#i would prefer to not be sitting here thinking | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mingi-s-dimples · 3 days ago

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Strictly Confidential - San

~"Hiii❤️Can you pls write one where you are the mafia San’s lawyer, but since you are kind hearted and innocent ( not naive) he got his eyes on you??Corruption kink, (iffff it’s ok with you reader can be a virgin), dirty talk (including how much he was longing for you and waiting to take you), mild bondage, possessiveness, (reader has a crush on San too but wouldn’t think San would even look at them), pampering reader while ripping them into half <3 thank youuu❤️" ~ sweetie you also added sth about pregnancy but unfortunately I don't write those😞 but I loved the idea so I just didn't add the pregnancy talk ^^ hope you like ittt 🤍

pairing: ceo!san x lawyer fem!reader

genre: filth, 18+

summary: your outfit is *just* a little bit too revealing for San to not react.. and later that evening, he drops on his knees for you, then he ruins you.

wc: 5.5k

warnings: ceo!san, possessive san, slightly controlling san, corruption kink *just slightly*, reader is a virgin, restraining/light bondage (her hands tied up with san's belt), office sex, he doesn't even bother to take her skirt off, san's desperate, he eats her out, multiple orgasms, cursing, dirty talk/degradation (slut), praising (good girl), ass spanking, face pushing (into the desk), pounding *literally*, vaginal sex, teasing, unprotected (booo use protection irl!), completely consensual!, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: why do I feel like this one is written better than my last San request..? either way y'all will see I DAMN enjoyed writing this one 😂 the detailssss sjsjshsuushs controlling san sjshshshs possessive san ajsjshhs and so on I'm biting my knuckles as we speak. I hope you all enjoy it ^^ ly guys 🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

You should’ve known the outfit would push him too far.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not at first. The silk blouse, a shade too light, clung in ways that weren’t entirely professional, the top button left undone just enough to hint at something softer underneath. The skirt hugged your waist, cutting off at mid-thigh when you sat, revealing just a sliver more skin than usual. It wasn’t indecent. It wasn’t against the rules. But it was enough.

Enough to make Choi San snap.

You’ve been his lawyer for months now—long enough to know that he watches you more than he should. Long enough to catch the way his gaze lingers when you speak, dark eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up as if he didn’t mean to. Long enough to hear the shift in his voice when he says your name, the slow drag of it on his tongue.

You’ve known, and you’ve played along—just a little. Just enough to keep things interesting.

But today, something is different and you feel it the second you step into his office.

San is already standing, a rare thing given that he usually prefers to remain seated behind his desk, lazy and composed, as if the world itself is something he can toy with at his leisure. But now, he’s braced against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes pinned on you the moment the door clicks shut behind you.

His silence is thick, crackling with something dark and unreadable.

Slowly, you set your leather portfolio onto the desk, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Something wrong, Mr. Choi?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile. It’s something sharper. “Come here.”

A demand, not a request.

You raise a brow. “I thought we had business to discuss.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

It’s a warning. A test.

And you should say no. You should keep things professional. You should sit in the chair across from his desk like you always do, open your portfolio, and get straight to business. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward. Then another.

San stays perfectly still, watching, waiting, as if savoring the moment. When you finally stop in front of him, barely an arm’s length away, you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of leather and spice wrapping around you like a slow-burning fire.

He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s about to dismantle. Then, his eyes drop—slow, deliberate.

Your blouse. Your throat. The delicate slope of your collarbone. The soft curve of your chest where the undone button reveals just a little too much.

His jaw tightens.

And just like that, you realize—he’s been holding himself back.

For months, he’s played this game with you, circling, waiting, indulging in stolen glances and veiled innuendos. But today, you’ve tipped the scales. Today, you’ve worn something that makes him forget to be careful.

San exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused, almost like he’s irritated with himself. Then, without warning, he reaches out.

Fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up.

“You did this on purpose.” His voice is low, rougher than before.

You don’t flinch. Don’t waver. Instead, you smile—slow, knowing. “Did what?”

San laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Cute.”

His thumb brushes over your jaw, barely a whisper of a touch, but the intent behind it is unmistakable. He’s testing. Measuring.

And you let him.

Because for all his power, for all his control—he’s the one unraveling.

His gaze dips to your lips, lingers there. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower, dangerously smooth.

“You walk in here looking like this and expect me to behave?”

“I expect you to be professional,” you say, and you make sure to let the words drip with teasing, with something that is not quite innocence but plays at the edges of it.

San hums. “Is that what you want?”

His fingers trail down, brushing the column of your throat.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, just enough for his thumb to press against the hollow of your throat. Just enough to let him feel the pulse beneath your skin.

San stills.

Then—he moves.

One hand splays against your hip, gripping, tugging you closer until you’re barely a breath apart. His other hand trails up, slipping beneath the loose collar of your blouse, fingertips skimming over bare skin. It’s barely a touch, barely anything at all—yet it sets every nerve alight.

“You’re not as innocent as you look.” His voice is dark, laced with something dangerously indulgent.

You smile, lashes lowering just slightly. “I never said I was.”

San’s grip tightens.

And for the first time since you stepped into his office, you think you might have miscalculated.

Because you’ve been teasing him for months. Playing at the edges of this, knowing he wanted you but never letting him have enough to tip the scales.

But now?

Now, you can feel it—the shift, the moment he decides.

He isn’t going to let you play anymore.

You should resist.

You should step back, put distance between you and the man currently pressing you into the edge of his desk like he has every intention of keeping you there.

But you don’t.

Not really.

Instead, you let your hands press against his chest, the silk of his dress shirt warm beneath your fingertips. It’s a flimsy excuse for protest, a barrier that does nothing because you both know—if you really wanted to stop him, you would.

San catches the movement, and for a moment, he stills.

Dark eyes flicker to yours, sharp and assessing, scanning your face for something—hesitation, uncertainty, anything that might make him reconsider.

You arch a brow, lips curling just slightly. “A little desperate, aren’t we?”

San exhales sharply through his nose, and then—he laughs.

Low, rough, almost wrecked.

And then he moves.

Faster than you expect, pinning you between the hard edge of his desk and the even harder press of his body. His hand slides up, fingers catching your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his chest. The other settles low on your waist, fingertips digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters.

Because you’ve had a crush on him for months.

Ever since you first met him, ever since you realized the sharp-edged CEO persona wasn’t just for show. He was powerful, ruthless, magnetic in a way that made people obey without question. And yet, he’d always been just a little different with you. Always watching, always waiting.

But you never let yourself believe he actually wanted you.

Not like this.

Not enough to snap.

San must see something in your expression, because his grip tightens. “You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice is smooth, but there’s something else beneath it—something rough, something frayed. “You think I haven’t seen the way you play with me?”

His lips brush against your cheek, not quite kissing, not quite touching, just a slow, maddening drag of heat.

“You walk into my office every week, looking like you don’t belong in a place like this, looking like you shouldn’t be anywhere near men like me.”

His mouth ghosts over your jaw, just shy of where you want him.

“And yet…” His hand slides lower, fingers teasing over the fabric of your skirt. “You always let me get too close.”

A slow, teasing exhale against your skin.

“You’ve been testing me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an immediate response.

So instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, forcing him to drag his lips against your skin in the process. “Maybe,” you whisper.

San curses under his breath.

And the next second he’s kissing you.

Hard. Desperate.

It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s months of restraint snapping like a live wire. His hand slides up, tangling in your hair, angling your head back to deepen the kiss, to take more. His tongue parts your lips, claiming your mouth with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

He kisses like he owns you. Like he’s been waiting for this, for you, for far too long.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling, clawing, needing more.

San groans against your lips, and then he’s pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are red from kissing you, and he looks completely, utterly wrecked.

“I’ve waited for this.” His voice is rough, frayed with something unspoken. “You think I didn’t notice you? That I didn’t feel it every single time you walked through that door, acting so fucking innocent, knowing damn well what you were doing to me?”

His fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I wanted to ruin you the moment I met you.”

Your breath shudders.

San notices. Smirks.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” His voice dips lower, teasing. “You want me to take what you’ve been tempting me with?”

You shouldn’t say yes.

You should make him work for it.

But the way he looks at you—the way his body presses against yours, the way his fingers trace slow, maddening circles over your hip—has you completely undone.

So instead, you breathe, “Yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

San makes a sound—something dark, something pleased—before his lips crash back against yours, hungry and unrelenting. His hands are everywhere, gripping, pressing, mapping out every inch of you like he wants to memorize it.

He kisses down your throat, sucks a mark into your skin, groaning when you arch into him. “Mine,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “You don’t get to tease me anymore. Not after this.”

You shudder, nails digging into his shoulders.

And then, finally, you surrender completely.

San doesn’t hesitate.

One moment, you’re standing against his desk, breathless from the force of his kiss, and the next—his hands are gripping your waist, lifting you with ease. A gasp slips past your lips as he sets you down onto the cool wooden surface, the shift in height making you acutely aware of how much he towers over you.

The movement sends half the contents of his desk crashing to the floor. A pen rolls somewhere unseen. Papers scatter in a careless mess. He doesn’t care.

Neither do you.

Not when his hands slide up your thighs, spreading them just enough to make space for himself between them. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours, all heat and teeth, breathy and desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

It’s overwhelming.

The way he kisses you—possessive, unrelenting, like he’s been starved for this, for you. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as if he’s anchoring himself to you, as if letting go isn’t an option.

And you—

You kiss him back just as fiercely.

Your hands find purchase in his suit jacket, tugging him closer, needing more, gasping softly when he presses flush against you. His warmth, his scent—everything about him consumes you.

Then—

You break away.

Not because you want to, but because there’s something you need to say.

Your chest rises and falls, lips kiss-bruised, head spinning. San doesn’t move away, his forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your lips.

“What?” His voice is wrecked, strained with restraint he’s barely holding onto.

Your fingers tighten against his jacket.

“I—I’m a virgin.”

San stills.

Completely.

You watch as his expression shifts—dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something dangerous. His grip on your waist tightens for a second before he stills again, as if forcing himself to process what you just said.

Then—

He exhales sharply, running his tongue along his bottom lip, and the slow, wicked curl of his mouth makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck.”

The word is low, rough, dragged out like he’s savoring it.

His hands move again, sliding over your thighs with newfound purpose, fingertips teasing against your exposed skin. He leans in, lips grazing over your jaw, down the column of your throat, tracing the shape of you with agonizing precision.

“You’re serious?” he murmurs against your skin.

You swallow hard, nodding.

San lets out another rough exhale, then pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his expression dark with something unreadable, something deeply, deeply pleased.

“You have no idea,” he says slowly, deliberately, “what that does to me.”

Your breath hitches.

His lips find yours once more, but this time, the kiss is different. Slower, more calculated, yet no less intense. He kisses you like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you respond to every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

His fingers trail up, reaching the buttons of your blouse, and he undoes them one by one, exposing more of you with every slow, deliberate flick of his hands. He doesn’t rush.

No—San takes his time.

And you let him.

Your breath stutters when he pushes the fabric aside, revealing bare skin, delicate lace. The cool air makes you shiver—or maybe it’s just him, the way his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of you.

He curses under his breath.

His fingers twitch like he wants to touch, to claim, to devour.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with something reverent, something wrecked.

And then—

He starts undoing his own buttons.

The sight alone has you utterly mesmerized.

You watch, transfixed, as he shrugs off his jacket, as he unbuttons his dress shirt, revealing inch after inch of smooth, sculpted skin. He moves slowly, almost teasingly, as if drawing out the moment just to watch your reaction.

And you—

You can’t help but stare.

San is unfairly gorgeous.

Broad shoulders, toned muscles, a physique that looks like it was carved by gods themselves. The way the soft glow of the office light catches against the lines of his body, the dips and curves of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbones—it's intoxicating.

And then, your gaze drops lower.

And you freeze.

Oh.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling the full weight of his cock straining against his pants and pressing on your body.

San catches your reaction, and the smirk that pulls at his lips is nothing short of devastating.

“Mesmerized?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement and something else—something darker.

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Not when the heat of his body is so close, not when his fingers are still trailing over your skin, slow and deliberate.

And then, he leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers—

“You should be.”

San watches you like he’s already won.

Like you’ve been his from the moment you walked into his office, oblivious to the fire you were playing with.

His fingers trace along your exposed collarbone, slow and teasing, barely touching, but enough to make your skin prickle with heat. His eyes drag over you, dark and ravenous, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your thighs are still parted for him, your skirt hiked up from how recklessly he had pulled you onto his desk.

Then—he smirks.

That slow, knowing smirk that makes something in your stomach coil tight.

“You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” His voice is deep, smooth as silk, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

You swallow, fingers curling against the desk, but you don’t answer.

He tilts his head, almost amused. “Showing up dressed like that—” His hands slide down, fingers skimming the fabric of your skirt, teasing at the hem. “Looking so damn innocent but wearing something like this? You were begging for it.”

Your breath catches, a slow heat creeping up your spine.

San leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Such a little whore, dressing like this just to test me.”

A sharp inhale leaves you.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down to your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His tongue flicks against your pulse point, his teeth scraping just enough to make your breath hitch. “Or were you hoping I’d lose control?”

His fingers tighten on your waist.

“Because you got exactly what you wanted.”

Your head spins.

He’s too much—his voice, his hands, the way he’s looking at you like he’s about to ruin you in ways you never even imagined.

San pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and something dark flickers behind his eyes.

Then—

He gets an idea.

His smirk deepens as he looks over your shoulder at the discarded mess on the floor. Then, before you can question it, he steps back slightly, reaching down.

A soft rustle of fabric, the quiet slide of leather—

And then you see it.

The belt he had discarded with his pants that pooled at his ankles.

Your stomach flips.

San runs his tongue over his bottom lip, holding the belt loosely in one hand, testing the weight of it. Then, he meets your gaze again, and for the first time since this started—you shiver.

Possessive.

That’s the only word for the way he looks at you now.

Like you belong to him.

Like he’s about to make sure you never forget it.

“You’ve had too much freedom tonight,” he murmurs, stepping back into your space, the belt dangling from his fingers. “And I think it’s about time we fix that.”

Your pulse spikes.

San reaches for you, his hands trailing down your arms before he gently—so gently—grabs your wrists.

“Give them to me.”

It’s not a request.

It’s a command.

Your lips part slightly, but when you don’t immediately respond, San hums, tilting his head. “Oh?” He smirks. “Are you hesitating now?”

He presses closer, making you lean back slightly, making you feel the solid weight of his body.

“That’s cute.”

You swallow hard, the heat between you becoming unbearable.

San’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists. “I’ll tell you right now, sweetheart—” His voice dips, eyes locked onto yours. “If I tie you up, I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

A slow, deliberate pause.

Then, he leans in and whispers against your lips—

“You sure you can handle that?”

Your breath is shallow, chest rising and falling as San watches you, waiting. His fingers tighten around your wrists, the belt still dangling from his hand, ready to bind you, ready to claim every inch of control you’ve willingly given up.

And you—

You should hesitate.

You should resist, tease him a little longer.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze with a slow, deliberate smirk. “Do it, then.”

A flicker of something dark—dangerous—passes through his eyes. Then, his smirk returns, sharp and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The leather is cool against your skin as he pulls your wrists behind your back, looping the belt around them with practiced ease. It’s not too tight—just enough to hold you there, to remind you who’s in control.

He tugs once, testing the restraint, then hums in approval. “Perfect.”

Before you can process the way your body reacts to that single word, San moves.

His hands slide to your thighs, gripping firmly as he pulls you forward.

Hard.

A gasp leaves your lips as your body jerks, dragged right to the edge of the desk. Your legs part instinctively to accommodate the shift, your breath catching as you feel the undeniable heat of him between them.

San watches your reaction with a lazy smirk. “That’s better.”

Then—

He drops to his knees.

San doesn’t even look away from you as he does it, his movements deliberate, dripping with control. The sight alone—his broad shoulders between your legs, his dark, hungry gaze looking up at you like he’s about to devour you whole—leaves you breathless.

And then—his hands move again.

He doesn’t bother with your skirt.

No.

He slides his fingers along the inside of your thighs, parting them further, his grip firm—possessive. Then, with agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls.

A soft, humiliatingly wet sound follows as he drags the fabric down, exposing just how ruined you already are.

San freezes.

And then—

He chuckles.

A low, deep sound that sends heat shooting straight through your spine.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing his thumb against the now-soaked fabric before tossing it somewhere behind him. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, but the way he’s looking at you—with pure, unfiltered hunger—makes shame the last thing on your mind.

Then—he leans in.

And without another word—

He dives in.

San doesn’t hold back.

The moment his mouth touches your folds, a wrecked gasp escapes your lips, your bound hands straining against the belt as your body jerks from the sheer heat of it.

He groans against you, the vibration making you shudder. His grip on your thighs tightens—bruising, possessive—as he presses you further against his mouth, like he’s determined to ruin you.

And he does.

His tongue moves with devastating precision—slow, languid strokes, teasing flicks, then firm pressure against your clit that makes your head spin. He eats you like a man starved, like he’s waited his entire life to have you like this, legs trembling around his shoulders, breathless and undone.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips glisten with your arousal, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, wrecked with hunger. “So fucking sweet.”

Your face burns, but before you can process it, he’s back on you, his tongue pressing in deeper, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

A broken whimper leaves you.

San chuckles—dark, teasing. He pulls back again, dragging his lips over the inside of your thigh, pressing slow, wet kisses against your skin. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement and something deeper. “Fucking soaking. And all for me?”

You whine, shifting against his hold, but he doesn’t let up.

His teeth graze your thigh, just enough to make you gasp. “You pretend to be so innocent,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, “but look at how filthy you are. Spreading your legs so easily, letting me taste you like this.”

Your breath stutters, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable.

San hums, satisfied. “I bet you’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” He flicks his tongue against your clit again, making you jolt. “Bet you’ve thought about me bending you over this desk. Tearing you apart.”

His words wreck you.

A high, needy moan spills from your lips, your bound hands clenching behind you.

San groans against you. “That’s it,” he breathes, his tongue moving faster now, pushing you closer, higher. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds you down, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he’s drowning you in.

Your body tightens, the pressure coiling in your stomach unbearably, winding, winding—

Until it snaps.

A sobbed moan rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of blinding pleasure. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders, your back arching as you cry out, utterly wrecked.

San doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re whimpering, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation.

Only then does he slow, his tongue giving you one last, languid stroke before pulling back.

He looks ruined.

His lips are swollen, his hair slightly disheveled, his breath ragged as he stares at you, utterly transfixed. Then, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your thigh before standing.

Your dazed gaze drops—

And your breath catches.

His briefs are painfully tight around his cock, the sheer size of him making your stomach flip.

San curses under his breath, yanking them down in one swift motion.

And then—he’s on you.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you further as he aligns himself, the heat of him pressing against your still-sensitive core.

Your breath stutters. “San—”

He doesn’t wait.

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside—

And you break.

A cry rips from your lips, your body arching at the sheer stretch, the way he fills you so completely, so overwhelmingly. Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of it, from the way he buries himself to the hilt, not moving, just feeling you.

San groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his hands tightening on your waist. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, trembling with restraint. “You feel so—” He exhales sharply, dropping a kiss against your lips, almost tender.

He soothes you.

One hand trails up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Breathe,” he murmurs, voice soft, but his body trembles against yours, barely holding himself back.

And then—he moves.

Destroying you.

Every thrust is deep, dragging against your sensitive walls with devastating precision, pushing you to the brink of insanity. Your bound hands twist behind you, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto, but there’s nothing.

Nothing but him.

And he knows it.

His grip tightens on your waist as he pulls back, making you feel every inch of him, before sinking in again—so deep, so full that you can’t stop the moan that spills from your lips.

San groans, the sound low and wrecked. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, kissing—nipping. “You hear yourself? You're a fucking whiny mess just for me.”

Your face burns, but the humiliation only makes the pleasure worse—makes your body clench around him, desperate for more.

San feels it. And he looses it.

A sharp growl rumbles from his chest as his pace stays agonizingly slow, but his words turn filthy, raw. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, rolling his hips deep, making you cry out. “Like you were made for me.”

You are.

The thought is dangerous, but it lingers.

San notices.

His fingers trail up your stomach, his touch warm, teasing, possessive. His other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, ravenous.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Wearing that little outfit—acting all innocent when you’re dripping for me.”

His hips snap forward, a little harder, and you gasp.

San smirks. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

The teasing should make you flinch, should make you want to shy away—but you don’t.

Because you love it.

Because you love him like this—feral, corrupted, completely obsessed with you.

Your moans break into whimpers as his thrusts turn deeper, sharper, but still so slow, so cruelly controlled that your body starts trembling. “San—”

He shushes you.

His lips brush over your temple, soft in contrast to the way he’s utterly wrecking you. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

And yet—

It’s not enough.

For him.

For you.

San curses under his breath, frustration clear in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. “I can’t—” His breath is ragged. “I can’t fucking hold back.”

Before you can process—

San moves.

His grip locks around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the desk, but before you can fully catch your breath, he flips you over.

Your palms slam against the your back, the belt still binding them, your cheek pressing into the cool surface as San forces you down, arching you for him.

A sharp sound echoes in the room.

You gasp.

San’s palm stays on your ass where he just spanked you, rubbing over the heated skin, his breath heavy behind you. “Mhm,” he hums, dark, pleased.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s more like it.”

Your body is trembling—wrecked, pinned under San’s weight as he presses you against the desk, his grip firm on your waist. His breath is heavy, hot against your skin, his patience fraying with every second.

And then—

You say it.

A teasing little whisper, breathless, barely a murmur—

“San.. you can go- harder.”

A guttural growl rips from his throat, and then—he ruins you.

His grip tightens bruisingly on your hips as he slams into you, deep and relentless, each thrust sharp, overwhelming, making you choke on your own moans.

He pounds into you, his cock pushing impossibly deep, so deep that— He hits your cervix.

A sharp cry tears from your throat, your bound hands clenching behind you as the intense stimulation sends a wave of pleasurable pain crashing over you.

San hears it. Feels it. Loses it.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked, his pace punishing. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He thrusts harder, making you wail. “Wanted me to break you?”

The way he’s holding you—gripping your waist tight, pressing you down deep into the desk, his chest flush against your back as he fucks into you like he’s starving—

It’s too much.

He feels the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body clings to him, drawing him in, taking everything he gives.

His breath is ragged, his groans turning into curses.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his thrusts becoming desperate. “So fucking tight, so fucking wet—”

He grips your wrists, still bound behind your back, and pulls, arching you further, making your back bow into him, making you yake him deeper.

A wrecked sob escapes you.

San curses. “That’s it,” he groans, his voice breaking. “Fucking take it.”

He pounds into you, hips snapping, rhythm frenzied, his cock hitting that spot over and over until you’re a mess beneath him—whimpering, crying, begging.

And you could swear he fucking loves it.

“Listen to you,” he pants, his lips brushing over your ear, his breath ragged. “Crying for me—so desperate.”

You are. But he’s no better.

His grip tightens, his thrusts turning frantic, his moans growing shaky, and you can inly feel how damn close he is. And he knows it.

His pace falters for half a second—just long enough for him to lean over you, his lips grazing your ear as he breathes, voice dark, rough, possession dripping from every word—.

“I’ll fill you up just like you’ve probably been fantasizing over for a while, you little slut.”

And then—

He breaks.

A deep, wrecked moan tears from his chest as he thrusts deep, his body shuddering violently as he spills into you, warmth flooding your insides as his grip on your wrists turns almost bruising.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even as he comes, he keeps moving, keeps pounding into you, pushing you over the edge right after him.

Your body shatters.

A high, sobbed moan rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening, pulsing around him, drawing out his own orgasm, making him groan, curse, whisper filth and praise against your skin.

You gasp his name—

And San loses himself all over again.

His hips slow, his body shuddering as he rides both of you through your highs, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your spine, soothing you while still wrecking you.

You could barely move.

Your arms are still bound, your body limp against the desk, your breath coming in ragged, exhausted gasps.

San finally stills.

His chest rises and falls against your back, his grip on your wrists loosening, his breath hot against your skin.

And then—

A satisfied, dark chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“That’s my girl.”

San exhales, his grip softening as he slowly lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His hands are gentle now, his touch the exact opposite of how he just wrecked you. With careful precision, he sets you down on the desk, his fingers immediately moving to untie your wrists.

The moment they’re free, he brings them to his lips, kissing the delicate skin as if to soothe away any marks left behind. His gaze meets yours, still dark, still possessive, but now filled with something softer.

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Can’t have you walking out of here looking like this, baby.”

Before you can respond, he grabs your blouse from where it was discarded, slipping it over your shoulders, his touch slow, careful, reverent. His fingers linger as he buttons it up, his eyes roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Then, he leans in, kissing you.

Deep, slow, lingering. Like he’s still not ready to let go.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your lips, his voice a low murmur. “Come on,” he says. “We’re taking a shower.”

Your brows raise slightly. “Here?”

San chuckles, shaking his head. “Not in the office, baby.” He eyes you, his woman, his masterpiece, before smirking. “And I’m sure as hell not letting anyone see you like this on our way there.”

You laugh, amused by his protectiveness, and his smirk widens.

“Laugh all you want,” he muses, scooping you up again. “But you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

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blueblossomrose · 10 hours ago

Text

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, fem!afab!mc, fluffy, too much fluffy, twst boys with teenage children. And questionable humor, of course. My trademark.

Notes: So, my country is in summer and here in Brazil summer is naturally hot since it's ahem, tropical country, but this year summer has been ABSOLUTE HELL abnormally hot so I need something to keep from going crazy. Preferably air conditioning on 24 hours, but since I don't have that option, I'm going to turn my frustration into fluffy.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Summer Season

The Queendom of Roses had never faced such an intense heat wave. Soon its residents were euphoric, especially certain not-so-eccentric families.

It was frankly absurd. People were already waking up exhausted, walking through the streets like zombies, the heat coming directly from the sun almost like it's melting their brains.

Everything was so hot that it was torture to be outside during the middle of the day.

It got to the point that the air conditioning in Riddle's office simply broke down. He spent the whole day attending to restless children and stressed mothers, amidst sweaty papers and a weak fan that only threw hot air from one side to the other. When he finally got home, sweaty and breathing heavily, his patience was already exhausted.

In this situation, it was absolutely unthinkable to stay home listening to his children complaining about the heat all day. [Name]'s suggestion, said with a carefree smile while fanning her face with a magazine, was that they go to the beach.

Riddle, of course, initially refused. The thought of sand sticking to his skin and the sun that would burn until his whole body was red made him even more exhausted.

But after the insistence of the two of them —his wife and daughter — he had to sigh and give in.

Now, there he was, sitting under a red-and-white striped umbrella, a wide-brimmed hat protecting his fair skin. His blue-gray eyes narrowed as he watched Violete, who was trying to sneak away to the water.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Riddle asked, his voice firm but not exactly stern.

“Uhhh… swimming?” the girl replied, as if it were obvious.

“I told you about that. Not without putting on sunscreen,” Riddle said flatly, pointing to the bottle in the bag next to him. The girl rolled her eyes and grumbled, but eventually reluctantly went back to her mother to apply sunscreen.

Meanwhile, Alex was sitting quietly under the umbrella next to [Name]. He shared the chair with his mother, who laughed softly at Violete's complaints. Alex seemed oblivious to everything, completely immersed in a game on his old blue Gameboy.

Riddle, from time to time, gave his son critical looks. It's not like he hated Alex's appreciation for video games, but God, did he have to have his face buried in that all day?

Alex had been like this since he was 9, when he got his Gameboy, gift from his mother. Now, at 14, he kept the same device, only changing the case from time to time, as if it were a way to personalize his digital adventure companion.

Violete, at sixteen, It was both what you expected and what you didn't expect from a teenager. Energetic and full of life, with a sarcastic and rebellious streak, her excitement was almost contagious. She had her own hobbies which involved video games with her brother as much as books and cricket. She had already jumped into the water as soon as the sunscreen ritual was over.

The short red strands, which she often curled, were now back to their natural state, flowing straight as they got wet. She was swimming happily, challenging small waves, when she noticed a group of people not far away. Two instructors were helping some tourists climb onto a large board, probably part of those leisure programs offered at the beach – canoeing, stand-up paddleboarding, something like that.

Violete swam closer and watched for a moment, until an idea popped into her head. Turning back to the sand, she raised her voice and called: “Dad!”

Riddle, who was finally starting to relax in his chair, looked up suspiciously. “What now?”

“Let’s get on the board together! It’ll be fun!” she shouted.

“Violete, I’m not getting on that board with you,” he replied immediately, with a seriousness that made Alex let out a small muffled laugh on the other side. [Name], next to him, just raised her eyebrows with a look of “let’s see how long you can resist.”

However, Violete was persistent, and his daughter’s insistent expression – the one she clearly inherited from her mother – eventually won out. A few minutes later, Riddle was in the water, visibly uncomfortable as he was guided to the board by a patient instructor and an overly excited daughter.

"This is a bad idea, Violete," he muttered, already feeling regret setting in as he put on a life jacket. "I'm a doctor, I know exactly how many ways this can go wrong."

"Dad, you need to relax!" Violete replied, smiling as she helped him onto the board, where she was already balanced with impressive ease. "It's going to be fun, trust me!"

But before Riddle could argue, the board swayed dangerously, and he grabbed onto his daughter with a suddenness she hadn't expected. "Violette!" he exclaimed, desperately trying to steady himself.

"Dad, you're pulling me under!" she protested, as she tried to steady them both. Riddle, for his part, was focused on not falling into the water, which seemed increasingly inevitable.

He looked back, seeing [Name] on the sand, waving at them with an amused smile. Alex didn't even look – the sound of the Gameboy buttons continued, indifferent to the family chaos that was happening in the sea.

The minutes when Violette guided the board towards the waves were the moments when Riddle despaired the most, although they managed to at least catch a good wave, even though they were completely unbalanced.

Finally, after a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the inevitable happened. The board rocked to one side, then the other, and they both fell into the water with a big splash.

When he emerged, wet and irritated, but also, to his surprise, smiling, Riddle heard Violete's crystal-clear laugh.

"See, Dad? It was fun, wasn't it?!" her hands hit the water splashing more water on him.

"Ugh, stop!" even while complaining, Riddle was smiling, sometimes returning the splashes of water on his daughter.

"Huh? Where are dad and Vi?" Alex questioned as he lifted his head, [Name] laughed and pointed, just long enough for Alex to see his dad and sister catch a wave together before falling into the water again. Riddle was almost as desperate as you could imagine while Violete was in front on the board with the biggest smile in the world. A frankly hilarious frame.

The blazing midday sun seemed even more intense that unusual summer in the Queendom of Roses. The oppressive heat made even going out for simple activities like shopping at the Clover bakery a challenge. Still, the frozen treats that Trey made had become a sensation. Artisanal ice cream, fresh fruit pies, and refreshing drinks were flying off the shelves.

One afternoon, sitting at the small oak table in the back of the bakery, Trey rubbed his sweaty forehead as he watched his children play. Tim and Thomas were more interested in hanging out by the fan, while Rose ran around with seemingly inexhaustible energy despite the heat. He glanced over at [Name], who was waving a makeshift paper fan and mumbling something about how hot it's outside. It was then that an idea struck him.

How about take a trip to the falls?

A cool, peaceful place, and the perfect local to cool off.

Rose, being the youngest, immediately jumped up and down with excitement, Tim and Thomas, on the other hand, teenagers already at an age where they'd rather stay home with their phones or their own hobbies, didn't seem so excited. But family trip is mandatory, after all. It was an agreement they made with their parents.

Trey and [Name] arrived at the trailhead with their children, each carrying light backpacks filled with towels, snacks, and bottles of water. Rose bounced excitedly ahead, her small backpack bouncing as she droned on and on about how the waterfalls would be.

Tim, the oldest, trailed slowly, already sweating in the heat, his expression clearly reflecting his displeasure with the hike. “Why couldn’t we just buy ice cream and stay home with the fan on?” he muttered, earning an amused look from Trey.

Thomas, on the other hand, was somewhere in between, half-interested in the hike but clearly dead tired. He walked with his hands in his pockets, backpack and bag on the shoulder.

After a while, the trail opened up to reveal the waterfall. The view was spectacular: crystal clear water cascaded down, creating a refreshing mist that immediately took the edge off the heat. The surrounding vegetation was dense, with bright green leaves and colorful wildflowers that looked even more vivid in the sun.

Rose ran towards the shore, stopping only when Trey called her, asking her to wait while he and [Name] found a good spot for the towel. Tim, sighing, threw himself into the shade of a large rock, lying down like a sack of potatoes. “Wake me up when we leave,” he muttered, eliciting a laugh from [Name].

Thomas, however, took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed a handful of cold water and silently approached Rose. “Hey, Rose, look up!” he shouted, pointing to the top of the waterfall. When his sister looked up, he splashed her with ice-cold water, making her squeal.

“Thomas!” she protested, but she was already splashing him back, starting a water fight that soon involved Trey trying to calm them both down so that they wouldn't fall and hurt themselves on the rocks.

Meanwhile, [Name] was standing next to Tim, offering him a bottle of cool water. "You know you're going to want to get in the water soon," she said.

Tim opened a lazy eye. "Only if someone carries me there."

After a while, Tim gave in to the heat and joined his brothers in the water. Trey and [Name] watched, relaxing on the towel on the floor. Thomas and Rose were now trying to build a "dam" with rocks and branches, while Tim stood nearby, pretending not to care but discreetly helping them find the right branches.

As the time has passed, Trey stood up, adjusting his glasses and getting everyone's attention. "Time for a snack!" he announced, grabbing a small cooler with fruit, sandwiches, and some homemade pastries from the bakery.

Rose was the first to run, still dripping watee, while Thomas and Tim followed her. Like three Gremlins, they sat down and ate despite shivering from the cold from the thermal shock of the ice-cold water on the hot climate.

The end of the afternoon was spent peacefully, with the family resting and enjoying the relaxing sound of the waterfall. When they finally started to pack up their things, Rose complained that she wanted to stay a little longer, but Trey promised that they could return soon, eliciting a smile from her. The walk back was less lively – tiredness had finally taken over the trio, mainly Rose who was the central animation. Trey, with a soft smile, carried her backpack along with his, while [Name] chuckled softly at the funny observations her tired daughter even so made about every detail of the trail.

The hot season brought with it an unexpected relief from Cater’s hectic schedule. The scorching sun made everyone crave a break, and for him, that meant finishing work early and finding something more exciting to do with his family. After all, there was nothing worse than a interview in the sweltering heat, with people feeling sweaty and uncomfortable.

With an excited smile, Cater dragged his wife [Name] and children, Astrid and Rory, to a nature reserve by the sea. The place was perfect for disconnecting from the world. It offered ample space to swim and even snorkel with some of the sea creatures, creating a relaxing atmosphere full of photo opportunities that he loved to capture.

Astrid quickly raised her hand, as if she had asked an important question. “Can I swim with the sharks?” she said with a sparkle in her eyes, her light orange hair lightly blowing in her face as she looked anxiously at her parents.

“Why on earth would you want to swim with sharks?” Rory replied.

[Name] couldn’t help but laugh, trying to lighten the situation. “I’m glad you want to go on an adventure, dear, but I think it would be better to start with something lighter, don’t you think?” she looked at Astrid with a calm smile.

Astrid grimaced, not completely convinced, crossing her arms and looking at her parents as if she were going to continue the argument. But before she could complain any further, a hand appeared underneath her, lifting her off the ground with ease. Cater placed her on his back, with Astrid laughing and squealing with excitement.

"Hey, hey! No arguing, let's just enjoy the moment, how about seeing the manta rays?" Cater suggested. "They like getting close to humans, and they're super harmless. It'll be really cool."

Astrid, with her face already lit up with a wide smile, put the grimace aside, agreeing with her father. She was excited about the idea, even more than with the sharks. Rory, still suspicious, looked at his sister and then at his parents, with a slight sigh. He couldn't deny that their enthusiasm was contagious.

And so the family began their walk to the water sports area, with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the summer heat enveloping them all. Cater was happy to be sharing this moment with his wife and children, finally having some time to relax and enjoy life outside the chaos of journalistic work. Over the years, he has learned to appreciate life off-screen more.

To escape the hell that was the city that day, Ace decided that the best solution would be to take his family to a nearby river. Nothing too elaborate, but at least there they could cool off without having to spend a fortune on cold drinks or abuse his magic with cooling spells, which were a luxury that he, as someone from the ministry's accounting department, was not willing to abuse.

For a while, everything went peacefully. [Name] took off her shoes and dipped her feet in the water, relaxing as she watched her children venture further ahead. Lilian had already tied her orange-red hair into a ponytail, while Jasper stood with his arms crossed, evaluating whether it was worth getting in the water or if it would be more fun to tease his sister. Ace, on the other hand, already had his feet submerged and was throwing some water up, enjoying the coolness.

It was then that, out of nowhere, the tranquility was broken.

“So, Dad,” Lilian began, crossing her arms and giving him an inquisitive look, “How many girlfriends did you have before Mom?”

Ace blinked in confusion as he finished stretching in the water. “What? Where did that question come from?”

"You had a girlfriend before mom. And you didn't think to tell us, huh?"

Ace glanced sideways at [Name], who just chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation.

“What have you been telling them?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Me? Nothing!” [Name] replied with an innocent smile. “But your brother loves to tell stories.”

Ace groaned softly. His brother... he should have known.

"Lili, I didn't even know your mother when I broke up with this girlfriend!" he tried to argue to see if his daughter would change the subject.

But Lilian quickly dodged him and kept her accusatory expression. "Even so!" she insisted, now going closer to her mother, as if seeking reinforcement. "Uncle said you were a jerk to mom in the beginning! And what about the other girl?! You were nice to her?!"

Ace ran his hand over his face in disbelief. He had faced powerful adverse situations, being a troublemaker at school… but nothing compared to the fury of a teenage daughter determined to seek justice for her mother.

"Is this an interrogation?" he asked, raising his hands in surrender.

"It depends on your answer," Lilian replied with a frown.

"Look, I wasn't the easiest guy to deal with back then," Ace admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But I wasn't that bad either, okay?"

"What does that mean?!" Lilian insisted.

Ace sighed. "You know what? I'll ask your uncle what else he's been telling you. I mean, I should be enjoying the water, not defending my reputation from sixteen years ago!"

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a jerk, you wouldn't have to defend yourself now," Jasper scoffed.

"Are you two going to go swimming or keep tormenting me?"

Lilian and Jasper exchanged glances and, without warning, threw water at their father at the same time, this one who gasped offendedly.

"Sweetie, don't be so hard on your father," [Name] intervened, placing her hand gently on Lilian's hair, who was still pouting. "He wasn't perfect, but he learned a lot. And he certainly wasn't the only one who made mistakes." she chuckled, stroking her daughter's hair. "Although he really deserves some of the karma, I'd say."

"Oh, for the love of—!" Ace exclaimed, feigning indignation, while Jasper, on the other side, burst out laughing, clearly enjoying the situation. Ace an his wet hands over his face, as if that could alleviate the embarrassment. "This is absurd! Look here, I wasn't that horrible! What are you three trying to do to me, huh? A public lynching? Lili, I promise you, the only woman I've ever truly loved was your mother. No other woman has ever made me feel like she did, you little brat."

Lilian was still frowning. "Really?" she asked, a little suspicious.

"More than serious," he replied, with that carefree expression he always used when he tried to seem convincing. "And do you know what happens to those who don't believe in their dads?"

Before Lilian could react, Ace grabbed her by the waist, in a quick and agile movement, dragging her straight into the water.

She let out a high-pitched scream, taking everyone by surprise. "DAD!" she shouted, between laughter and protests, as she tried to free herself.

Water splashed around, and Lilian, now soaking wet, laughed loudly as she struggled to escape her father's embrace, but Ace, laughing along, held her tight. "Do you doubt me? Do you really think I don't love your mother?"

"I never said that!" Lilian replied, laughing and trying to balance herself. "But that doesn't justify throwing me in the water!"

Ace chuckled once more, releasing her and raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, little brat. Just don't question my love for you too."

The unbearable heat that had never been seen before in Queendom of Roses was demanding drastic measures from Deuce. He even thought about taking his family to a place like a beach or a river, but when he got home, he found an unexpected scene in the backyard.

The sound of children's laughter and water jets echoed in the hot air. His children and his wife were completely absorbed in the refreshing game with the garden hose. Matthew, in colorful shorts, held the hose tightly, laughing loudly as he shot jets of water in the direction of his mother and brother. Raphael, smaller and more agile, tried to escape by running clumsily, but was hit full on in the chest, making him let out a shrill laugh. [Name] was also soaked, her white blouse now stuck to her body due to the water, and strands of hair stuck to her face as she laughed, trying to shield herself behind her youngest son.

The scene are completely chaotic.

"Hey!" Deuce's voice broke the moment, firm and unexpected. His serious expression made Matthew's eyes widen and lowered the hose, "What are you doing getting your mother and brother wet like that, Matthew?" Deuce asked, crossing his arms.

"Sorry, Dad, we were just-" Matthew started to justify himself, but was interrupted by Deuce snatched the hose from his hands and held it tightly.

A mischievous glint crossed his determined gaze, the same look he used to have in their old delinquent phase. "It has to be this way!" He turned the hose directly on Matthew and Raphael, blasting them with a jet of water strong enough to make them scream and laugh at the same time.

Matthew tried to run away, but Deuce was spot on—he aimed right at the boy’s back, making him squirm in surprise. Raphael, laughing nervously, tried to hide behind his mother, but Deuce quickly changed his target, and soon a cold jet hit [Name] as well. “Deuce!” she shouted, laughing as she raised her arms in a futile attempt to defend herself. “It's not fair!”

“Of course it's fair,” he snapped, amused by the general confusion that ensued. The boys joined in, trying to grab the hose from their father, but Deuce was faster and dodged it easily.

[Name] took advantage of a moment of distraction to run to a forgotten bucket in the corner of the garden. Before Deuce knew it, she had filled it and poured the water straight over his head. The shock of the icy water made Deuce hold his breath for a moment.

"Ah, now you've done it," he murmured, a smile breaking across his face before he charged at them, picking [Nome] up, making her squeal as he picked up the hose from the floor. Raphael and Matthew ran to escape, but Deuce was too fast to them. Within seconds, they were all completely soaked, laughing as if the unbearable heat had been forgotten.

Eventually, the garden became a water war zone, if it wasn't already before.

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kirkwallguy · 3 hours ago

Text

magic (and the lack of it)

Justice needs a healer. Anders is always happy to help. [written for day one of @andersweek2025 ! minor tw for mentions of wounds / needles, and one brief reference to suicide] read on ao3

“Mage, I seek your counsel.”

Anders looked up from his book - he’d been enjoying a rare moment of quiet beside the fire while the Warden Commander was attending to business in the city. Usually he went with her, revelling in the chance to walk through the markets without having to watch his back constantly; but he was still licking his wounds after a drunken argument with Oghren the night before and didn’t fancy trading jabs for the rest of the day. That dwarf was ruthless when he was hungover.

Justice had stayed behind as well. Walking corpses weren’t often welcome in cities. Anders could sympathise.

Looking at him now as he hesitated in the doorway, it was hard to see him for what he was. He shuffled awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot – he had once confided in Anders that this was a mannerism he’d learned by observing low ranking soldiers stationed at the keep. It was oddly sweet to think of him standing in front of the mirror, practicing his movements, wondering which made him look the most human.

“I have a name you know,” Anders said, snapping his book shut and propping himself up on one elbow, “I’m not defined by my mage-iness.”

Justice stilled, an unreadable expression on his face, “my apologies, Anders.”

Teasing Justice was almost criminally easy - if the heart in Kristoff’s chest had pumped blood, he might have even blushed. Anders softened and put his book down, patting the space beside him on the rug.

“Come here and tell Anders your woes,” he cooed, stretching lazily. He wasn’t trying to flirt – not really, anyway – but he couldn’t help feeling a little curious. Who wouldn’t be? Kristoff had had a wife, did those same urges still exist in there somewhere?

Seemingly not. Justice crossed the room to stand beside the fire for a second before plopping down on the rug, arranging himself so he sat cross-legged and stiff-backed. Up close, it was even easier to tell that he didn’t need to breathe or blink. Eerie.

Justice ducked his head, “I require your assistance with a personal matter.”

“Oh?”

“You are trained in the art of healing, are you not? I need-” Justice paused for a moment, struggling to find the words, “my body is damaged.”

Anders looked at him, “we do have an infirmary, you know. You might prefer it there – I have a terrible bedside manner.”

“I would rather you look.”

He seemed nervous, staring directly into Anders’ eyes as the Warden Commander had taught him to.

“Alright,” Anders sighed, sitting up straight and gesturing vaguely, “whip it out and let me see.”

Carefully, Justice unfolded himself and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm; he’d taken to wearing a simple shirt and breeches around the keep when not in armour, having found them beneath his pillow in the dormitory. They accentuated his sunken features, making him look even more skeletal than usual.

In the wavering firelight, Justice’s skin looked almost alive. Anders leaned forward to study it. At first it was hard to see what he was supposed to be looking at - the flesh of his arm was gnarled and warped, stomach-turning reminiscent of the many blight victims Anders had come across in the past few months.

After a moment, Anders’ eyes fell on a large gash just below his inner elbow. Had he been alive, it would have been gushing blood – spurting, even, if it was as deep as it appeared – but without a working circulatory system, it could only weep sadly.

“Makers’ breath!” Anders couldn’t help recoiling slightly, “when did you do that?”

Justice looked down at the wound, “I don’t know.”

Anders wasn’t squeamish. You couldn’t live the life he’d led and come out the other end easily disgusted by blood or pus or any other bodily fluids. But the idea of tending to Justice’s rotting wounds, holding his arm in his hands and putting his face close enough to smell the decay? That gave him pause.

It must have shown on his face. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings. Justice smiled sadly, pulling his arm away and rolling his sleeve back down.

“I apologise,” he said, yet again, “clearly you are uncomfortable.. Perhaps it would be best for me to visit the infirmary after all.”

There was an air of resignation to the way he spoke, as though he’d been expecting the rejection all along. He knew what he was, how he made people feel. Most paled when they saw him up close, cringing away from the smell of rot that lingered about him – why should Anders be any different?

Then again, why shouldn’t he be?

“Wait!” He said, reaching out to grab Justice’s wrist and suppressing that instinctual shudder when his fingers circled around the cold skin, “don’t be silly – it’s only a little cut, I can patch you up easily.”

Justice’s eyes widened. He let Anders grip him tightly, unmoving.

It was intense. A little too intense for Anders’ liking; he broke eye contact, smiling gingerly as he pulled away. If Justice reacted to the loss of contact – relief or disappointment or resignation – Anders made sure not to look for it. Instead, he turned his gaze to the fire, fixing his mind solidly on the task ahead of him.

Justice breathed heavily and Anders smiled, knowing it was all for his benefit.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Anders smiled, “I’ll run and get my tools. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to teach you a thing or two.”

—

It took all but a few moments to return with the supplies he needed and lay them out on the carpet for Justice to see: needle, thread, forceps, scissors, gauze, bandages, a half-used poultice, and a shallow basin of warm water. Half of them were just for show, Justice wasn’t bleeding, nor was he in pain - Anders wasn’t even sure what good a needle and thread would do, given how his thin skin seemed to be practically rotting off the bone. He almost gagged imagining how it would feel to pierce it, the soft crackling of it beneath his fingers.

He’d sewn dead skin together before, of course, like any other Circle mage who had taken an interest in healing. But that had been carefully preserved, manipulated to mimic living flesh as much as possible so as to prepare apprentice healers for the real thing. And those had been bits and pieces, cuts of farm animals that weren’t fit to be eaten. It was different when the corpse had been dead for several weeks and was staring at you with unseeing, anxious eyes.

“So,” Anders said, breaking a silence that had stretched on for far too long, “I’m going to try and sew your wound together – you saw me tending to Sigrun’s knee last week, didn’t you? This will be similar except… a little bigger, I suppose.”

Justice frowned, “I still don’t understand why your magic is not sufficient for this task.”

“Hey, my magic is plenty sufficient!”

This was a frequent annoyance and a conversation Anders felt he must have had a thousand times with a thousand people – even in the Circle it wasn’t common knowledge that healing magic was best used alongside more traditional methods rather than instead of them. Any powerful enough mage could knit skin back together with magic – Anders himself could do it fairly easily – but it was a useless and risky indulgence that only the most desperate of healers would resort to.

Still, how was Justice supposed to know this? Anders sighed and picked up the needle, testing its sharp point against his finger.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, our world is filthy. An open wound is a problem, yes, but so is a closed one that hasn’t been cleaned properly. Now, if I sew you together, any infection will be obvious and easily treatable; it may even sort itself out if you’re healthy enough otherwise.

“But if the skin heals over an infection? Sometimes, you won’t even notice the signs before it’s too late. There’s nowhere for the dirt to escape from, so it bides its time until it’s strong enough to expel itself by force. Sometimes that means vomiting on someone’s shoes, but sometimes it means you lose an arm, or your lungs fill with fluid, or your bowels explode. And let me tell you, even if you can’t feel pain, none of those things will be a pleasant experience for you.”

Justice stared at him, “you’ve studied this at length.”

“Not much else to do in the Circle, is there?” Anders shrugged, “better this than becoming one of those poor sods that obsesses over entropy or necromancy. No offence.”

Still staring, Justice frowned.

“I dislike hearing about these Circles.”

He meant it. Something inside of Anders twisted and he turned his head away, gripping the needle tightly in his fist.

Justice went silent. When it was clear he wasn’t going to keep prodding, Anders stood up and crossed the room to stare into the fire. Even with his back turned, he felt those corpse-like eyes watching him. Self conscious, he bent down and held the needle to the flames, not caring as it began to heat up and burn his fingertips.

“What are you doing now?”

Anders pulled the needle from the fire and shrugged, “fire kills infection. You’ve seen the funeral pyres whenever there’s a darkspawn attack, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we don’t do that for fun.” He said, “here – let me show you.”

It was strangely difficult to sit back down. There was a tight knot of nerves in Anders’ stomach, like he was about to kiss someone for the first time, that strange mixture of anticipation and excitement and worry. He tried not to let it show, not wanting Justice to mistake it for incompetence.

He held out the needle, still glowing slightly from the fire, “if you ever need to sew someone else up, you’ll have to hold it against a flame until it glows like this. Otherwise, you may as well just rub dirt all over the wound.”

Justice looked at the needle closely, “red...like metal being worked by a blacksmith.”

It was a connection Anders had never made before. He stared at the needle, now cool and dull between his fingers.

“I never did do much smithing,” he said, “not exactly a career for a mage.”

Justice winced but said nothing.

It only took a moment for Anders to prepare everything, threading the needle and making sure the water he’d fetched was still warm. He dipped a cloth into the basin and glanced up at Justice.

“Are you ready to start?”

He always liked to ask before shoving a needle into someone. It didn’t help with the discomfort, not usually, but it felt polite to do so – the Warden Commander hated it, always telling him to stop with the niceties and just get on with what he needed to do.

Justice seemed to appreciate it, though. He nodded, rolling his sleeve up and offering Anders his arm. Somehow, it looked even worse than before, his pale skin rotting slightly around the edges of the wound – it occurred to Anders suddenly that the injury could be weeks old.

Nervously, he reached out and dabbed at Justice’s arm. He was half afraid the skin would fall apart as soon as he touched it, but it held surprisingly firm. There was a thin layer of gunk covering the area surrounding the wound that he tried not to think too hard about, cleaning it methodically and calmly.

Once the skin was clean – or, once Anders had reached his limit – he dried Justice off and picked up the needle and forceps. Justice watched with interest, eyes following Anders’ movements so intensely that he suppressed the urge to blush.

“This might pinch.” He warned.

“I do not mind.”

Of course he didn’t. Anders sighed and leaned forward, picking up the edge of the wound with the forceps. It made a sickening sound, a crackling groan that made him feel queasy.

Circle healers had to have strong stomachs. Anders had once spent weeks trying to explain this years ago while travelling with a group of lifelong apostates during one of his many brief attempts at freedom. They’d made fun of him, asked how many papercuts he’d healed, whether he knew any useful potions for indigestion. They hadn’t understood.

But when one of them had fallen from a tree and snapped his neck, he’d been the only one able to handle preparing the body for the funeral pyre. When he’d explained how common broken necks were at Kinloch, how many times he’d seen this same death play out over and over, a mage falling from their tower, that was when they’d finally understood. He’d stopped travelling with them soon after that.

“Does this hurt?” He asked.

“No.”

“Good,” Anders was genuinely glad, “tell me if you feel any pain. I’m going to start sewing now.”

He was going slower than he usually would and he didn’t know why. He looked into Justice’s blank eyes, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.

Justice inclined his head slightly. It seemed that that would be all Anders got.

Carefully, more tentative than he’d been since he was an apprentice, Anders pressed the needle into Justice’s arm.

Justice didn’t flinch. He watched in fascination as Anders wove the needle in and out of his skin, using the forceps to manipulate the wound and keep the stitches small and neat. Once he was in the familiar rhythm of suturing, Anders found it easier to stomach being so close to Justice’s rotting flesh – it was nice, even, to be tending to someone so still and patient.

The wound was larger than Anders was used to stitching under such controlled circumstances. Usually, this was something he’d be fixing with bloody, shaking hands, just wanting to stem the bleeding before the patient lost consciousness. Without pressure, it seemed to take forever. The world narrowed down to just his hands as they moved methodically, his slow breaths, his singular heartbeat. It was oddly lonely. He wished Justice would say something.

Around halfway through, he ran into difficulty, finding the skin tougher and harder to work with. It was probably old scar tissue from one of Kristoff’s long-forgotten wounds.

Anders frowned and pushed the needle hard, forcing it through.

“Oh!” Justice said.

It was the first sound he’d made since Anders began sewing,“that hurt?”

“No. Apologies, I didn’t mean-”

“Justice.”

“Please, keep going.”

Anders knew a lost cause when he saw one. He shrugged and ducked his head, carrying on with his work as gently as he could. There was a little more scar tissue, but he took his time with it, gently pushing the needle through. There were no more complaints from Justice.

When he was done he tied off and cut the thread, breathing a sigh of relief and relaxing. As usual, he’d done a good job – the stitches were neat, the skin pulled tightly closed.

He tilted his head to smile up at Justice, “better, right?”

Justice looked down at him and nodded hesitantly. He attempted to flex his arm, testing the tightness of the stitches. Anders yelped and reached out to grasp his wrist.

“Careful!” His skin was a little warm from where Anders had been cradling it a few moments ago, “be careful. You don’t want to tear anything.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Though Justice’s eyes were dead and blank, Anders swore he saw a stirring of emotion behind them, a mix of gratitude and grief so intense that he found himself drawing back, slowly removing his hand from his wrist.

“I appreciate your care.” Justice said, each word carefully enunciated.

Anders swallowed, “think nothing of it, couldn’t have you walking around with an open wound, could we? Speaking of…”

He scrambled around for his bandages. Justice looked at them blankly.

“I am not bleeding.”

Anders shook his head, “remember what I said about infection earlier? Come on, it’ll only take a moment.”

Once again, Justice held out an obedient arm. Anders wound the bandage around the stitches, careful not to bruise the delicate skin beneath.

It took less time than the stitching, “done,” he said, after a few moments.

Justice drew back, carefully touching the bandage. He said nothing.

“How does it feel?” Anders probed, “not too tight?”

“No.”

Sometimes it felt like Justice didn’t know that words were free with how carefully he used them. Anders stared at him for a moment, trying and failing to think of something to say.

“Did you need help with anything else?” He managed eventually, “no other gaping wounds that need stitching up?”

Justice said nothing, but Anders saw his face change. He was working up the courage to ask for a favour, Anders just knew it. But what kind of favours could a spirit even need? Unless he wanted… No. Anders didn’t even want to entertain the thought.

“Justice?�� He said, “come on – spit it out, already.”

Justice sighed, “it is nothing.” He said nervously, “only… I hoped to witness your magical abilities up close. I find the process mildly fascinating.”

“You… what?”

This was a first. Aside from his fellow mages, most people Anders had met found healing magic terrifying – something about the gentle transferring of energy seemed to scare them even more than fireballs or bolts of lightning. He stared at Justice suspiciously, unsure whether he was being genuine.

Justice grimaced, “have I offended you?”

“No! I just – well, most people look away when I heal them.”

“Others have taught you to be ashamed of your gift?”

“What? No. Don’t say it like that.” This conversation was growing more uncomfortable by the second, “I suppose I’m just used to patients being afraid. It’s easier to heal people when you know how to put them at ease.”

“I am at ease with your magic.”

“I know, Justice.”

There was little else left to say. Anders wished he was braver – he could have shown Justice his magic if he wanted to, he could have sliced himself open and healed his own wound to demonstrate him what it looked like, let him look closely as the skin neatly grew back together.

He couldn't face it, couldn’t risk the possibility that Justice was lying to make him feel better. Wasn’t that what spirits did? Lie to mages to flatter them?

Or maybe he was the one lying to himself. Maybe he really was ashamed. Funny, that.

“Next time.” He said weakly.

Justice nodded, seeming to understand. “Indeed.”

#dragon age #andersweek2025 #fanfic #my fanfic #i don't remember which tag i use for that lol #i love writing awakening anders he's so bouncy. i imagine his ponytail bouncing when he speaks

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01zfan · 13 hours ago

Text

contact pt. 2

ex!shotaro x ex!reader | 10.6k words

the part two literally two people asked for. i can't help that i can't get shotaro out of my mind especially THIS shotaro.

contains: breaking up, exes with benefits, miscommunication, mushy gushy stuff, and comfort from not busy diners and soup-and-sandwich specials

contact: part 1 | part 2

You didn’t meet Shotaro on purpose.

You met him on an impromptu journey of self discovery that lead you to the diner off campus. You thought you’d devise a plan to become a person that put themselves out there in the comfort of the place you went to nearly every day. Craft yourself a new personality over the best soup-and-sandwich lunch special the town had to offer, one of the few places that was so uninhabited you often got the entire place to yourself.

The closest thing you had to a friend was Giselle, the part time server that had mainly night classes. Your opposing schedules made it so you could never really hang out, but you admittedly preferred it that way. You two had an unspoken acknowledgement of the fact that your lives were total opposites. On Giselle’s Instagram you found out that she was involved in nightlife and other things beyond your single dorm. On your Instagram she found out you were never going to go to a party even if you seemed to really consider an invitation.

You liked the relationship you had with her currently, small doses of you in the form of sitting at your table between stretches of dead periods in the diner or when she was on break. That was probably the manifestation of another problem you had, but that was neither here nor there. What mattered was that you had uncharacteristically built such a rapport with someone to the point that they knew your name, what spot in the diner you liked, and what you were going to order.

Giselle brought you your food and sat across from you in the booth seat. She messed with the end of her high ponytail. Being friends with Giselle was easy. She didn’t hide anything, you didn’t know if she even knew how to. When you started at her blonde roots down to the cotton candy pink hair carding through her fingers you wanted to ask if it was damaged. When she sighed heavily you knew something was wrong. A perfect opening for conversation, so you didn’t have to force her to sit in silence with you.

“Long day?” You asked.

“Long week.” She answered.

“It’s only Tuesday.” You said.

“Tell me about it.” Giselle sighed again, putting her head in one hand as her other continued messing with her hair. You turned your plate towards her, offering the other half of your cranberry chicken sandwich. Giselle reached forward and dug her fingernails into one half to tear it into two pieces. She took the smaller portion. “I can’t wait for this week to be over.”

You nodded your head knowingly. If anyone had the right to be tired, it was Giselle. Between her involvement on campus, her work schedule, and her nightlife you didn’t know how she did it all.

“When are you off work?” You asked.

“In like twenty minutes. But,” Giselle brought her hands to her eyes and rubbed them profusely. “Shotaro is coming so we can talk about. Something.” She said.

Giselle had the habit of thinking you knew the same people she did. More often than not she would mention someone’s name in passing, each time you would have to remind your friend you very much did not know who the person was. So when Giselle mentioned Shotaro, the one who was in her financial analyst class, you still shook your head.

“I’ve never met him.” You said.

Before Giselle could tell you an unimportant fact as if that would jog your memory, the tiny bell above the front door went off. Giselle turned around before you could peer over her shoulder to see who came in. She checked her watch, turning the loose band on her wrist so she could see the time.

“You’re early.” She chided.

“Had to get here before you left like last time.” He said.

Shotaro’s hand went to Giselle’s shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. You didn’t even get a chance to assume that they were together before he was already looking to you with curiosity. You don’t know why it made the hairs on the back of your neck raise, but you’d come to find out that being at the receiving end of Shotaro’s attention would always make you feel that way.

You didn’t meet Shotaro on purpose.

Giselle always made sure to emphasize that when she told the story of how she brought you two together. She became your self-appointed love guru and wing woman when she told Shotaro about you like you weren’t sitting right in front of them. She patted herself on the back for keeping the conversation going when you would get nervous and stop talking. She always bragged about how she was able to set up a date between her two friends right before the dinner rush at her work.

Because you met Shotaro through Giselle, and you met in the diner you always came to, he became the de facto third person in previous duo with Giselle. Purely on technicality, and it made sense because the two ran in the same massive social circle, and the diner was one of the few places you ventured to in your small bubble. So more than Giselle saw Shotaro through mutual friends and school mixers and non-school parties she saw him with you, shoulders touching as he whispered playfully in your ear or leaned over to show you something on his phone.

Seeing you two together was such a common occurrence that when you showed up to the diner without him in tow, she knew something was off. When you stayed focused on your food instead of looking up at her, Giselle tried her best to be neutral.

“Where’s Shotaro?” With her eyebrows raised she leaned down to try and get you at eye level with her. “Haven’t seen him in awhile.” She said.

Her hesitancy made you think she already knew the answer. Still you focused on your food and not her, looking directly at your caprese sandwich.

“We broke up.” You answered simply.

Giselle’s eyes went wide. You were so silent it was almost overshadowed by the rest of the chatter in the diner, and you provided no other explanation. You just continued to eat your food, looking at the your plate instead of your worried friend.

“Woah.” When you only nodded in acknowledgment you felt the overwhelming concern come from your friend as she simultaneously tried to mask it. You cleared your throat and pushed your food around your plate as Giselle sputtered in front of you. “What happened? Are you okay?” She asked.

Only then were you able to look up from your food. You looked right past her to watch a couple walk by your booth to be seated. You nodded, turning your focus to the bell above the front entrance past Giselle.

“I am.” You answered.

When you had nothing else to stare at, you went back to your plate. You messed with the edge, feeling the need to prove yourself more than the need to eat.

“I broke up with him. In case you didn’t know.” You added.

You could argue that Giselle’s shocked reaction was part of the reason you called it off.

“What happened? I thought everything was going well between you guys.” She said.

There were no secrets you were keeping from her about your relationship with Shotaro, if anything you were keeping how good you had it hidden away. There was no one else in your life that was so willing to put their lifestyle on hold for you. No one who wanted to give up their weekends outside to be inside up with you, no one that was as patient or caring or warm and gentle. No one was considerate of your heart to never break it, even if you were ill-matched.

But there was the overwhelming burden that started becoming unbearable when you realized you were pulling Shotaro further and further away from his life. You had no right to keep him inside, to stop him from enjoying his youth.

You didn’t even know that it was weighing on you so heavily until you dropped the bombshell. Randomly on a Friday night, right when Netflix asked if you were still watching and Shotaro’s phone lit up with another message from his friend asking where he was at.

“I think we should break up.” You said casually.

“Sure babe.” You could feel Shotaro’s chest vibrate against your back as he silenced his phone.

When you didn’t reply and when you didn’t press Yes, I’m still watching his demeanor completely changed. He froze behind you, peering over your shoulder to try and get a good look at your face.

“Wait, you’re serious?” He asked.

When you still didn’t respond Shotaro got up from his spot behind you completely. You both sat up your feet dangling over the edge of the sofa as he looked at you confused. Too many times you felt like you were trying to play catch up with Shotaro. You had to constantly learn his new friends names and the birthdays and the hangouts and the parties and the cool restaurants you had no idea about. You felt sick satisfaction seeing him try to catch up to you for once.

When your words finally settled and Netflix went back to the homepage he let out a slow breath.

“Can I ask why?”

You felt yourself grasping at straws as you tried to find the reason. He was with you on a Friday night instead of going out to the party his friends spent a week telling him about. They were still holding out hope, not knowing that the thing indirectly keeping him in was you. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer him, that you were somehow yearning for something you couldn’t explain when you were doing fine on your own for so long. You only shook your head and repeated the sentiment.

“I just think we should break up.”

“I want to know why.” Shotaro pinched the bridge of his nose. He was always so patient with you.

Not having an answer made everything worse. Walking out without saying a word was arguably even worse. You did both while Shotaro followed you around his apartment, trying to get you to talk to him.

Even the morning after the funeral you didn’t have an answer. Your body woke up in Shotaro’s bed before your mind did, surging yourself forward like you were in a nightmare.

For a moment you panicked, blindly reaching for your phone that wasn’t there as you took in your environment. When you saw the familiar curtains and relief sunk in. But then when you really realized where you were, you panicked again.

“Good morning.”

Shotaro’s shirt was on your body, you were on his bed underneath the comforter he bought because he knew you always ran cold. He spoke to you slowly, looking at you from his desk. He eyed you from his office chair like you were unpredictable. He must’ve been right in some way, because being underneath his gaze made you want to bolt out his apartment through the window and lunge at him from your spot across the room. You tried to feign calmness, stretching like you didn’t just wake yourself up violently from your sleep. You rubbed your eyes and forced a yawn, trying hard to not look Shotaro in the face.

He picked at the bottom of his shirt, the one you were wearing last night before everything transpired between the two of you.

“Should we talk about last night?” He asked.

The way he asked it told you he already knew your answer. You still shook your head, looking down at the indent you were making on his mattress.

“Probably not.” You said quietly.

“Are you going to stay for breakfast?” He asked.

Same helpless infliction in his voice when he asked the first question. You shook your head the same, eyes on your pile of clothes neatly folded next to him.

“Probably not.” You repeated.

Shotaro nodded slowly. He knew you entirely too well. He turned away from you in his chair to face the dimly lit screen of his laptop. He started writing in his journal and typing, while you brought your legs closer and closer to your body. His room seemed a little colder, the floor was freezing underneath your feet when you slid off his bed. You padded around his room heel to toe, like you were trying your hardest to not make your presence known. But Shotaro always noticed, he always looked out for you in a way that made you panic. That’s why instead of continuing to ignore you for your sake he stopped typing on his computer when you reached forward to grab your neatly folded dress.

“You can borrow my clothes.” Shotaro said.

You nodded silently before fully grabbing your dress. You didn’t know if Shotaro wasn’t looking at you as some sort of punishment for you avoiding to look at him but you admittedly felt grateful. The way he didn’t follow you through the space made it that much easier to leave without looking back.

There was three days of radio silence before either of you reached out.

You fully intended to wait for Shotaro to tell you to bring back his clothes, or wait for a time in your schedule during the day to return his belongings. But after you called your mother and she guilt tripped you for leaving the wake without introducing Shotaro to all of your extended family you felt shitty. Then you went and bombed your exam that you were too emotionally drained to study for. Then it got unbelievably gloomy after your last class when you forgot your keys to your dorm. You sat in the lobby of your building, waiting for RA to come back from dinner so you could actually access your room. You felt that same sinking feeling you did outside of your mother’s house when you called Shotaro that night. You felt the same sense of overwhelming wrong that you just needed something to go right, or to completely top off the terrible day you were having by being rejected by him.

You sat in the vinyl chair as you thought about your options. You leaned back in the seat and replayed the awful day you had. Your mother calling you rude for leaving the wake early. Your teacher recommending you to come by for tutoring. Realizing when you turned your locked door that your key was waiting on the other side. Your day made you reckless, you nearly slammed your fingers on the glass screen of your phone as you typed in Shotaro’s memorized number.

hey

can i come over?

it’s ok if you say no.

You waited in the lobby of your building, watching people come in and out. You envied those who had their keys ready to go in their hands, and the ones that seemed to have their lives together.

taro: what are you coming over here to do?

nothing

only going to stay an hour

taro: doors unlocked.

When you went over to Shotaro’s house a second time, there was less talking. Once you came through his door, Shotaro quickly filled in the unsaid gaps of your impromptu visit.

You take partial blame for the way you framed your text. Telling Shotaro you were staying only an hour made it seem like your visit was a hookup, squeezed into your very busy schedule. You didn’t get the chance to tell him you were waiting for your RA to unlock your door as you two stumbled through his apartment.

Shotaro had his hands on your face as you blindly navigated the space, his lips on yours were bruising and almost rough as your legs hit the back of his couch. When you almost fell he pulled you tightly against his body, pulling a gasp from your already depleted lungs. You breathed hot air into his mouth, and drew the breath he was trying to take in through your nose. Still no words were said as you trusted him to guide you completely, your only job was to impatiently push open the door to his bedroom when he pressed you against it.

Instead of kissing you down to his bed gently like he had done all those times before, Shotaro turned you around. Before you could catch your breath he bent you over, the side of your face pressing into his mattress while your feet were still planted on the ground. The new position and Shotaro’s strength made you croak out a choked gasp.

Before you broke his heart, he was never like this with you. He never went straight to devouring you like he was now. He never put a strong hand on the back of your head, pressing it further into the mattress as his other hand felt you up. With widened eyes you tried looking behind you, but anytime your head moved out of place Shotaro would push it slightly harder into the mattress.

“Is this okay?” He applied the lightest of pressure behind his hand again and you drew in a breath. Your fingers started helplessly messing with the stitching of his bed. Shotaro’s hand that wasn’t palming on the back of your head grabbed your ass. “Is this okay?” He repeated.

Something about speaking seemed entirely too much. The small sounds you made during sex was always an indication to Shotaro that you liked what he was doing, that you wanted him to continue. Like your labored breath and the way you were gripping his sheets for dear life wasn't a big enough sign, you nodded your head against Shotaro’s palm and preened your ass backwards. But silence wasn’t enough. You felt Shotaro’s front press to your back, his body temperature making you sweat even more. You writhed underneath him, pressing your back further against his front.

“Use your words.” You could hear the sternness in his voice as his hand left your ass. “Communication is important.”

The second part of his sentence was quieter than the first. It also left something in the air between the two of you, something that had to be cleared by you swallowing your nerves and getting the courage to speak.

“Yes,” You breathed out. “It’s okay.”

Your dynamic in bed changed that night. Shotaro was no longer the sweet doting boyfriend but the energetic fuck buddy that was seemingly on a mission to bring you to tears. With a hand on the back of your head and his handprint swelling on your ass he kept you there for what seemed like an eternity. No sweet coos, no kisses on the lips. What was supposed to be an hour stretched to four as Shotaro bit your shoulder and grunted into your ear, asking you over and over again if this was why you came over. By the end of the night you were saying yes and more until your voice was raw.

You convinced yourself that this was another reason why you two had to break up. The way Shotaro fucked you now seemed to be the way he preferred. Throwing you around, pushing your body into positions he wanted. He needed someone to fuck rather than being the gentle and patient one throughout your relationship. He must’ve been holding back for your sake, and judging by the way he wore condoms and was constantly trying new things on you, you assumed other girls around campus were getting the same treatment. You convinced yourself that he wanted to try new things on you so he was ready for the countless girls that were probably waiting for him to be on the market again.

You forced yourself to be indifferent. When he would fuck you on the couch like you were just some hookup instead of carrying you to bed, you convinced yourself that it was just sex, and sex could be had anywhere. Anytime jealousy tried to consume you at the thought of Shotaro being with other girls, you told yourself that he didn’t deserve to be tied down by you. You were happy to be his willing guinea pig, even if the thought of him scrolling on Hinge or Tinder made your heart drop. Letting yourself be used was the least you could do after not even giving him an answer as to why you two had broken up in the first place.

Shotaro became accustomed to your arrangement quickly. After getting the confirmation to his question I’m guessing you want this to be a secret, right? he never asked again. He never asked if you were going on dates (you knew he already knew the answer) or if you were going out for the weekend (once again, you knew he knew the answer). You didn't ask him if he was seeing other people (you didn't want to know the answer) or if he started going out on the weekends again (you hoped the answer was yes, but you hadn't seen him on any of Giselle's Instagram stories and you two seemed to meet up on Friday and Saturday nights more than any other day of the week).

Outside of the space in his apartment you two were still broken up. Giselle was able to successfully drag you to Anton and Sungchan's place for the monthly movie night after telling you how much everyone missed you. On the big gray sofa you found yourself in the middle of tension. Quiet glances towards you and Giselle who was desperately trying to distract you from the quiet glances and the silence that surrounded Shotaro. You knew that your place in the friend group was linked to Shotaro, and your relationship was hailed as the one that was going to make it. There was a tension that came with everyone choosing their side in the "divorce" (Giselle on your side and everyone else on Shotaro's. Once again, you don't fault anyone, and you denied any well wishes or condolences people sent to your inbox).

Just when the nerves were were becoming too much and Giselle left the sofa to go to the bathroom, Shotaro came up to you. He sat next to you on the large sofa, leaving just enough room for one person to fit in between the two of you. He smiled at you and you smiled back. How was he not thinking about the position he had you in hours prior? How was he not showing any signs of mental distress when you felt like you were about to explode?

“How are things?” He asked, just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. He wasn’t being coy, Shotaro was genuine as he kept space between the two of you. You had to dig your nails into your thigh to stop you from closing the distance. Being here was cruel really. Putting yourself in this position was self-torture. You could feel everyone staring at you, the rest of the noise in the apartment fizzled away as everyone continued staring at you two.

“They’re great. Things are great.”

Shotaro smiled and settled into the couch, then as if on cue everyone else started flocking to the living room. People got comfortable on the floor and the sofa. Shotaro made extra room for Sungchan to fill the space between the two of you, and Giselle sat on the other side of you.

You would’ve loved to watch the movie the same as everyone else. When Shotaro’s friends would laugh along to the dialogue, or whisper before being obnoxiously shushed you were too busy staring at Shotaro. The changing scenes of the movie made him too visible to you, He was lit perfectly, and the darkness in the room provided you with just enough coverage to take your peaks.

You spent way too long trying to figure him out. You didn’t know what was happening during the movie or what it was about. You were too busy thinking about all the other movie nights when he’d be stuck to your side like glue, a hand permanently touching your thigh or holding your hand.

Now he wouldn’t even look at you. He stayed trained on the movie, only looking away to scold someone for talking or to reach forward and grab the snacks on the coffee table. He didn’t look over to you when you would laugh, or when Sungchan would look between the two of you from the sides of his eye. Shotaro didn’t give you anything, even when Sungchan inevitably drifted off to sleep right before the final act.

No one would’ve noticed if he even looked at you from the corner of his eye. If he just turned his head towards you when he was laughing. From your side of the couch it really did seem like nothing was happening between the two of you. You were going over everything since the funeral. When you ghosted him for three days to show back up under false pretenses. Last week when you showed up in the middle of the night unannounced. Meeting up with him after you went to the diner. You had to make sure you weren’t dreaming. You had to make everything was real, if he just looked at you the way he always used to you’d know this was real.

But Shotaro didn’t look. He only shifted in his spot on the couch when your fingers dipped underneath the collar of your shirt to run over that splotch of skin by your collarbone that Shotaro sucked raw. He only stretched his arm along the top part of the couch over Sungchan’s slouched body to bring his hand behind your head.

And you said nothing. You only leaned deeper into the couch as slowly as possible so your head could rest in his hand. You only stayed pressed uncomfortably against the couch so Shotaro’s fingers could massage your scalp.

After the movie you made sure to leave first. You were thinking about the secret display of affection as you narrowly avoided drinks and a talk about the movie by leaving the same time Giselle did. Shotaro had the same excuse, talking about a shift at work that didn’t exist. After he said he was leaving, everyone else followed suit. If anyone thought it was weird that you two were leaving at the same time, they didn’t let it be known. Shotaro’s friends only bid you a goodnight and safe travels as you scurried out of the apartment while he still gathered his things.

“You left in such a hurry I thought you actually had something going on tomorrow.” Shotaro said when he opened his door to you.

“It wasn’t a complete lie.” You reason.

Shotaro closes and locks his front door behind you and leans against the door. He gestures towards your overnight bag hanging off your shoulder. You shake your head and bring the strap closer to your body.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

You almost tell Shotaro that you have plans to study in the diner tomorrow. Breaking up with him forced you to bear through your weekly study dates alone. Putting your backpack in the place Shotaro always sat barely helped. You had also heard through the Giselle grapevine that he created his own study group and they occupied the biggest table in the library on Saturdays. You don’t understand how he could bare being around so many people while trying to get work done. But he also used to tell you he couldn’t understand why you liked being alone so much.

“Nothing.” You said, shaking your head.

He didn’t press it any further. He stopped trying to coerce information out of you a long time ago. If Shotaro tried asking a question he let you avoid it the first time you deflected. He would only lift his shoulders and let them fall, mimicking the nonchalant attitude you tried to exude.

He made it hard for you to feign indifference when he backed away from his door, giving you just enough space to walk through.

Shotaro started making you lead him through his apartment recently. After he’d walk behind you to turn the deadbolt lock he would just stay there. Shotaro would look at you from behind, and you didn’t dare to look over your shoulder at him. Being still behind you forced you to step further and further into his place unless you wanted to stand in the entryway all night. You took off your shoes and took your first step in, and Shotaro mirrored your step.

The shreds of dominance that Shotaro gave you made everything even more confusing. The suspension of control was supposed to be the appeal and the reason you were here. When life was too stressful or demanding you would come here to give the authority of your life in someone else’s hands. You came here to not worry about anything, but it was hard to keep your brain off when you had to make decisions to actively avoid an awkward atmosphere. Shotaro making you walk into his apartment instead of pulling you in forced you to make a decision with each foot you decided to put in front of the other.

The responsibility made it feel like you were walking on a tightrope. You didn’t know if the next step would be the wrong one, if he would scold you for walking towards the couch instead of his bedroom. But Shotaro’s silence gave you nothing. You had to make sure each step was confident, even if having the ball in your court made your heart drop. Shotaro didn’t stop you when you walked past the couch in his living room, or when you gently twisted the handle to his bedroom. He let you lead him all the way to his bed, where he looked unsuspecting and you felt like you were going to explode.

“Did you like the movie?” You asked.

Shotaro nodded his head. He gently guided your purse off of your shoulder and set it on his computer chair.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked.

You truthfully couldn’t remember what the movie was about. Each time you tried to recall what was on the screen your mind only went to Shotaro’s hand inconspicuously massaging your scalp. You had your eyes on him more than you did the movie. Still you nodded your head, trying to find a proper segway to the reason you came here tonight. Shotaro again was no help. He stood next to his bed in front of you. His hands didn’t even cross the space to touch you first. You had to be the one to make the first move again, taking a step forward until you could press the palms of your hand to his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Lately you’ve been thinking about your mom telling you about that shell you were stuck in when she called you after the wake. You came out of your shell in front of the person who knew you best you felt like you regressed to something even worse than before. When you were asked what’s wrong, you used to answer with contention or shrug it away. Now, when Shotaro asked that question and brought his hands to your arms you felt tears prickle your vision. You couldn’t say it even if you could put it into words. You just lightly pushed at his shoulders, until he got the hint and started lowering his body.

Shotaro let you push him down until he sat on the edge of his bed. With you looking down at the crown of his head, it was manageable. The overbearing heat spreading across your body from embarrassment and an incoming cry turned to confidence, for a second you believed you had an upper hand in the situation of what’s wrong.

You brought your hand to rest on the top of Shotaro’s head, trying to touch him the same way he did in Anton’s apartment. You weren’t caressing him lovingly, you weren’t offering the affection you swore your arrangement was supposed to be void of now. You were simply testing the waters. Running your hands through his hair was foreplay, nothing more, nothing less. When Shotaro preened into your hand the same way you did on the couch, he was simply returning the favor.

When you felt him beginning to look up, the exhilaration shifted to nerves and before he could even make eye contact with you, you were already going down to your knees. His hands gripped the edge of the bed a little tighter. You hesitated the same time he did before he spread his legs wider. Regardless you kneeled on the hard cold ground, slotting yourself between his legs.

Instead of touching his head, your hands rested heavy on his thighs. Shotaro spread himself further to give you more room, and you felt the air in the room shift. You continued rubbing your hands up and down his thighs, looking at the bulge in his pants instead of him. Being in this position was already enough torture. You prayed that Shotaro would give you a break this one time, that he would just tend to your silent cues of what you wanted to do. But his hand went from the edge of the bed to your chin, and you felt his fingers apply the smallest amount of force to tilt your head upwards.

Looking up at him had the opposite effect on you. Everything in you shriveled up when he held such intense eye contact.

“Tell me what you want.” He said.

Don’t read too much into it. Don’t acknowledge the somber look in his eyes or the pang in your chest. Just reach forward until your hands touch the belt of his pants.

“Can I—” He refused to let you off easy. He only raised his eyebrows, forcing the rest of your sentence from your dry throat. “I want to suck your dick.” You asked.

You don’t know how Shotaro said yes after the words tumbled so awkwardly from your lips. When your lack of sex appeal made you cringe, it made Shotaro’s hands undo his belt quickly. The buckle knocked against his hand but Shotaro didn't show any sign of pain. He set the belt next to him and you watched his hand go to the button on his pants next. Your hands waited for him to stop doing the work, and you took the time to compose yourself from going over the way you asked to suck his dick a million times. You tried to be in the moment for him, because you spent so much of your actual relationship doing everything but that. You shuffled on your knees, and moved your hands to work his pants the rest of the way when they got to his mid thigh.

While you pulled his pants down the rest of the way, Shotaro started palming himself over his briefs. The same ring you gifted him—the only one he seemed to wear these days—stared at you as he touched himself. You pressed your nails into his thigh, letting out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding. He let out a breath too, and you pulled away from the sight to look at his face. Shotaro was already looking at you—but maybe he never looked away to begin with—as his head lulled to the side.

“You see what you still do to me?” He sighed.

If lust wasn’t actively replacing all of your sane thoughts, you would’ve asked Shotaro what he meant by emphasizing the word. You could only swallow a mouth full of spit and nod your head.

“I see it.” You looked back down to his hand. He stopped palming himself to grip it over the fabric of his underwear to really let you see. His dick twitched in his hand when his other cupped your chin. Your nails scraped Shotaro’s waist when they went underneath the elastic of his briefs, and he raised his hips from the bed to let you pull them down.

His dick sprung straight up before you could even get his underwear down to his ankles, and it continued to twitch as he gently pumped himself. Shotaro forced you to take it slow, you matched his pace of fully undressing him as you felt the nerves over your body. Shotaro only took his hands off himself and your face to take off his shirt.

When his briefs were beside you, your hand reached forward to grab him. He was hard and already wet in your hands. When the nerves became too much Shotaro leaned back slightly on the bed. You stayed focused on his dick as Shotaro adjusted himself on the edge of his bed. Again you felt his fingers scratch against your scalp, but they didn’t push. Just having him touch you made the courage come back. You inched closer and Shotaro poked out his tongue to wet his lips.

“You got it.” He assured.

You nodded to Shotaro again before bringing him closer to your mouth. You licked the underside of his tip first, a flat tongue against him as he sighed above you again. When you took him all the way to the back of your throat Shotaro’s hand tightened, trying to pull your head back. He always did that, trying to always stop you from gagging or getting ahead of yourself. Feeling Shotaro still handle you like you were made of glass made you take him just as deep again.

“Fuck.” Shotaro whispered.

Hearing him curse underneath his breath made you feel like you were doing something right. His grip on you loosened and you took him deep again, and when you gagged he didn’t pull you back. He only spread his legs a little further apart and you scooted closer, ignoring the pain in your knees from the hardwood floor. But Shotaro pulling you off of him paled in comparison to his hands clasping over yours that were pressed to his thighs.

When his thumbs started gently caressing your hands, you needed more. Maybe if he fucked your mouth it’d get rid of the tender feeling in the air. If he fisted your hair instead of moving to cup your cheeks it would be easier. If he told you that he knows you could suck dick better than that instead of cooing at you and telling you everything felt so good you’d be less distracted. Even when you purposefully lose your rhythm and grazed your teeth along a vein his hands didn’t guide you. He only sucked air through his teeth when you gagged again after taking too much.

“Slow down baby.” Shotaro says gently.

His hands cupped your cheek to prevent you from taking him so deep. You don’t even know if your attempts are even bringing him close to the edge, or if this is more for your benefit that his. There had been too many times you looked up to see Shotaro staring at you, more enveloped in you than what you were doing to him. Back then you were satisfied with his focus on you, but now you just wanted his head to lull to the side in bliss. You wanted to hear him curse because of how well you were taking him, and hear his toes crack and feel his thighs shake.

You can’t take it when you take a brave glance upwards to see him looking down at you. His eyes are locked on the same spot his thumb rubs over on your cheeks, then your earlobe that he lightly pinches with his fingers.

“So pretty.” His hand moves to your hair, massaging your scalp the same way he did during the movie. When Shotaro finally catches your eye before you go back down, his hand on your face becomes a little rougher. He doesn’t stop you from taking him to the back of your throat again. “Have you always been this good at sucking dick?”

You nod when you feel his tip heavy on your tongue. Even though it feels like his words are solely for your benefit they play in the back of your head to stop you from gagging and letting more spit dribble from the corner of your lips. Shotaro hums when he sees your resolve, and you blink your watery eyes.

“All for me, huh?”

You nod with his dick in your mouth. When you looked up again Shotaro finally had his head tilted back. He let his leg lose it’s bend and found a new angle to slowly thrust into your mouth. You accommodated to him immediately, ducking your head lower to meet his hips. You felt Shotaro’s hand loosen on your head to wipe the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. He went back to looking at you now, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Even though your pace remained the same, he sounds significantly more lost than before. You hadn’t even gotten to the part where you were supposed to gently rubbing the sensitive inside of his legs to get him even more bothered. But when you nod your head Shotaro moans again, and before you can take keep going he lifts your head off of him.

You’re still blinking away the tears in your eyes and breaking the line of spit with your tongue when Shotaro starts pulling you up. You can’t stop yourself from pouting at not finishing the job as you were getting the hang of it and he was so visibly close. His dick was red and angry when he pulled you up, slapping against his stomach before going back to being upright. You can’t even tend to him before he brings you up to eye level. You’re still attempting to blink away tears when he grabs you by your chin and pulls you in.

When Shotaro’s soft bitten lips press to yours, you realize how long it’s been. Even though he put such an emphasis on how important communication was in your new arrangement, there was plenty that was left unsaid. No talking about why you broke up, no talking about why you came back, and no kissing. You two came to the silent agreement that kissing made everything too real, it was too intimate for the arrangement you currently had. Pressing your lips to his was too reminiscent of the kisses you shared before you broke up with him. He pressed into you the same way, and tilted his head before letting his tongue push into your mouth. You reacted the same way too, parting your lips and letting your tongue press against his.

You two were like that for awhile. Like no time had passed or like you two were doing it for the first time again. Shotaro worked extra hard in the moments you came to your senses. Feeling him pull you deeper made you forget everything. This wasn’t a bad idea when he pulled you by your waist onto the bed with him, and it wasn’t a bad idea that he was maneuvering your body to be underneath his.

When Shotaro pulled away you followed after him. Your lips were still parted, your tongue in the same place he left it when your eyes fluttered open again. He was already looking at you, your glossy spit was still smeared across his lips when he smiled at you. You were too busy trying to hide the look of surprise on your face to do anything else. He rubbed his fingers over your expression before you could change it. You were trapped underneath his body and his soft gaze that was so much harder to bare than the hunger he had in his eyes earlier. He looks away from you when he reaches to his nightstand, pulling a condom from the top drawer.

“I don’t know how you still do this to me.” He said quietly.

There’s that still again. It’s persistent, it’s emphasized each time it leaves his lips. Shotaro kisses your lips again before you can ask him about it. He gently pushes your pants down your legs and you quick them off until you hear them hit the floor. You wrap your legs around his waist quickly, falling into the normal operations of the past two months. But instead of Shotaro bringing his hands to restrict both of your wrists he intertwines his fingers with yours.

Your hand hesitates, fingers sticking out straight between his. Shotaro looks at your rigid hand then to your eyes.

“I just need you.” He’s sincere. His voice almost breaks when he pulses his grip on your hand. The way he looks down at you makes you ignore everything else until you’re nodding your head to his request. Shotaro’s lips curl into a smile and his thumb rubs at your cheek. “In the way we used to do it. Please.” He begs like nothing happened between the two of you. You clasp your hand around his like it's another Friday night of you holding him captive in his room instead of letting him enjoy his youth.

“Okay.” You should feel terrible for doing this.

He doesn’t take off his ring to slip it into your mouth. He kisses you again as his hand drags down your body. Shotaro is the one who guides your legs around his waist as he situates himself between. He’s teasing when he rubs his tip across your clit, it causes both of you to moan into eachothers mouths.

As Shotaro slides in, he holds your hand tight. You feel it being pressed into the mattress beside your head before he slowly rocks into you. Both of you are careful, knowing you’re liable to say something you definitely shouldn’t. But the way he slides back in feels like the first time, and when he goes to your neck to let out a sigh of relief you feel it.

“It’s like no time has passed.” Shotaro’s voice is barely held together, like he’s one step away from moaning directly in your ear. He pulls away from your neck to look at you. You close your eyes fast, but you’ve been in this position enough to know. The scene is painted perfectly in your mind, and you can feel his breath fan your cheek as he continues to talk. “Like that night never happened.” He says.

This isn’t dirty talk. This isn’t him telling you that you’re tight or wet, or that you sound so pretty. You should tell him that this is going to far, but it feels too good. You’re already feeling that knot in the pit of your stomach. The closeness and feeling Shotaro’s heart beat against your chest is making everything feel too intense.

You’re not ready to rebuff his advances. There were many things you could’ve said back to him in this moment. He was giving you an opportunity to say something back without having to even look at him. With his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hand holding yours tightly to show support, Shotaro was opening the door wide for you. You were silent, he pulled his hips back and pushed back into you until a strained moan fell from your lips.

“Do you miss me?” He continued.

He was desperate. He ground his hips against yours and you could feel him in your stomach. You arched you back off the bed again, nodding pitifully, holding his hand so tight you thought you’d break it.

“I miss you, Taro.” You say immediately.

“Don’t leave this time.” He said.

Before you could say anything else, Shotaro hooked your leg in his arm to open you up more. You were compensating the deeper spot he was hitting by digging your nails into whatever you could. His face pressed into the side of yours made it impossible to focus on anything else but him. He was looking down at you, biting his lip trying to hold on just long enough to hear your response.

You shouldn’t have opened your eyes. You should’ve kept them screwed shut until you came. You could blame everything on being theatrics of getting you to finish, but when you opened your eyes and saw how sincere Shotaro looked, it was impossible. You were the only thing he was looking at, so locked into your facial expressions like this was about you instead of him. There was no use in hiding your moans, or how close you already were to your orgasm. You just held him tight so he’d do the same to you, pushing your hips upwards to meet his movements.

There’s no words. Just the two of you moaning, making the bed creak, and holding on so tight. When you’re already on the verge Shotaro is right there, hanging his head low to whisper into your ear.

“I’m close.” He says.

“Me too.” You say back.

Like you two were still a couple, you came together. Shotaro always said it was romantic, so you made a point after you broke up to always cum before or after him. But this time it wasn’t on purpose and unavoidable when he sped his hips up. You were moaning into his ear and then crying, pulling him closer as your legs wrapped around his waist. Shotaro was rutting into you then he stopped, hand on your waist holding you in place. He grunted like he was really cumming inside of you, holding you in place while he panted in your ear. This was too real, too reminiscent of how it was before you ended things. He even stayed on top of you for a beat, coming back to Earth as he realized the both of you went too far.

Shotaro rolled off of your sweaty body to lay on the bed next to you. You stared at the ceiling as you caught your breath. This was definitely worse than the night of the funeral. Then you could blame it on the fresh emotion of breaking up with your ex and the overwhelming presence of your mother. But having intimate sex after pretending you two were solely here to fuck was worse. Significantly worse when Shotaro couldn’t even find the words to cut through the silence. The two of you just stared at the ceiling, hands that were just holding eachother looking for something else to hang onto.

You could barely bring yourself to look out the corner of your eye to Shotaro. He was matching your breathing, one hand resting on his chest while the other pushed sweaty bangs from his face.

“My mom asked about you.” You say.

Shotaro turned to face you and you averted your eyes back to the ceiling. He’s silent for a moment, tapping on his chest like he’s trying to find the words.

“Terrible thing to say after we had sex.” Shotaro laughs to the ceiling. “But what’d you tell her?” He asked after a beat of silence.

“That you’re doing well.” You answered.

You told yourself Shotaro’s heavy sigh was because he was still trying to catch his breath. He got up from laying on the bed and sat on the edge, his back facing you. He didn’t say anything else when he ran his hands through his hair again.

“Why would you tell her that?” He asked.

You got up after him, looking at the back of his his head.

“Because you are doing well.” You answered.

Shotaro turned back to face you. His eyebrows were knit together and he tilted his head to the side. You should be looking at the ceiling light.

“How would you know that?”

You really should be looking at the ceiling light. Because Shotaro keeps his eyes on you and looks upset, you can’t bring yourself to look away. You’re gormless, mouth agape while he fully turns to face you.

“I mean. You haven’t had an actual conversation with me since you broke up with me.” He reaches to the ground and pulls his shirt over his head. You should be getting dressed too. What you came here for is done, but you’re still in the center of the bed. “The only time we actually speak is when we are having sex.” He adds.

Shotaro gets up from the bed and pulls his sweats up his legs. You start looking for your own clothes, they have to be somewhere near your body. You know your bag is still on Shotaro’s computer chair, the S charm he bought you still hanging off the bag.

“I thought you preferred for it to be like this?” You said.

“You think I want the person who broke up my heart to come over just for sex and then just pretend I don’t exist?”

Shotaro’s bewildered expression makes you turn and face him. There’s no hiding the pain on his face, the confusion in his expressive hands. You have nothing to say.

“Why would I want the girl that broke my heart to come over just to break it again and again and—”

“I didn’t break your heart.” You say quietly.

Shotaro has to force eye contact between the two of you by propping himself up on his elbows. He looks at you confused and angry.

“How can you tell me that? You broke up with me and wouldn’t even tell me why. Then you call me outside your mom’s house after a funeral and it seems like you miss me and you need me but then after it’s like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” You say quickly.

“Then tell me why we broke up.” The anger fizzled out somewhere. Shotaro is on the bed, looking at you. He’s so desperate, his hand reaches out and grabs yours to hold it tight. He shakes your hand when you don’t answer, and you can see that heartbreak he was talking about earlier. You find your clothes fast, locking onto them before pulling your hand out of his. “Please.” He begs.

“I don’t think we should sleep together anymore.” You say.

Before Shotaro can say a single thing you’re getting dressed. He follows you wordlessly around his place just like the first time. Anything he says falls on deaf ears. The only resistance was when he stood in front of his computer chair, stopping you from grabbing your bag. But after a moment he handed it to you, and you were gone.

November was colder than you thought it would be. You had to bring your jacket close to your body to try and preserve some warmth. Leaving Shotaro’s apartment even after he was calling for you made you forget that nights were cold. You were aimless suddenly when you made it out of his apartment complex. You should’ve shuffled home in the cold to spend another night alone, coming to terms with the fact that your relationship was over. But the other way like a honing beacon the lights inside of the diner were still on. It wasn’t that late after all, and Giselle was working. There was the soup and sandwich special and still the chance to reinvent yourself. So you shuffled across the gravel and then the grass and then the intersection to the warm yellow lights. The cream of mushroom soup and reuben sandwich special etched on the a-frame outside was like a honing beacon.

You opened the glass door to an empty diner. Giselle sat behind the hostess stand, on her phone until the overhead bell chimed. She grabbed menus and prepared her customer service voice before she looked up and realized it was you.

“Here kinda late?” Giselle asked.

The door slammed closed because of the wind behind you. Giselle said a fact, you were never here past the midday lunch special. You never came to the diner outside your window, you never really left your dorms this late into the night either.

“I was wanting some soup.” You say.

Giselle said nothing else as she guided you to your designated booth. The cup of water and her hand lingering on your shoulder was some form of silent support, and she was heading to the kitchen instead of sitting down with you.

You were watching the rim of your glass and people filtering in and out of the diner. There were barely any people, there was never any people. Only stragglers, people studying late tucked into the corners near the outlets. People sitting at the bar drinking coffee even though it’s nighttime. A completely different crowd than what you’re used to. Being surrounded by people means you’re not alone, and that’s a feeling that’s been eating at you more than usual. So you people watch. You look at the workers behind the counter and the glimpses of Giselle’s pink hair you see behind the swinging door. You hear the bell above the door ring while you’re looking at the back of someone, trying to read their dimmed computer screen.

“I figured you’d be here.”

When you turned around Shotaro was standing next to the booth, dressed in a long coat. He was wearing his slides and socks, something thrown together. It was obvious he wasn’t concerned with dressing for the weather or for style as much as he was concerned finding you. He was still wearing his sweats and sleep shirt and out of breath as he motioned to the other side of the booth.

“Can I sit?” He asked.

You nodded and Shotaro slid in. He took off his coat, shivering from the incoming draft as he settled into the seat. You tried to seem as calm as he did, mirroring his look around the cafe.

“This is where Giselle introduced me to you.” He says.

“This is where you came to talk to Giselle about that project and I just happened to be here.”

You’re playing with the straw in your cup when Shotaro shakes his head. He laughs to himself and looks at the table, running his hand over the top before putting it underneath.

“I used to sit in that back corner over there.” Shotaro points to the part of the diner you’ve never looked at. Someone occupies the space there now, sitting in an stool hunched over as they type away on their computer. You preferred booth seats over stools, so you never paid attention to that side. You’re stuck on the person you’re looking at, not even turning when Shotaro starts speaking again. “You used to come in here so often and order the soup and sandwich special.” He says.

You try your hardest to remember the times you’ve looked over your shoulder. Trying to remember the other table Giselle would always sit at before she started sitting at yours. You try to remember her friend she would mention on occasion, each time you’d tell her you didn’t know him.

“I had to beg Giselle to introduce me to you. She said you wouldn’t like me almost a million times.” He laughs and you see his hand go back up to mess with his eyebrow. A nervous tick that Shotaro always forgot was a nervous tick until he noticed your eyes staring at his hands. “I insisted I just needed her to introduce me to you and I could handle it. But I got so nervous she had to do all the talking for me.” He says.

Finally you turn back to Shotaro. You have to blink to see him clearly.

“Why are you here right now?” You ask.

Your voice is quiet, and so close to breaking. Shotaro leans closer, experimentally reaching his hand across the table. You shouldn’t grab it, you really shouldn’t grab it. But his palm facing upwards looks so comforting and you haven’t touched him outside the context of the bedroom in so long it feels like the first time. You let his hand completely clasp over yours and you look at him the same way he looks back at you.

“You haven’t talked to me. I just want to know why.” He says, just as quiet.

You don’t know why you’ve kept it a secret for this long. You couldn’t come to terms that you broke up with him for a ridiculous reason, or that you were in the wrong. You would’ve thought that he’d move on by now, and those girls you convinced yourself he was seeing would’ve cleared his mind. But he looked tortured for the first time in his life. His eyes were pleading and he was wearing the clothes he wears to bed in public. Withholding the reason why you two broke up was the thing that kept him here. You were trapping him again, unknowingly leveraging a breakup with sex.

“I didn’t want to stop you from living your life.” You look down at his hand, still holding yours tight. “You stopped going out because of me and you stopped seeing your friends too.” You said.

When Shotaro scoffs you look up at him. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe it, holding your hand tighter.

“Who says I stopped going out because of you? Maybe I just got tired of going out.” His other hand is on top of the table, motioning towards something. “I’ve been going out for as long as I can remember.” He says.

“What about your friends?” You ask.

“What about my friends? I see them everyday.” He says.

When you start shaking your head, Shotaro leans close, until the edge of the table stops him.

“I stay in with you because I want to. I still see my friends, and I still live my life.” His other hand wraps around yours. “I want to live a life with you in it. Come out with me, or we can find a new place together if you don’t want to be holed up inside. But I don’t see the harm in doing that on a Friday instead of going to a club I’ve been at a million times.”

When you try to open your mouth to speak, you can’t get the words out. When tear wells in your eyes then rolls down your cheek you have to look outside, anywhere but at Shotaro. You can’t escape him when you see his reflection in the glass window, or when he looks at you even in the reflection. Your other hand wipes away your tears, laying flat on the table.

“I meant it when I said I miss you. I miss you. So much. I should’ve told you how sorry I was the night of the funeral.” You say to the glass.

You see Shotaro nod in the reflection.

“I missed you too. I prefer this instead. Communication is important.” He smiles.

You smile too, turning back towards him. You wipe away more of your tears, fighting that lump in the back of your throat.

“Next time we break up though, please kill me instead. My heart can’t take losing contact with you again.” Shotaro says.

Before you can ask him the question you already know the answer to—the burning question of if you’re back together—Giselle comes around from the back of house with two sandwiches. She talks about how she’s the matchmaker and how sick you two make her until the diner closes.

#seriez: contact #01zfan: shotaro #shotaro smut #riize smut

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blue-aconite · 22 hours ago

Note

"Would you please just kiss me?" With Jake Seresin!

I would apologise for not posting sooner but we all know how life gets. Without further explanation, here's your blurb ♥️ Thanks @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over!

Blurb Night Masterlist

It’s been over half an hour since she left the Hard Deck, wandering out onto the beach and walking along the shore. She hadn’t gone far, close enough that the light coming out of the windows was still visible but far enough that she could no longer hear the people out on the patio.

The sun disappeared some moments ago and the moon is taking its place, casting a cold grey light over the sand.

“What are you doing out here?”

She keeps her eyes on the waves, tracing the overlaps and motions, even as she answers him. “Thinking.”

She’s hoping the short answer will be enough, that he’ll go back inside and leave her alone but fate has other plans. She should have known it wouldn’t be enough. Like a dog with a bone, Hangman wasn’t the one to let things go.

Her hope is further crushed when he comes closer, taking a seat in the sand next to her. He’s close enough so that she can feel the heat emitting from his body, his cologne invading her senses. Not in an unpleasant or unwelcome way, just in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You know, there’s a party going on inside, yet you’re out here alone, thinking.” Hangman says, leaning back onto his elbows and stretching his legs out. She doesn’t look away from the water but his movements can be seen in the corner of her eye.

“Which is exactly why I’m here. Too loud to think in there. Out here though? It’s quiet, simple.” She murmurs, drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She can feel his eyes on her, watching her. “What do you want?”

Hangman takes a moment to answer, as if he has to decide what to say. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m good, thanks.” She’d rather lie than tell him what’s really bothering her. There’s no reason for him to know. He wouldn’t even understand.

Unfortunately, Hangman sees right through her. “Could have fooled me.”

He pulls himself upright, matching her position. It’s odd seeing him look so vulnerable, smaller than he usually presents himself to be.

When she doesn’t reply, he hesitantly continues, as if he’s afraid she’s going to run off if he pushes too far. “You can talk to me, you know. If something’s bothering you. You’d probably prefer Phoenix or Bob but I don’t see them running out here to check on you.”

She rolls her eyes at the last bit. Even when he’s trying to comfort her, he can’t help but take a shot at their teammates. It’s all in good nature nowadays, but it’s so predictably Hangman that it makes her smile. His concern is touching but she still keeps her guard up.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she pauses slightly before adding, “but thank you.”

Hangman shifts, turning his body sideways so he is closer than before. “I think there is something to talk about, you just don’t want to.”

If getting on her nerves is his mission, he’s succeeding at an alarming rate. Gone is the gratefulness at his earlier offer. “And pray tell, Hangman, what would that be, hm?” She spits out, unsuccessful in keeping the annoyance out of her voice. She knows it isn’t fair to react this way, not when he’s been nothing but kind to her but anything to steer him away from the conversation she doesn’t want to happen.

Hangman holds his hands up, as if to placate her. “Maybe the fact that you’ve been avoiding me ever since Payback’s birthday? The fact that whenever we’re off base, you slink away to sit somewhere by yourself? Or maybe we should talk about how we kissed and you refuse to talk about it?”

Fuck.

The last part of his rant makes her tear her gaze from the water, swirling around in the sand to face him. They end up close, too close, but neither moves. “You remember that?”

It’s a weak response, she knows that but it’s the only thing she can come up with.

The look in his eyes portrays disbelief. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you were drunk? And you didn’t talk to me for the whole day afterwards, so I figured it was just something.. -”

“I didn’t talk to you because when I woke up, you were gone. I wasn’t going to hunt you down over something you clearly regretted but I still think we should talk about it.”

She knows they need to address the whole situation but as he speaks, she can only focus on one thing. “You think I regret it?”

Now he’s the one refusing to meet her eyes. “What was I supposed to think? Like I said, you’ve been avoiding me ever since, so I figured you were just trying to let me down easy without having to say something, which is a shitty move by the way, even for you -”

“Let you down easy?” She’s full of bewilderment at this point and while she knows what he’s insinuating, she can’t make herself believe it. There is no possibility, she’d been telling herself for months.

“Oh, spare me. You can’t honestly make me believe you don’t know. I think I’ve been very clear about my feelings for you.” Jake declares, a distinct look in his eyes as he straightens up. But the vulnerability on his face betrays his emotions, even if his voice stays strong.

She feels like she’s falling, a wide black abyss consuming her entire being. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she’d find herself in the situation. “You have feelings for me?”

She’s well aware that she should probably try to unearth more but she’s still not entirely sure she isn’t hallucinating. This can’t possibly be happening.

Jake laughs incredulity. “Are you telling me you actually don’t know?”

“Well, you never said anything!” She implores.

“I didn’t think I had to! It's pretty obvious.” He responds, shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t just drop a major bomb on her.

She throws her arms out, almost whacking him in the face. “OBVIOUS? How about you use your words instead of just thinking I can read your mind? I had no idea!”

“Why would I kiss you, if I didn’t like you?”

She stares at him blankly, at a loss for words. Everything she had wanted since her stupid crush had manifested itself was happening but for some reason, she couldn’t respond in the proper way. How many times had she wished he would reprecipitate the feelings she had developed for him during their time together? How much had she beaten herself up over kissing him back at Payback’s birthday almost a month ago, knowing that he didn’t feel the same, knowing it was the alcohol?

She’s vaguely aware that he’s speaking again but her mind is racing, as is her heart, and she blurts out the only thing she’s thinking about. “Would you please just kiss me? Again?”

#fe writes #fe's blurb night #blurb night #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #fe loves abby

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 day ago

Note

hey so can I have a scenario with Kurt wagner having a crush and he’s kind of hanging with the group, and the topic of “your type” comes up cuz crush just got asked out by the group very hot bad boy hero and crush is just like “Oh I don’t find bad boys or tough guys attractive at all. I like the opposite”. They like men who are cozy basically? (Kurt is cozy to be around once you know him).

~You Know You're Just My Type~

Pairing: Nightcrawler x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff

Summary: A conversation about your type leads to some discoveries you were not prepared to make today- carpe diem... you guess

***

"I've got a question for you y/n." Jack announces as he walks back into the room that you're all hanging out in.

"Shoot." You say dismissively. Jack's cool and all but nothing good ever comes out of his mouth when he begins like that. Plus all did was go get a soda, what could he possibly have discovered he needed to ask in that 5 minutes?

"When are you going to let me take you on a date?" He asks. Across the room, Kurt hold his breath at the question. Jack had a habit of flirting with you, but he'd never asked you on a real date before now. Or at least not that he knew of. But Jack is attractive, Kurt's never seen anyone say no to the guy before and he's not convinced you will either.

"Excuse me?" You blink at him and then burst out laughing. "That's the funniest thing you've ever said if I'm honest." You shake your head and Kurt feels beyond relieved as he sighs.

"Give it a rest man you're barking up the wrongest of trees." Logan scoffs.

"And how would you know?" Jack looks at Logan.

"Because he's got a brain." You say.

"They're practically attached at the hip dude, if any person here would know what's what with her dating preferences it'd probably be Logan." Jean says.

"Blasphemy!" You scoff.

"Defamation!" Logan chimes.

"Character Assassination!" You add.

"You're literally leaning against each other as if you can't sit up on your own right now be serious." Scott scoffs.

"Wait a second, that's a good point- are you two dating?" Jack asks.

You and Logan share a look.

"Gross." You both say.

"Why would you ask that?" You scoff.

"We just established the two of you are basically one person." Jack says.

"Yeah- platonically." You say.

"Have you never been friends with a girl dude?" Logan asks.

"I mean yeah, I'm friends with Jean, and Storm, and y/n- we're just not as close as you and y/n seem to-"

"Well hang on you just asked y/n on a date, so that automatically makes things a little different." Logan cuts Jack off.

"You're telling me you wouldn't date y/n?"

"I'm not answering that. You're being weird." Logan says, shaking his head.

"Yeah and don't talk about me like I'm not right here." You say.

"Fine, why won't you go on a date with me?" Jack asks.

"You are not my type darling."

"Nonsense." He rolls his eyes.

"So what is your type?" Jean asks.

"More importantly, how is it not me?" Jack asks.

"Do we have to do this?" You sigh.

"I think we should, I wanna know." Jack smirks.

"You're rowdy and obnoxious and kind of a dick sometimes and surprise there's only room for me to be close to one guy who's kind of a dick- Logan's already taken the spot." You shrug.

"So if you stop being friends with Logan-"

"Hey, tread carefully asshole." Logan points at him.

"Yeah that sounds like the start of a threat." You say.

"Don't team up against me." Jack shakes his head.

"Fine so we know they're not your types but you still haven't answered what is." Jean presses.

"Does it matter?" You scoff.

"Why are you being so secretive about it?" Storm asks.

"I just don't think it changes anything for most of you." You say.

"But for some of us?" Scott asks.

"Maybe Jack here." You say.

"Just Jack?" Logan smirks.

"Go die." You side eye him.

"Just answer their question." Logan chuckles. You sigh heavily.

"I like someone kind, gentle, I guess more on the soft spoken side? Not a pushover but not abrasive. I want someone calm, none of the adrenaline junkie shit."

"Can you guess who she's thinking of?" Logan smirks. His eyes flit very briefly to the subject of his oh so subtle insinuation.

"Shut up. You piece of shit." You shove him slightly, but you are still leaning on him so not with enough force to knock him down. You hope no one was able to pick up on what he was trying to hint at to the rest of the room. Although with Kurt being more quiet than usual you can't help but wonder if he knows.

"Wait, are you thinking of someone particular?" Scott asks.

"No." You say firmly.

"Logan?" Jean presses.

"She says no." He shrugs.

"You are such a dick. You know they're not gonna let this go! I will have no peace so long as they think I was describing someone in particular." You groan.

"Well-"

"Shhhhh! You're the worst. I'm never telling you anything of importance ever again." You smack Logan's chest.

"So there is someone specific?" Storm asks.

"That why you won't date me? Because you have a crush on someone else?" Jack asks.

"I! Did not say I have a crush on someone else." You say.

"No but your second head basically did." Jean says.

"Okay, just so we're clear, I won't date you because you're you. Whether or not I have a crush on someone else is irrelevant to that decision." You tell Jack.

"Ouch." Jack grabs his chest as if you've wounded him.

"You'll be fine, walk it off." You roll your eyes.

"Come on- you can trust us. You know that." Jean says.

"That is so not the problem here. I didn't want to talk about any of this in the first place. Can we drop this? Now?"

"Okay when y/n wants us to know anything about that she will tell us herself guys." Scott says.

"Thank you Scott." You say. "I'm going to get a drink. Anyone want anything?" You ask standing up. You need a break from this nonsense.

"I just came back from the kitchen, I could've got you something." Jack says.

"I didn't want anything then."

"I'll take a beer." Logan says.

"Great- be back." You say, leaving the room. You walk down to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge for Logan and a bottle of water for yourself.

"Do you- actually have a crush on someone?" Kurt's voice surprises you as you shut the fridge door.

"Fucking Christ!" You shout as you clutch your chest.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you." He blinks in surprise.

"We need to get you a bell, you're too quiet when you walk." You say waiting for your heart rate to slow.

"I'm sorry. Logan asked me to refill on snacks." Kurt says

"It's fine dude, what'd you ask me?"

"Just- if Logan was telling the truth about you having a crush on someone or just taunting you like he does?" Kurt asks. Your knee-jerk reaction is to lie, tell him Logan was just being a dick and there's no one, but how bad could it be if he knew- I mean he's asking after all.

"Uh- well he was definitely trying to tease me but he wasn't lying about it I- was describing a specific person, yes."

"Someone we know- I assume?" Kurt asks hesitantly. He's not even sure he wants to know what the answer is.

"Correct." You nod. This conversation feels so awkward. You wish he would just ask who it is if that's what he wants to know.

"And you... want to keep it a secret, who it is?"

"I want the person to know before everyone else does." You say. Quit beating around the bush and tell him already my GOD

"I don't want to pry." Kurt says.

"Kurt the person I'm talking about is you." You blurt out before you can convince yourself not to. Again.

"What?" His eyes snap up to meet yours.

"I was talking about you."

"Oh." He whispers.

"It's not a big deal and I'm only telling you because Logan's been giving me grief for the past couple of months and after what just happened I'm starting to think he'll tell you before I do so- I wanted to get it out there. While we're on the subject or whatever."

"You- you like me?" Kurt asks, astonishment laced through his quiet words.

"Don't make me regret telling you."

"I- I had no idea."

"Yeah I'm pretty good at that."

"No I mean- I didn't even know you paid attention to me."

"Of course I do."

"I like you too."

"You do?"

"More than anything. When Jack asked you out earlier I thought for sure you'd say yes and- I really hated the idea."

"I hate the idea of saying yes to Jack too." You quip. Kurt chuckles and you're glad that at least some of the tension has been cut by the joke.

"So- what happens now?"

"Now we go back in there and pretend this didn't happen because- I want us to figure things out before we tell everyone else." You say.

"Okay, but what does figuring things out look like?" Kurt asks.

"A date. How's Friday?"

"I can do Friday." He nods.

"Okay, good, I'll meet you in the foyer at 8?"

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever the night takes us." You shrug.

"How do I dress for that?"

"Something you'll be comfortable in."

"Okay. Friday. 8pm. Now we go back in there and be normal?"

"Yep. Until at least Friday at 9."

"What happens after 9?"

"Depends on how the date's going."

"Cool- you should head back first you've been gone longer." Kurt suggests.

"Good idea. See you in a few." You say leaving the kitchen. You're a little confused on how that all just happened but you're pretty sure you have to thank Logan for that? You're not totally sure why yet, but later, when you're alone with your thoughts and able to dissect this whole evening properly, you'll hopefully understand what the hell just took place.

***

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #xmen #xmen nightcrawler #nightcrawler fluff #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner

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voxiteri · 2 days ago

Text

Baldur's Gate 3 Companions and ✨Marijuana✨

Let them get high!!!!

tw: drug use

Halsin

Has 100% smoked before and still does

Definitely had his own grow room at the grove

Likes to mix it with tobacco, since sometimes the taste is too strong for him

Usually just takes a couple puffs to relax

However, when he does smoke more than just a little, he likes to revert to his bear form afterwards and take a little nature walk

Sharing is caring, the man always offers

Big cuddler when he's high

Astarion

Alternatively, and surprisingly, he has never done it, seeing as he didn't have much access to, well, anything

HATES the smell, and refuses to be around it at first

It takes quite a bit of convincing, but the idea of being under the influence of something other than shitty wine sounds appealing

Also hates the taste

Coughs like a bitch lol

Says "this ain't shit" and then proceeds to smoke way more than he probably should for his first time

Gets paranoid and has to lay down

Oddly enough, the best sleep he's gotten in a very long time

Gale

Stoner virgin pt 2

He's probably never smoked anything in his life

YAPS about the effects of marijuana (he read it in a book once)

Coughs so hard he almost pukes

Doesn't mind the taste or smell, but he's not a fan of the burning feeling from smoking

Would use a bong if given the chance

Would also be godly at making edibles

For the first time ever, he shuts the fuck up

Non-verbal stoned moment

Gets REALLY horny

Wyll

He smoked during his rebellious years as a teen

Sometimes finds himself missing it

The smell gave him flashbacks

Handles it well, considering it's been a while

A little giggly

TOUCHY but in a platonic way

He gets the munchies BAD, and usually craves sweets

Tries to keep up with more seasoned smokers but ends up passing out at some point

Shadowheart

Doesn't really remember if she's smoked before or not

A little put off by the smell

Doesn't think smoking is healthy in general, but she's out of wine, so

Takes one hit and realizes she's DEFINITELY felt this before

I imagine pre-game she wasn't smoking a lot, but maybe a couple of times here and there, seeing as she was far too focused on her Sharran worship, so it makes sense that she wouldn't really remember after getting her memories back

GIGGLY

Also touchy in a platonic way, but not nearly as much as others (*cough cough* Karlach *cough cough*)

She gets really focused on the Owlbear and Scratch, and practically ignores everything else around her in favor of baby-talking and loudly smooching foreheads

Lae'Zel

Thinks such activities are useless and that time spent smoking is time better spent training

Finds the smell revolting

Thinks it makes everyone stupid

Won't

But if she did, her personality does a total 180 and she gets oddly sentimental and will openly tell you she cares about you

Likes shining her sword if she's high, it's therapeutic

Karlach

TOTAL STONER

It was a great escape when she had down time in the hells

Smoked with Gorty once, back when they were buddy-buddy

LOUD

Doesn't stop yapping

Giggly

TOUCHIEST TOUCHER

She WILL squeeze

Out smokes everyone, even Mr. 350 Years Old

Minthara

Thinks it's poison, and won't do it

Even if she wanted to, nobody else does

Nightmare blunt rotation member

Jaheira

Smokes with Halsin

Can grow her own instantly, and does so consistently

Appreciates it's medicinal properties, even allowing it to be used by the Harpers as such

Quiet when high, but is more prone to opening up about her life/past when probed

Prefers edibles

Minsc

Definitely smokes consistently

Makes sure Boo isn't right in the smoke

LOUD pt 2

At least he's sitting still for once

Likes telling stories

Will do "funny voices", but to everyone else it's just his normal voice

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nyxvalelovesdragonage · 2 days ago

Note

9 or 16 for the de Riva asks, if you want !

Heck yee! I'm picking #16, Rook rescuing one of the Talons.

De Riva Asks - (Still open!)

"This was your grand plan?" Viago hissed at him as Nyx flew over the cover he was behind and hid next to him. He glanced between an opening of the crates to double check no Antaam saw him before he turned his attention to Viago.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My rescue isn't good enough for you?" Nyx retorted, "I could've left you to die instead."

"From where I'm sitting, death is more preferable than whatever this is," Viago snapped before he winced. The wound in his side was still leaking blood and he pressed a torn piece of his cape to it to try and stem the bleeding. Nyx blew out a breath and moved closer to his mentor.

Sure, it wasn't the cleanest rescue, Nyx was never good at being 'clean'. But he couldn't leave Viago here, even if he was going against the First Talon's direct orders. Crows didn't do rescue missions. Talons were easily replaceable just like every single member. Viago made a mistake, he didn't deserve any mercy in Caterina's eyes. But all Nyx could think about was the sheer amount of times Viago pulled him from the fire, dusted him off and told him to do better. It was only fair that Nyx did the same.

And maybe he would be just a little smug about it too.

"Let me heal you and we can come up with a plan," Nyx offered and Viago eyed him warily. Nyx lifted his hands, showing them to his mentor before reaching out and pushing Viago's own hand away to replace it. Viago stilled, his muscle tense under Nyx's hands as the elf gently pulsed magic into him, repairing torn flesh and ripped sinews. It wasn't perfect, he needed a real healer, but the bleeding would stop.

"So, what did you bring?" Viago asked when Nyx retracted his bloody hands, wiping them on his pants. Nyx tilted his head slightly with a puzzled expression. When no answer came, Viago carried on, "What do we have to work with? Weapons, lockpicks, rope? Anything??" His growing agitation was clear.

"Well..."

"Nyx!"

"Listen, I'm not the one who got caught! Look, I hid a dagger at least!" Nyx reached behind him and pulled out a small, silver dagger with a grin. Viago glanced down at it with an unimpressed expression before his blue eyes met Nyx. There was a grunt somewhere above them and Viago was quick to press a hand into Nyx's face and push him down as a huge Antaam passed the crates they were hidden behind. The elf glared up at him and got up on his elbows.

"Great, an Antaam can pick their teeth when they're done with us," Viago snarked in a low voice.

"I don't see you contributing!" Nyx exclaimed quietly with a huff. The elf got back on his feet, crouching low to the ground as he spun the small dagger around his hand, performing a few showy tricks he learned with a smirk. "Besides, in the hands of an expert, a good knife has a 1,001 uses." He flipped the dagger up into the air just a bit too high and they both watched as it sailed over the crates and hit the cobblestone with a solid metal clang.

Nyx lowered his gaze back to Viago, who was smiling at him murderously, one of his eyes twitching, "ti ammazzo, idiota." An Antaam axe promptly swung through the crates and sent them both scattering.

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #veilguard #da rook #veilguard rook #dragon age rook #datv #viago de riva #dragon age viago #oc nyx de riva #nyx de riva

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writingwhimsey · 2 days ago

Text

Becoming Comtesse Ch. 6

A/N: Just wanted to say that in this chapter Colette's mother has "the talk" with her. Nothing is explicit. Just more or less mentions things. And it is more just about how embarrassed both women feel.

Chapter 6

It was the day before the wedding was to take place. We were having a little dinner party…and it included all of the residents of the mansion. All of the ones that I had yet to meet.

I entered the dining room, wearing one of the other dresses Abel had ordered for me. It was a beautiful deep purple silk one shoulder dress. Mother had helped me put up my hair once again.

Abel immediately came over to me, smiling as he took my hand. “You look absolutely stunning, ma cherie. I knew that shade of purple would suit you.”

I smiled and felt my cheek flushing. “You’re sure the dress isn’t too much?”

“Of course it’s not.” He replied. “Come, I want you to meet everyone else.”

Abel introduced me to the rest of the residents…and I must say none of them were what I was expecting. They appeared to be a rather eccentric group…but that was exactly why I already liked them all.

The last one Abel introduced me to was Leonardo. He was quite tall, but what truly struck me were how he had golden eyes similar to Abel. Leonardo took my hand and gave a kiss to the back.

“It is good to finally meet our cara.” He greeted me with a warm smile, his Italian accent clear.

Abel gave him a look. “Our cara?”

Leonardo chuckled. “What? If she is dear to you then she is dear to the rest of us.” He said. He then looked at me, giving me a wink. “We are like one big disfunctional family around here.”

“Yes and all of us being spoiled by our rich papa.” Arthur chimed in.

I couldn’t help but to laugh. “Does that mean he buys dresses for all of you, too?”

Leonardo and Arthur both laughed out loud at that. “Haha, she has you figured out, Comte.” Leonardo teased.

“That’s not all that I do.” Abel said. “I also buy books.”

“That’s true and we do have an excellent library here.” Leonardo said.

I looked over at Abel. “You didn’t think to tell me about the library?”

“Forgive me, but I didn’t want to lose you to a book, ma cherie.” He teased.

“Depending on the size of the library, that may have been all you needed to show me to get me to stay.” I replied.

Abel chuckled. “Perhaps then, I wanted you to stay because of me.” Though his tone was joking, his words were not. His eyes were warm and told me…that that is what he really wanted.

I felt my face heating up and I returned his smile. “Well…I can’t blame you for that I suppose.”

The little dinner party went on for some time. My mother seemed to take a liking to Isaac. She had been around him all evening and fussing over him.

“That’s quite interesting.” Abel observed from beside me.

“I think it’s because he likley reminds her of my younger brother, Benjamin.” I replied. “He’s also a little shy and prefers studying to socializing.”

“I see.” Abel replied.

As we all talked and ate and drank, I couldn’t stop myself from occasionally rubbing my palm. My scar had been aching off and on since I’d had that dream.

“Cara mia, something wrong with your hand, huh?” Leonardo asked me as he came to join Abel and I, sitting across from us in the parlor. “You’ve been rubbing your palm all evening. Comte can get you a good doctor if there’s something wrong.”

“Oh, it’s not really that there’s anything wrong.” I replied. “It’s just an old scar I have. It aches from time to time.”

“An old scar?” Abel asked.

I held out my left hand. “Yes…when I was younger I had this dream one time and I guess I was sleep walking…I ended up in the kitchen and cut my palm. I had the dream again last night or at least part of it and…now it’s just acting up is all.”

Abel took my hand in his and looked at my palm, his fingers tracing over the scar. His eyes…he seemed almost…I don’t know if I would say sad…but I couldn’t quite think of another word to describe it. Before I could say anything, he was lifting my hand and kissing the scar on my palm…almost reverently.

Where his lips touched my palm, I felt a pleasant tingling sensation running over my skin. He then looked up at me, his eyes warm. “My apologies, ma cherie.”

The look in his eyes told me though it wasn’t necessarily the kiss he was apologizing for. It was almost as if he were apologizing for the scar. I ignored the part of me that thought that however and just focused on what made sense.

“It’s alright…it wasn’t unpleasant.” I said, my cheeks reddening.

Abel smiled at me. “When you say things like that, I may start to think you might be developing a fondness for me, cherie.”

“Well, I can’t say that I dislike you.” I replied, giving him a wry smile. Perhaps…I was growing fond of my husband-to-be.

The party went on for a while longer. I spoke with some of the other residents, getting to know them a little bit. Though I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to Jean. He seemed to be even more shy than Isaac.

Abel walked me from the parlor to the bottom of the stairs. Mother was waiting for me in my room. “I shall see you at the alter tomorrow.” Abel said to me as he took my hand and brought it to his lips, placing a featherlight kiss on the back. “Goodnight, ma cherie.”

I nodded. “Yes, I will see you at the alter.” I don’t even know what came over me, perhaps it was the wine or maybe the especially warm look on his face, but I leaned in, stretching just a bit as he was so much taller than me, and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Abel.”

When I pulled back, he had a rather surprised look on his face…and if I wasn’t mistaken a slight flush to his cheeks. His surprise melted into a happy smile. “Goodnight, Colette.”

I headed up to my room and I could feel his eyes following me until I was out of sight. It honestly made me feel a little giddy, knowing that I’d had such an effect on him.

“Well, you look happy.” Mother greeted me as I walked into my room.

I smiled. “I think…I am a little at least.”

“You’re growing to like le Comte.”

My mother’s words weren’t a question but I found myself answering anyway. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good. You should at the very least like your husband.” Mother said. “Now come, let’s get you ready for bed and then…we’ll have a little chat.”

“A little chat?” I asked as I moved to start changing.

“Yes, it’s an important talk that all mothers and daughters should have before the wedding.” Mother replied, getting up to help me change.

Once I was in my night dress, Mother and I were sitting on the window seat together. She was holding what appeared to be a large leather-bound folder, tied with a cord, one to hold loose papers together.

“Mother, what is going on and why do you hvae such a serious look on your face?” I asked.

“You see…when I married your father…I had no idea what a weddding night meant or what things were to come.” Mother began. “My mother told me nothing. And I was so naive. I swore to myself that no matter how awkward the conversation…I wouldn’t let my daughters go in so blindly.”

“Why…would this be an awkward conversation?” I asked.

Mother took a deep breath. “Do you recall…the conversation I had with you when you were younger…about self pleasure?”

My cheeks instantly heated up. “Yes…that was such an awkward conversation.”

“Yes, well this one will be more awkward.” Mother said. “Because now… that pleasure will involve your husband…”

“So…he’ll be touching me…” I asked. That…didn’t sound wholly unpleasant. I mean…I knew what I could do myself.

“Well, possibly yes, if he is trying to work you up for the…actual marital act of consumation…”

“What…what does that mean?”

Mother took a deep breath. “Sometimes, things are hard to talk about and easier if I just…show you which is what these drawings are for.” She was then unbinding the cord and pulling out these drawings to show me.

I looked at them as Mother explained them to me. “Wait…he’s gonna put what where? That…that’s really…what it is?”

Mother nodded. “Yes…and the first time for a woman is usually…uncomfortable, but with time and patience it can grow to be something you enjoy doing and it is the only way to make a baby.”

“I…I see.” I replied.

“I know it’s a lot to think about and a lot to take in the night before your wedding…and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It just… it took me a lot to work up the courage to tell you about this. I’ve been carrying those pictures with me for years now in anticipation of you or your sister wedding.”

I looked over at my mother, seeing what strength it took her to tell me about this. It reminded me of the night she explained self pleasure to me. She was red-faced and clearly embarrassed, but she’d wanted to do better for me than her mother had for her.

“Thank you for explaining to me, Mother. I know…this can’t be easy for you.”

“The good news is le Comte seems to be a kind man. I am certain he will be good to you tomorrow night.”

I nodded. Mother stayed with me a bit longer before bidding me goodnight. She left the pictures with me in case I wanted to look them over again.

I picked them up and flipped through them, unable to stop my curiosity from getting the better of me. Looking at these pictures and imagining what my wedding night was going to be…imagining being in such positions with Abel…I felt a mixture of nerves and…excitement.

Comte…

After bidding Colette goodnight, Comte headed to his own room. He removed his jacket, tie, waist coat, and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. Sebastian had a glass of rouge already set out for him.

He sighed as he went over to sit in a chair, picking up the glass. Leonardo was soon walking in. “Getting nervous about tomorrow, Comte?” Leonardo teased. “Your bachelor days are coming to an end.”

“Not nervous.” Comte answered, sipping at the glass of rouge.

Leonardo made his way over to the other chair in the room. “Seems you were right that she thought it all a dream.”

“I had a feeling she would.” Comte replied. “It was such a long time ago…well to her it was anyways.”

“When do you plan to tell her?”

“I…don’t know.” Comte admitted. “I should tell her now, but if she knew the truth would she still marry me? Would she look at me the same? I…I need more time to figure out what is in her heart.”

“You mean to find out if you’re there.”

Comte heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m quite the selfish bastard.”

“Yeah, you are.” Leonardo agreed. “But you’ve been unable to stop thinking of her all this time. You did wait even when you were certain it was her.”

“I…I fought with myself over it for so long. She deserved a normal life.” Comte replied as he leaned back in his chair.

“Seems like she might not want that though.” Leonardo replied. “Just make sure you tell her before it’s too late, huh?”

Comte let out a wry chuckle. “For all I know, it already is too late.”

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