the sun as in homosexuality-based insults. Gay, Queer, the 'F' slur, the 'T' slur, and some more vulagar ones that I can't even bring myself to type due to the sheer absurdity of them being directed at me, and though I don't care about the words anymore, I feel like they sort of 'silently impacted me'��� Like I kind of assumed the titles that were given to me.

Let me be completely clear, my sexuality's alignment being pansexual is completely true, and I do feel attraction regardless of gender, but something deep inside me just keeps poking at me that this is only because people have said this to me. It may sound absurd to some, but it won't go away.

Though that's beside the point, as this document isn't solely about my sexuality.

In Grade seven I learned about the concept of Transgender people (whereas before my actual knowledge on the topic was from others that joked about and mocked the concept). I think it was around this time that (not rediscovered) but added onto my feelings that popped up when I was six. I figured out that this 'joke' of a concept… That being Transgender actually is something that sounds like what I feel. That sentence sounds weird in my head but it's almost 4am now so please forgive me.

In Grade eight one of my friends began showing the signs that I knew were the same as mine. One day they brought a female wig to school and just wore that. At the time it still confused me (and I wasn't completely aware that my friend was Trans yet) but deep down I knew that what they were doing was what I did as well.

I believe that in Grade seven I began crossdressing… I adopted a new sort of aesthetic behind closed doors where I would wear clothes that I genuinely liked, rather than clothes that I wore in public just to wear… I had a pair of those socks that go all the way up to the knees (I still have them) and at the time it just felt great to wear them, like it satisfied a part of me, but not fully because I still had to hide them in my house, as I didn't want my parents to know about it. In Grade nine, my first year of high school, I ramped it up during Christmas and bought a new hoodie and a skirt, I had a new pair of those socks from my Halloween costume (which was of a female character too), and those annoying black leggings that make your legs look like patterned..? (I forgot what they're called).

By this time I'd created an online persona where I presented myself as female to others, and every time that someone would believe it (that I was a girl) it would just feel so good to me, and I'd be so happy about it…

Right after Christmas break after I got all that stuff, my parents asked to check one of my packages (which contained something that I really didn't want them to see), and I swapped it for something that I believed had to be done, my crossdressing clothes. Part of me hoped they'd say something to me, but they just left me alone in my room and told me that if I wanted to talk about anything with them I could… I didn't take the offer.

This leads to a few months back when one of my friends helped me do a sort of 'experiment' where I would take a photo in front of the mirror in full feminine attire and they would send it to a few group chats on an instant messaging platform and ask them what they thought. Most of them thought I was a girl (with one exception who knew I wasn't one because my friend had been known for talking to Trans people or something..?). This made me feel the happiest I had felt in months, maybe even in a few years. I had this drug-like dopamine rush and was high for the rest of the night, unable to sleep.

I want that feeling more, but it's hard to replicate now and has been replaced by negative thoughts again.

I believe that the most important thing for me to do right now is to go through with these thoughts I've been having since childhood. I've told one person about this, and it's my aforementioned Trans friend, but every time I try to tell someone I stop myself and the negative thoughts just accumulate.

I'm at a dilemma that pops up in my head no matter how fucking hard I try to censor it.

Will people look at me the same? Will people think I'm weird? Will I look weird? Will my sister mock me? (She constantly berates me and jokes about me being a 'T slur') Will my family still love me?

All of these happen while simultaneously I cringe when hearing my own name or being called 'boy' or 'man'.

I want to act, and I want to act fast, but then again, I'm here typing this document instead of actually voicing my thoughts to someone. I don't know if that day will ever come, but it's either gonna come soon or I'm going to go insane.

That's all I can bring myself to say… I'm tired and worn out. Tomorrow is the first day back to school and though I am dreading every single second of it, I have to get at least some sleep, or I'll noticeably be a walking corpse.

Goodnight, and hopefully goodbye. I hate writing these.

[anitosoul]

My Favorite Albums of 2020

6. Helena Deland, Someone New

Favorite Tracks: Someone New | Comfort, Edge | Dog

Every year, there’s an album from an artist that I hadn’t previously listened to that totally takes me by surprise and becomes one of my favorite albums of the year. In 2018 that was Tierra Whack; in 2019 it was Sasami. In 2020, it’s Helena Deland. The only other time I had heard of her was her feature on JPEGMAFIA’s “Free the Frail,” one of my favorite songs from last year. When I decided to give this album a cursory listen, I was floored by the first track and knew that it would quickly become one of my favorites of the year. In Someone New, Deland explores the murkiness and ambiguity of contemporary 20-something relationships. It’s easy to minimize modern dating into tweet-worthy zeitgeist-y concepts (cuffing season, the difference between talking vs. dating, the idea of getting ghosted or haunted or whatever, etc.), but it’s a lot harder to talk about those relationships with nuance.

Someone New is an album about these nuances: a face tensing up, someone’s fingertips moving over yours, eye contact with a stranger. It’s dark, subtle and thoughtful, but never boring. Throughout the album, Deland uses steady but understated percussion to drive the album’s songs as slice-of-contemporary-young-adult-life vignettes. Someone New is a breakup album but not in the traditional sense; it’s the aftermath, the numbing quest to replace the lost fulfillment from another. The title and opening track of the album sets the scene, Deland seeking to emulate the feeling of a lost love through a hookup. The song isn’t about pining for an ex or the emptiness of the new hookup, though—the song, and album, is ultimately about finding herself by using these different relationships as a mirror.

If I could have every thought As though for the first time I’d never get sick of The patterns of my mind But I am stuck I am stuck

If things go my way I’ll stay in this room Where tonight I want to lay Kissing someone new With a familiar face I can’t replace

Because remembering, no It hasn’t been enough It’s like a partial glow A bright flower gives off At night Color imprecise - Helena Deland, "Someone New"

In an era of dating apps, easy mobility, and career pressures, decision fatigue is everywhere. Where will I even be living in a year? Are we talking, dating, exclusive, in a relationship? How am I supposed to focus on a serious partner when I’m supposed to focus on my career? Is it possible to ever feel satisfied in a partner when someone better may be a swipe away? Is the idea of marriage a romanticized, antiquated tradition or is my generation just afraid of commitment?

Modern dating can be defined by undefinition, and perhaps it’s because we’re all just using each other to try to figure ourselves out. This idea is explored on “Dog,” a track reminiscent sonically of The Strokes’ Comedown Machine and lyrically of Soccer Mommy’s “Your Dog,” which coincidentally enough are the two artists sandwiching Deland on this list:

Pleasure pleases better When it comes from every side But there’s nowhere left to run No, there is nowhere to hide You wave and cheer Never-ending will to charm Then you shed a single tear You never meant any harm Lying on your bed You said you gave all you could give Ask me to come over And give you reasons to live

Bright wave I will let you get away Hey, I will forgive And I will let you get away

With every little thing that you want to do It might not be you for me but it is me for you When you ask me, “Dear Who’s the fairest one of all?” But who gets to be your mirror If I’m the nail on the wall? I hate to be your dog But I could use the company To go out with on walks Baby, let it be me - Helena Deland, “Dog”

Here Deland explores the difference between intention and action, expressing the different ways they’re each using each other for validation. Ultimately she paints a picture of a relationship where both parties are using the connection to self-serve their own insecurities, a predicament that many of us can find ourselves in at any level of seriousness in dating. Is there really much of a difference between seeking emotional validation through a string of casual hookups and emotional validation through an unhappy long-term relationship? Deland acknowledges this ambiguity in standout track “Comfort, Edge”:

Give me comfort, give me edge Make it easy, make me beg Let me come for calm and peace Never stop surprising me

I see your face in the mirror As it puts on the expression It only has in reflections And I know I’m scared of going further Into what you choose to show me A trail of hints I can’t see: You’ll fuck me over - Helena Deland, “Comfort, Edge”

On Someone New, Deland never directly asks any of these questions but frames them in a way that represents the consequences of latching on to the spark that another person can provide; she carefully contemplates the thin line between loving the person behind the spark or loving the spark itself. This album pushed me to look at the way I was seeking romantic connection and consider where I was drawing that line in my own dating life, a task much more difficult than it sounds. At its heart, Someone New is an album that quietly reminds us that we all want someone to love us—but not everyone has the courage to admit that they need to love themselves first.

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!

[multiples-fandomswontkillme]

~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

omg you should write about stevie crying and being upset when she sees her daddy without all his tattoos ! she would think he’d look soo weird 😩

i LOVE this concept omg

you look naked

warnings: none

word count: 2.3k

"I'm gonna be home late again today," Harry sighed as he splashed some milk into his coffee. There had been an abundance of days like this since he started working on Don't Worry Darling. Most days, he left the house before 8 AM and didn't get home until after 9 that night. "I'm so sorry it's been like this so much lately. I know it hasn't been easy here, but it should only be a few more-"

"It's ok," you reassured him, stepping closer to lean against him. "I get it. I'm not upset with you or anything, I just wish I got to see more of you."

"I know," he sighed again. "I hate not being able to see you and Stevie. At this rate, she's going to forget about me."

"She's not going to forget about you," you smiled. "She loves you way too much for that."

"Yeah, but I see her, what? Three hours every week?"

"Well, now you're just being dramatic. You might not see her on the weekdays, but you're home all day on the weekends. And, like you said, it's only a few more weeks, maybe a month? Right?"

"Right," he said, tilting his head to rest it on top of yours. "And once it's over, I have nothing planned for the next 6 months, at least. I'm just going to stay home and spend time with my girls."

"I'm already excited," you grinned. "I'm going to paint your nails every single day."

One thing you really didn't like about him being an actor was how little freedom he had with his personal style. There was no point doing things like nail polish, because that would just be another thing he had to sit through the removal of before they shot every day.

"Can't wait," he smiled, leaning down to peck your lips. "And I'm going to spend some quality bonding time with Stevie. I can't believe she's almost a year old," he mused with wonder in his voice. "It goes by way too fast."

"It does," you agreed, leaning down to take a sip of his coffee. You tipped the cup to your lips, only moving back when he frowned playfully.

"That's enough, I need my sustenance," he pouted.

"Sorry," you grinned. "How about this instead?"

You leaned up on your tiptoes, bracing your hands against his shoulders. You hovered your lips above his, keeping them a hair's width apart before you whispered quietly.

"How's this for sustenance?"

You pressed your lips to his in a tender movement, leaning into him more as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He sighed against you, blindly reaching back to set his coffee cup down before his hands returned to you, pressing against your cheeks to hold you closer to him.

After a few long moments, he pulled away. You chased his lips, not missing his small grin as he leaned back in for a few quick pecks. He didn't let go of your face, instead leaning his forehead against yours and breathing quietly in time with you.

"Better than coffee," he smiled, his lips just barely brushing against yours as he spoke.

"Yeah?" you grinned back, your arms still slung over his neck.

"Mhm," he sighed one last time before pulling away and glancing at the clock. "But I really have to get going."

"Ok," you offered a small smile, trying to remind him that you weren't upset with this. You knew when he took this role that things would be a little hectic; and you had both agreed it would be ok. You thought he was taking this harder than you were, honestly. For the most part, you and Stevie had settled into a rhythm and you weren't too overwhelmed. You could tell Harry still felt bad for leaving you alone with her every day, but you did everything you could to reassure him that it was really just fine.

"I'll text you whenever I can," he promised, drinking the last few sips of his coffee as he stepped towards the door. You nodded, turning to wipe off the countertop before you would settle into the couch for a little alone time. You normally had about half an hour between Harry leaving and Stevie waking up. A few precious moments where your time was completely your own.

Not this morning, though. Before he even got the door open, your last bits of conversation were cut off by a loud wail coming through the baby monitor.

"Well, sounds like she's up," You offered a small smile to Harry, throwing the rag back into the sink. "Have a good day, baby," you stepped out of the kitchen, making your way towards the cries that were increasing in volume.

"I'm coming, Stevie," you said.

"Y/N!" Harry called from the kitchen.

"What?"

He didn't answer, but soon you heard his heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

"I wanted to see her before I go," he smiled, looking almost shy. "I don't usually get to, but since she's awake..."

"Yeah, of course," you smiled back, taking his hand and leading him to the nursery.

"Stevie, look who's here," you said softly, flicking on the light in the baby's room. "Daddy's here, he wants to say good morning."

Stevie's crying had stopped, replaced by a happy smile when she saw her mom and dad. 

“Hi!” she said, giggling excitedly. She knew three words: mama, dada, and hi. She used these words very frequently, especially hi. It was her favorite thing to say. 

Harry reached down to her, pulling her up and lifting her up above his head. She laughed again, kicking her legs as he looked up at her.

"Good morning, princess!" He seemed just as excited as her, if not more. Your heart felt like it was going to burst from how sweet this moment was. "I missed you while you were sleeping," he brought her back down, nuzzling his nose into her cheek. She giggled and squirmed away, hiding her face against him. "What's that? You missed me too? Yeah, I figured," he grinned, turning to you. "Hear that, baby? She missed me while she was sleeping."

"I'm sure," you smiled, leaning against the dresser as you watched the sweet moment unfold. Harry continued talking to her like she understood everything, and in turn he acted like he could understand her babbling in response.

"Really? I can't believe you went to the zoo in your dream! We'll have to do that sometime soon, hm?" he bounced her a bit, completely focused on her little face.

After a few minutes, he turned back to you.

"I don't want to go to today," he said, as if he was already contemplating calling in sick. 'Do you think they would be that mad if I didn't go today?"

"Yes, Harry," you said, stepping closer to reach for Stevie. "You have to go. But it's ok, because it'll go by fast, and then you can come home and see us again."

"But she'll be sleeping," he nearly whined.

"You can come in and say goodnight. She falls back asleep pretty easy these days, so I don't mind if you wake her up for a few minutes."

"Really?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes," you laughed. "But in order to come home to us, you have to go somewhere first."

"Right!" he was already halfway out the door.

"Love you, baby. Love you, Stevie," he blew two kisses at you before he stepped into the hallway.

"Love you too, baby," you held up Stevie's small hand to catch the kisses he left.

"Alright, miss Stevie," you bounced the baby on your hip. "What should we do today?"

-----

"Why are you so fussy today, hm?" You questioned the baby, rocking her gently to try and calm her down. "I thought you'd be happy since you got to see daddy this morning, but apparently not."

It was almost like getting to see him for a few minutes upset her more than if she hadn't been able to at all. Like she missed him more since she got to see him, only to have him leave.

"He'll be home soon," you said gently, bouncing her small body. "Then we can all cuddle together. How's that sound?"

She babbled through her tears in response.

"Not quite sure what that means, but I'll take it as excitement."

Before you could move to find something else to distract her, your phone rang. You reached to grab it, shushing Stevie as she cried more.

"Hi baby!" you smiled, holding the phone to your ear.

"Hi," he answered, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. "Why's she crying?"

"I think she misses you," you sighed, rocking the chair more. "Here, talk to her, see if she calms down." You put the phone on speaker, holding it away from you so Stevie would be able to hear him.

"Hi lovie!" Harry's excited voice came through the speaker. Stevie's fussing quieted immediately and she started at the phone. "Are you being fussy today?"

Stevie babbled in response.

"That means yes," you chimed in, laughing lightly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll be home soon, though, and then we can snuggle together."

"I already told her that," you smiled at Stevie, who was still completely fascinated by Harry's voice. "Shockingly, the 9 month old isn't very patient."

"Well, why don't you come see me right now?"

"What?"

"Yeah, we're having some sound issues so we're all just sitting around right now. I don't think anyone would mind if you came to visit for an hour or so?" He paused for a moment and you heard muffled voices in the background. "Everyone here's fine with it, and they'd love to see both of you."

You weren't so sure about this offer. Stevie was notoriously difficult to dress and get ready quickly, and she was definitely not a fan of car rides. But it was only ten minutes away, and she could probably just stay in the onesie she was already wearing, and Harry sounded like he really wanted to see you...

"Ok, we'll be there in half an hour," you decided, standing up.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna go so I can get dressed. Do I need to bring anything?"

"Nope, just you and my beautiful baby," he said. You could tell he was practically bursting with excitement.

"Ok, she's not happy that I've gotten up, so I'm gonna go. Hopefully I can calm her down before we get there. I don't think anyone would appreciate me bringing a screaming child onto the premises."

"Sounds good," he laughed. "See you soon. Love you. Love you, Stevie!"

"Bye, love you," you smiled back before ending the call. "Come on Stevie, we're going on an adventure."

-----

"Guess who's here?" You approached Harry's chair from behind, carrying Stevie in one arm and the diaper bag in the other.

Harry was sitting in one of those fancy director's chairs, with his name printed across the back. He spun around at the sound of your voice, his entire face lighting up when he saw you and Stevie. He stood up, moving around the chair to step closer to you.

He was only wearing a pair of black sweatpants, and it was one of the weirdest sights you had ever seen. Not because of the lack of a shirt, but because the lack of tattoos. They had been completely covered. Completely. He looked...

"Oh my god, you look naked," you said in an astounded tone, stepping back to stare at his torso.

He let out a loud laugh, dropping his head.

"That's what I thought the first time I looked in a mirror," he grinned. "I haven't been without any tattoos since I was 17."

"Weird," you repeated, unable to drag your eyes away from his clean skin.

"Thanks," he smiled.

You blushed a bit, finally pulling your eyes away to look up at him.

"Anyways, it's nice to see you. I don't like waiting until the end of the day."

"Me neither," he said, stepping closer. "And how's my baby girl?" he reached out for Stevie, who had been staring at him just as intensely as you had.

Before you could hand her off to him, her face screwed up in confusion and she began to cry again.

"No, bug, don't cry!" you said, bouncing her again. "We came to see daddy! Come on, why are you fussing again?" She kept staring at Harry, not relenting her loud cries.

You held her out to Harry, hoping that maybe he would be able to calm her down, but she only cried harder when you did. She turned away from him, hiding her face in your shoulder.

"Harry, your naked skin is scaring her!" you scolded playfully.

He laughed in surprise, looking down at his arm. "I think you're right. She's only ever seen my arms with all the ink, so she probably think's it's pretty weird. I'll... I'll go find a jacket or something."

He turned away, leaving you to deal with Stevie who was still crying quietly. After she calmed down a bit, you settled into Harry's chair so you could look around with her.

Soon, you were approached by a group of Harry's coworkers, who were all very excited to see Stevie.

You answered a whole slew of questions, smiling and offering statements like "she's 9 months" and "yes, she is growing very fast!" and "yes, she did get Harry's dimples". Stevie was loving the attention. She was smiling and babbling and saying "hi" to everyone who looked at her.

Harry came back wearing a black hoodie. He approached cautiously, not sure if Stevie would still be upset. To both of your delight, she seemed to think everything was back to normal. She reached her small arms out to him, and his face lit up as he took her from you.

"Hi," Stevie said, smiling brightly.

"Hi bug," he grinned back, kissing her cheek. "I missed you and mommy. Did you miss me?"

She babbled in response.

"That means yes," you offered, and he grinned at you.