#least of all when every detail is SO important to ME

[iwoulddieforher]

She Doesn't Get Out Much | Alex Cabot × Casey Novak | Part 4

Alex shows up with passion in her heart, fire in her eyes, and anxiety in her stomach to convince her peculiar and indomitable Uncle to allow her to return to the DA's office. This is chapter four, to read the previous chapters please be directed here

i'm rather proud of this chapter. please bestow upon me your thoughts in the comments pleasee i would greatly appreciate it

warnings for discussions about Alex's shooting, recovery

Patience was something Alex would like to believe she had, but exercising it always proved quite the opposite. She hated waiting. It made her feel powerless, sitting still somewhere and agonizing over the details of what could or could not happen.��

As she waited in this ridiculously expensive restaurant, situated on the second highest floor of a ridiculously expensive hotel, Alex could do absolutely nothing other than curse Zapata over and over again.

She was not sure if her hand was shaking, and she did not want to look. 

It probably was.

She hated it. 

Alex had been making it a point to be as great of an annoyance to her uncle as physically possible without crossing into the line of genuinely irritating. She wanted to make herself a lingering prick on his hand, a splinter he’d be reminded of every day, until he dropped his objection to her returning to work. It wasn't that she needed the money- she just really couldn't stand to sit at home by herself anymore, waiting. 

She had prepared herself for the scolding she was about to receive for losing her first case back- that had been far from a good look, even though she wasn't entirely bothered. Firstly, she was pretty sure the perpetrator had been guilty, and secondly, if Casey had lost that trial- Alex had no clue where the redhead would've ended up. Perhaps her anger would've grown to an extent they wouldn't be attempting to reconcile like they were now. 

Breathing out and intentionally pausing before breathing in again, Alex calmed herself. She was typically good at stifling anxiety, (at least, since she had started her antidepressants), and although she was out of the loop, she forced herself to be able to do so again. She refused to be stressed when her uncle arrived. 

He was revered. A stellar reputation for being the idealized impartial judge, with a background of court victories that made him especially intimidating from when he was a lawyer. Childless and without a wife, he had amassed a notable fortune, even in comparison with their already wealthy family.

But as all affluent men were, he had his peculiarities. He came off as cold and unforgiving, and Alex wasn't entirely sure that appraisal was incorrect. He could be harsh, and he could sometimes be downright cruel. His expectations were high for the people within his inner circle, and she wasn't sure she was included in that. That only meant even more was needed from her to be deemed worthy of his association.

She picked up a menu and thumbed her way through it blankly. It was a pointless activity, as she had already decided what she would order the moment her uncle had agreed to meet her and decided on the location. Still, though, it gave her something to do with her hands, and she’d need that, because when her uncle inevitably wandered in, she wanted him to see her engaged in something.

Alex still remembered the advice he had peppered into her as a child- when she was young, she had been dazzled by her uncle Bill, but now as a woman she was significantly less enthused. 

“Alexandra,” he had once told her, “It's important for you to understand how to capitalize on punctuality.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Her voice had sounded so soft, then, and smaller. Preparatory school had schooled her to be prim and ladylike, not to speak in a manner anyone would find offensive. How to be quiet, be observant, and how to blend into her environment- and when to stand out. Later, years of law school and the hours upon hours of mock debates in her teens and early twenties had taught her to project, be louder, firm and commanding. She hadn't yet entered law school, though, when they had had this conversation.

“Imagine: you’re having an important meeting. You're late,” he answered, “How do you think that would play out?” 

She had not needed a moment to ponder that. “It’d be rude. I don't think I’d get whatever I’m requesting. It would be disrespectful, and I’d be wasting their time.” 

“Precisely. Now: imagine someone is waiting for you, and *you're* late.” 

Alexandra blinked. It was disrespectful to waste someone's time- wouldn't that apply in the vice versa? She wouldn't want to intentionally irk anyone in such a manner. 

But if Alexandra had ever been one thing- something she had never been taught, but entirely born with- or, at least, something she had excelled at since she could remember, it was her ability to be clever. Cleverness, in her opinion, was not simply being intelligent. You could be smart without being clever. Cleverness, in the way she defined, was understanding the expectation you were being perceived in, and acting accordingly. 

She thought it would be rude to make someone wait for you, but her uncle clearly was not grooming her for that response. He expected her to answer that way, though, and then he’d have the opportunity to correct her.

“Perhaps,” she started, because she knew her brain would be able to process what she decided to continue with before she needed it. She had to decipher the best response- she could either play along with his expectations, or act accordingly to the fact she had already predicted them. For purposes in education, it typically impressed her teachers to answer in the latter way, while often with her peers anything other than the former would prove only to be an irritant. 

“It would be asserting the importance of your own time. You’d come off as busy and dominant, if you did it properly.” 

Her uncle blinked once. He recognized that she had needed to solve not only for that answer but also for what he had wanted to hear from her. Something in his expression showed Alexandra he was unsatisfied with her, but she could not tell exactly what. A second after she affirmed he was indubitably malcontented, his expression was swept away on the waves of a facade even her observance could not read through. 

She felt small, and childish. She had done something wrong, apparently, but he wasn't going to tell her what it was, and she was guaranteed to never know for sure. 

She had been a child, in fact. When Alex now thought back on this interaction, she realized she couldn't have been older than eleven. 

“It gives you the opportunity to see someone off guard,” he had answered. “People will expect you to be on time. Being purposefully late by nothing more than a few minutes gives you an opportunity to see what they do with time they didn't expect to have.” 

The way he had answered had told Alex he had wanted to say more than that. What he had said was intended to be a second, follow-up point, but she had nailed down the first thing he had meant to say, and either he was grumpy about it, or she had done something else wrong. She assumed it was the latter. She didn't know what. 

Perhaps that was why she remembered the entirety of the conversation so clearly, even over twenty years later. She had spent hours revisiting it. 

She hadn't seen her uncle much growing up, but her mother and father had told her he was someone of importance, especially after she had begun expressing an interest in law. Follow in his footsteps, they had told her, and that requires listening to everything he said with careful detail. That requires earning his favor. Her uncle was not easily pleased with the behavior of younger people. 

Her career had been jump started because she had been one of the few children in her family who he had been impressed by. Even then, she remembered many moments when his displeasure had been evident. She couldn't imagine how depressing it would've been for her if she wasn't naturally clever. Some of her cousins hadn't turned out as much- she had been able to follow her passions, but they had ended up haphazardly thrust into positions in companies where they couldn't even properly explain what the hell they were doing there. Enough to keep the family name, because their family was too self-important to ever have a child turn out to be a disappointment, but definitely nothing that they had wanted to do. 

She wasn't sure, still, if her uncle perceived her being shot as becoming a disappointment. She knew he must have been displeased with the diagnosis of her disorder- which, she realized, must be the first psychiatric problem he was aware of, because her parents had told her to hide her generalized anxiety diagnosis from him- but to what degree, she couldn't predict. 

She wanted to indignantly reaffirm it wasn't her fault she had been shot, but if he was feeling especially harsh, perhaps he would depict it as a failure to properly assess the extreme risk demanding to stay on the case despite the warnings.

Alex balled her fist in her lap and took a deep breath through her nose, her eyes flickering over text she wasn't reading. 

Her uncle, in that conversation years ago, had told her the proper time to be intentionally delayed was between five and ten minutes, because any more than that was rude no matter what the intention, and before that wasn't late enough for the other person to grow anxious. 

She’d like to say she disliked him for having such perceptions of social dynamics. 

Even with someone she wished anxiety on, someone she disliked, she wouldn't want to make them wait for her, because something as petty as that seemed entirely pointless. But her uncle was her uncle, and she had been raised to see his silhouette as being bathed in golden light. 

She couldn't bring herself to dislike him. She wanted his approval.

Alex could've notified the district attorney at any minute and on any whim that she wanted to return. She would've been allowed in- that hadn't ever been the concern. But she wanted her uncle to tell her that she could. 

The chains that held her were entirely her own hesitancy to act in opposition to her uncle’s will. She was completely aware of this. She had slapped them on her own wrists, turned the lock, and provided the key to the man she had just noticed out of the corner of her eye. 

Alex did not look up. For anyone else, she would've done the courtesy of acknowledging their presence, but she knew her uncle better than that. This conversation was a mental fifth-dimensional chess game. He had been late intentionally to watch what she would do in his absence, and she had decided to raise the facade as though she hadn't noticed. 

“Alexandra,” he said in his gruff tone, taking the seat opposite her, and only then she raised her eyes, blinking as soon as her head finished moving as though she had only just realized, and then smiled.

“Uncle,” she greeted warmly (although not too warmly), “Did the journey fare you well?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I hope you didn't mind waiting.” 

Alexandra smirked to herself, although her face exhibited only a mild curiosity as she raised an arm to check the golden watch that adorned it. It was a movement only for antics. She knew exactly how overtime he had been- a subsection of her brain had been counting the seconds.

“Ah,” she said, “No worries.” 

He was wearing a diplomatic smile, but Alex could swear she saw the edges of it jerk up at her response. He knew she had decided to participate in his game- thereby, he knew she was well enough to play it. Pride made her own couth smile turn genuine. 

She hadn't quite decided what technique she was playing with tonight, but all things considered, that was the best tactic. Prematurely settling on a route to take through her uncle’s brain would most likely only backfire. Her uncle’s concept of how she should act changed by the second, or by the minute if she was lucky.

Instead, something she picked up from her time with SVU would be deployed- get him talking, and keep him talking, until she got her ducks in a row. 

“You’ve never told me to come here, before.” Alex murmured conversationally, letting her eyes drop back to the menu as if she was skimming the text, before looking up again with a smile. “Is it a new find of yours?” 

“Opened recently,” Uncle Bill said, as though he were making a statement at a press conference, “So a new find, yes. Wanted to bring you here myself the first time, not only recommend it over the phone.” 

So he was in one of his more sentimental moods, Alex noted to herself. He was speaking curtly, but if he was in a different perspective his words wouldn't carry warmth like that. Alex did not see her uncle often, regularly- their meetings were spontaneous at best. Saying he wanted to save this spot until the next time they dined together was an odd thing to say if one was thinking logically. His version of logically, at least- he prided himself on his intellect, although Alex often decided to herself that he frequently borderlined on selfish behavior. 

“That's kind of you,” Alex smiled. The waitress had noticed her company had arrived and was striding over, and that put her in the awkward position of not being able to begin saying something that she knew would be interrupted by her interjection to take drink orders. She didn't want the silence to stretch on, though. 

“It's been a while since I’ve been at a contemporary venue that boasts art inspired by the romanticism period,” she decided to fill what she estimated to be a half-minute time slot with an observation instead of something more fruitful, “the oil work on the far wall is quite something, isn't it?” 

“Yes,” he agreed, turning in time to see the waitress pass the last table between them. They briefly gave drink orders. Alex was pleased by the satisfied shift of her uncle’s eyebrows at her wine selection- she had gotten better at picking alcohol that suited both his taste without sacrificing her own. 

“How has your recovery been, Alexandra?” He asked, a small strain of tentativity present in his voice. 

She paused. She hadn't expected him to bring that up himself. He must be feeling a lot more sentimental than she had originally estimated- getting to personal details like that was not a strong suit of his.

Alex had been planning on playing a long game, peppering small talk until she could decisively take a winning shot. He clearly wasn't going to allow her to do that- perhaps he, like her, was feeling impatient today, or maybe he was just trying to catch her off guard. She couldn't get any sort of read from his blue eyes- ones that were almost the same hue as her own- other than the note that his had turned a shade of blue-grey with age, something that had only been slightly present in the last conversation they had had and was now becoming increasingly apparent. She didn't like realizing her uncle was growing older. He had been an early balder, so for the last twenty years he had looked essentially the same. A man as statuesque, and one who held as much power, importance and reputation as he did- the idea someone like that was getting older, more vulnerable, seemed uncomfortable. 

“I’ve been doing okay,” Alex replied a heartbeat after she should've, but she recovered from the momentary stun rather quickly, “honestly not as fast as I would've liked, but I’ve recovered to an extent that …”

She trailed off. The worst thing, currently, was her inability to do anything. She needed the chase, the fight, the enthusiasm of work or at least being able to volunteer or just do- just do something, anything. Bring cooped up like a caged bird was by far the most irritating part of her recovery. 

“I know you,” he said simply, glancing down and taking a sip of the prefilled water glasses that had adorned the table, “you don't appreciate having your wings clipped, I’m sure.” 

“No,” she answered honestly, “I don't.” 

She folded her hand awkwardly in her lap. She was used to resting her elbows on the table, leaning forward like people had taught her how to, in a way that extruded dominance and confidence- but she couldn't do so without agonizing over the possibility her hand might quiver on the table in a way that alarmed Uncle Bill, so she didn't. 

“How has work been?” She asked, in lieu of making any real, meaningful conversation. Something about his affect today was throwing her off. 

“I remember you used to ask me that all the time,” he smiled- as much as her uncle could smile with his stiffened, stoic form- as if nostalgic. “Whenever I’d come to the townhouse, you’d always be ready to jump at me and ask for stories of cases I presided over.” 

Bill’s lips jerked up at the corners, and he shifted in his chair, straightening the knot of his tie and looking off to the side. 

He was a tall, statuesque man, all black tie and formal. Right now, an ink-colored, tailored suit jacket emphasized the humble square of his build, emphasized with a burgundy tie perfectly straight and perfectly crisp that brought the eyes of an observer straight to his face. If one were the leave that- his face- out of the equation, he seemed as professional, cunning and sleek as a humanized eagle- but his head broke that illusion. Not particularly in a bad way, though. He wasn't bad looking, Alex had seen that he was quite handsome in his youth and he hadn't aged badly, but he had balded and his face was dotted by stubble he seemed to never quite get rid of. His jowls hung by the sides of his face, his eyes sunken softly from age. Her uncle was getting older.

Alex was briefly concerned with her own lack of perception- she had frozen on the detail the shade of his eyes had changed color, and forgotten to scrutinize the emotion within them. His expression was blank, judge-like in the sense it was the balance between hawklike in observance while still nonjudgmental, but his eyes- he was discomposed, and an apprehensive swirled in a way she had never seen before.

He was very emotional today, it seemed. Alex willed her brow not to furrow, but she was growing genuinely bewildered- genuinely concerned. This was unlike him. It was difficult for her to accommodate this mood of his into her existing understanding of her uncle’s moods.

“Yes,” she agreed, “It was the highlight of family holidays, when you’d make time to have dinner with us.” 

“I think it was the highlight only for you,” he responded, “I imagine, the other children of our family were never quite as fond. They’d play in the playroom, or wait around for their parent’s permission to watch the television. You were always the one who’d come to sit by me.” 

Alex’s eyebrows furrowed gently over her eyes, in slight confusion, apprehension. “I … some of my cousins would always be with us in the drawing room, too.” 

“Because they were told to be.” Uncle Bill responded gruffly, firmly. “I could always tell. It’s dog eat dog, even in our own house. Children are raised to grasp at whatever advantage their parents perceive. You wanted to learn; they wanted their parents to think they wanted too. Wanted to trick me into thinking they wanted too.” 

“I could always tell.” He repeated again, quietly this time, when Alex did not respond. 

“I suppose,” she hesitated, and then internally winced. She must be proving his point, not being able to react decisively. “I suppose you're right,” she said, but she didn't believe it. She had never paid much attention to the behavior of her family members when her uncle was in the room. His appearances were always perceived by her to be rare, and she had wanted to know everything she could about him in the opportunities she could. She had assumed the others felt that way; but perhaps they hadn't, and she couldn't answer either definitively.

Neither spoke until the waitress returned. Alex wasn't sure why. It freaked her out. Her uncle had never acted like this.

They gave her their orders- Alex blinked, her uncle hadn't even pretended to read the menu this time. That was odd. What game was she supposed to be playing tonight, if he was being so overt with his preparations? What was he thinking, what was she supposed to be doing? 

Saying something too soon to jumpstart the conversation would be revealing a card from her deck that she wasn't sure she should be using yet, and she didn't have a clue what she could say that would be effective. She said nothing, and for some reason, her uncle continued his silence, too. 

“Alex,” he said finally, “Do you feel like you have something to lose?” 

She stared at him blankly, frozen, which was something normally she knew he’d chastise her for, but with such an odd introspective question, she didn't think he could blame her.

“ … Yes,” she said finally, “Yes, I have a lot to lose. There are people in my life I’m very grateful for, I’ve achieved a great deal, and I … wouldn't want to risk anything I didn't need too.” 

She thought of Olivia, of the friendship they had, forged through years of late night cases and coffee and easy laughter. Her family, peculiar as they were. The penthouse she lived in, the stories she had been a part of, the people she had helped- and all the people out there who she knew she could help in the future. Alex thought of Casey, but that hurt, so she settled on the deep feeling of longing in her heart and satisfied herself with the knowledge that feeling was worth something. She had a lot to live for, which meant a lot to lose. That had been her instinctive answer the second he had asked, but she wasn't sure what he was looking for. 

“What were you thinking that night?” 

“The night I was shot?” She shook her head slowly, perplexed, but then grimaced, because of course that was what he was asking, and he probably wouldn't appreciate her saying that. 

“I…” Alex paused here, because she genuinely didn't remember.

“It's been months since the shooting,” she breathed, refolding her hands in her lap to soothe her growing anxiety, “I’ve had too much time to scrutinize every detail, and exaggerate some things and under exaggerate others, if you're talking about… my exact thoughts. I could testify on the specifics of the night, and I wrote down everything I could think of in the hospital after for when they’ll inevitably need my testimony, but … if you're talking about what exactly I was thinking of when I realized what was happening, I’m not sure my appraisal at this moment would be necessary accurate.” 

“So you can't tell me?” He said, and her lips turned down into something as close to a frown as she’d ever make in his presence. Backtracking would only be a further weakness, so she simply nodded silently. He sighed, and she glanced at her watch. 

“They made threats against you, they found out your address, your routine, hell, Alex, the government wanted to put you into witness protection.” He looked up, and while she couldn't frown around him, his lip was curled into a grimace.

“I know,” she tried, “But there were people in that case that I needed to protect, and recusing myself, dropping the case- how would that be any sort of justice? I need to be strong for the people who can't be, and I- all I tried to do was act accordingly to that.” 

“So, you don't regret it?” 

His eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed upset with her, but the answer came as easily as breathing. Regret was something she could show to Alex, to Cragen, to Donnelly or to Casey, but never, ever to her uncle. 

“No,” she said, regardless of how complicated her feelings were, “No, I don't.” 

“You lost function in your arm,” he snapped at her, “You developed a psychiatric disorder, spent weeks at the hospital and even longer in physical therapy which you're still attending to my knowledge-” 

“A lot of people had far worse happen to them,” she cut him off, “That's precisely why I don't regret it, I need to fight for them, and that's similarly why I need you to let me go back to work-” 

“Even though you can't put your hand on the goddamn table because you know I’ll notice it shaking?” 

She paused, trying to conceal the affrontation that flashed immediately across her face. She swallowed, staring down at her lap. 

What game was he playing? She couldn't think fast enough, and that was an incredibly rare experience for her. The situation was unlike any conversation she had ever engaged her uncle in, she tried to console herself with that, but even then she couldn't complace the anxiety that swirled and spiked in her gut, growing rapidly with every additional second of this unease. 

Alex would not let him be right about her; she was not weak, and she wasn't unable to do her job. 

Defiance bubbled within her, and she wasn't sure if that was a piece she could use, because the board was not in her view. Without anything else to do, however, she decided to use it. 

She raised both hands for his inspection, and her hand cooperated with her- it shook, but just barely, and due to anger, her other hand was similarly not entirely still. It was barely, barely noticeable. 

“This doesn't make me weak, if anything, my recovery after was considered admirable to doctors,” she tried to make her voice as clear and as calm, even though she felt the urge to snarl, “I defended a case-” 

“That you lost,” he interjected immediately, cutting her off as though it proved some sort of point. 

“Regardless,” she said firmly, “I defended a case. No one noticed. In a few weeks I’ll have full control over my hand again, and it’ll take a few weeks to sort out my return to work anyway. My most recent psychiatric evaluation showed that I was clear of all previous symptoms, and it's been weeks since I behaved in any way that was deemed irrational. I’m fine, Uncle, and I want to work.” 

“Alexandra, you're being far too hasty- dare I even say naive,” he argued, his hands forming into small fists on the table as he straightened his spine, pushing his elbows back authoritatively.

He was larger than her, taller. His face was firmer, and he was older. The same blood ran through their veins, the same one roots that believed in patriarchal families and that wisdom brought age no experience could supplement. Her heart felt as though she was the small little girl eager for his approval that she was in childhood, the ambitious young woman who he had shaped and whose guidance she had needed so frequently earlier in her career, but she adamantly affirmed to herself she was different. Working with special victims, navigating the complexities of law and cradling children and terrified women in her arms- she was stronger than she had ever been, regardless of what she had been through in the pursuit of justice. 

She would not let him make her feel small or as though she needed to form to his expectations anymore, and especially- fuck, especially- not when his expectation was below the potential she could fill. 

Alex used to feel like she was always driving for a standard that was higher above her than she could reach, her hands clawing her way up to some golden torch to wrap her hand around and prove her worth, but now he was acting as though she couldn't, and that angered her. 

“I’ve grown fond of challenges, and of challenging myself,” she bared her teeth just barely as she spoke, a signal to the rage flickering in her gut that her anxiety had transformed into, “and I don't appreciate your belief that I’m incapable.” 

He stared at her with a grimace on his face and she stared back, her face a solid mask of stubbornness. 

“I’ve stayed away from work at your will,” she reminded him, “The DA has no objections to me. Hell,” she chided herself internally for cursing, that was unprofessional, but then immediately tried to convince herself it was odd to feel like she had to censor herself more to her uncle than her own boss, “I’ve been asked repeatedly to return, I’ve been forwarded every possible opening, and even letters of reassurance I don't need. The only reason I haven't taken back my stance is because you told me not to, and I thought it was for my own sake, but- why not? It’s been months, uncle, months. When will I have ‘rested’ enough for you?” 

Her tone was angry, but she had given up trying to hide her frustrations. His play of internal fourth dimensional chess was irritating, and if he wasn't playing by his own rules with his straightforward questions, she wasn't either. Participating in his game blind to the terms of it might be stupid, and she’d probably regret the way adrenaline was starting to course through her blood, but she wouldn't stop herself now. She didn't think she could, even if she had decided to. 

When she opened her mouth to speak, though, the waitress returned with their food, and so she clamped her lips shut and offered a word of gratitude. Neither her nor her uncle picked up their fork or even looked at the plates for a second longer than they needed too. 

With the sting of the interruption of her nerves, she felt herself falter slightly, so she stayed quiet. She was sure he would respond equally aggressively- although, unlike her obvious display of frustration and strong emotion, he would be cold and calculating the way he always was. 

He didn't, though. He stayed silent and stared at her for a long, torturous minute. 

“Say something,” she demanded then, finally. 

He still didn't. His eyes were void of any emotion, his facial expressions tight as though he was grinding his jaw, but with the excess skin age had provided him she wouldn't be able to tell with complete certainty. It was unlike him to be quiet. He was the type of elder who provided his opinions even when they were unasked for, who spoke for the sake of reminding everyone he always would have something to say. She had no doubt he had some sort of response formed, but even as she wracked her brain, Alex had no clue why he wasn't bestowing her with it. 

Her frustration grew, tight and hot in her lungs, stealing more than half of the oxygen in her every breath. If this was anyone else making her feel so- so overwhelmed, so bewildered, so unlike her usual clever self, she would've lost it at them, unprofessional and irrational as it may be. She prized herself for the ability to react so well, and she couldn't, not to this. Not when she didn't understand, and there was nothing Alex hated more than not understanding. There was nothing she hated more than not knowing what to do. 

She knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to help those poor battered women that sat so still in the chairs of her office, eyes like pitchers that had long been poured out. She wanted to dry the eyes of little children who hadn't been blessed with the safe, healthy, protective upbringing that she had been so lucky to be born into. Not everyone was as fortunate as she, in life or in love, and the second she had settled into her role at sex crimes, she knew she wanted more than anything else to be one of the people working to give poor souls a shot at a life as bountiful in happiness and safety as the one was able to lead. 

Alex knew where she wanted her life to go, fighting until the last breath to make sure there was absolutely nothing in the power she hadn't done to protect someone. 

That strong, stable sense of purpose that had bound itself to her identity exasperated her budding frustration towards her uncle, this unmoving, rigid and concrete boulder in her way. 

His hands had already turned to fists, and now her’s did too, balling on the table. Her bad hand shook more than the unaffected one, but although she noticed, she was too vexed to switch the focus of her attention towards stilling it. 

“When will I have recovered enough for you to deem me suitable?” She said, an echo of her prior question, and this time it felt like an accusation, because it was. “What can I possibly do to show you that I'm beyond capable?” 

When he remained silent, she snapped. “Being shot- that does not make me a disappointment. I can still make you proud, I can still uphold our family name, and I don't understand why you believe me to be inadequate.” 

Still, her uncle said nothing. He did not move at all, he didn't even make a shift in the microexpressions she was studying him for. 

Alex took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting for something, anything, from him, but he didn't. Nothing was offered, so the only option was to keep talking, keep throwing random cards down onto the table until something was picked up to elaborate on.

“I know our family has high standards,” she tried to barter, her eyebrows furrowing and she didn't even attempt to hide it this time, “I spent my youth fulfilling and fighting to exceed every possible expectation you, or my parents’, or any teacher or mentor I’ve ever studied under had set for me.” 

She continued because he didn't make any motion to respond to that. It was a fact. She had done well, and she knew she had.

“I was provided the position in sex crimes because they knew they could trust me to ensure the squad ran properly and efficiently. You helped raise me right, to be the type of impenetrable force that ensured justice, worked to protect. I’m beyond proud of that, and beyond grateful for the work you put in to confirm that I was the successor that- … that you and my parents could be proud of. I’ve achieved so much in my career already, and I’ve only just gotten started.” 

He stared at her with that blank expression that had long become infuriating. 

“I have only just gotten started,” she repeated. “Ever since I was a child I have done everything I could to prove myself. I won't stand for this, now, your inability to- …” 

Alex took a deep breath, a slight snarl accompanying her exhale. She hadn't been raised to let her anger affect her responses, and she needed this to be clear, and as compelling as possible. She was an accomplished, proficient individual, and she would not let him forget that.

“I’m just as strong, just as independent, just as clear headed and well read and talented and everything else I had been praised for before I was shot. I don't know why you're so adamant that I’ve somehow become inept now, but frankly, your attempts to keep me submerged are only growing my will to prove this too you, so if you don't give me the opportunity to demonstrate that my assessment of myself is correct, I will do so without your approval, and without your permission. I will show you I am still someone you can be proud of; even if you're so stubbornly refusing to see it.” 

When he continued to do nothing, she stood up, partially because she was genuinely wondering if his eyes would follow her- they did- but mostly because she had now said her piece, and if he didn't provide her a response now, there was no point in continuing to occupy the table. 

“Alexandra,” he said quietly when she slung her purse over her shoulder and was about to abandon the untouched plate behind her.

She bit back and admonished ‘so you can speak’, but stared at him defiantly, her eyes cold, widened and flashing with evidence of her will.

“Sit back down, please.” 

Her uncle rarely ever said please, so at the very least, it meant she had got somewhere, achieved something, even if she wasn't sure what. She did as she was requested too, but only because it had sounded like a request- if it had been a barked order so he could berate her for her obstination, she would have left- or so she told herself. It was beyond uncomfortable to her, being at odds with her uncle. Demonstrating complacency to his orders and expectations had at some point in her development engrained itself into her psyche. 

She tried to calm the anxiety that followed the anger as she settled back into the chair, crossing one leg over the other, and folding her hands together, on top of the table this time rather than below it. 

“Alexandra,” he said again, then he put his head in his hands on the table, and the realization that the corners of his eyes had grown red from unshown tears added to the growing pit of bewilderment and anxiety in her stomach. 

He looked up again, and now his faded blue eyes were glassy. His nose was beginning to run, she could hear the quiet sounds of sniffling when he inhaled. 

She felt herself soften, and she nodded gently when he seemed as though he wanted a response to him saying her name. He sighed, deeply, as though trying to empty the emotions that had developed claws in his lungs out into the air between them. 

“There’s nothing you could do to prove to me that I should be proud of you,” he muttered, and his voice was now solemn, rough and quieter than she had ever heard from him. “Because I already am. Good Lord, I am so proud, Alexandra, that I may call you my niece.” 

Alex felt the rigidity of her shoulders soften, caught off guard by his affect, but for the first time tonight it was not unwelcome. It was his turn to speak, so she didn't respond to that, but she knew she’d circle his words around in her mind for years to come. 

“For the opportunity to have a hand in the way you were raised, and for the ability to say I provided you any aid on the path to success I knew you’d achieve, I am grateful. From the moment you were born, whether it be speaking far either than other infants, being the top of your elementary school, winning mock debates in highschool, your acceptance to Yale, and for every single case you ever prosecuted, regardless of the outcome, I was proud of you for it.”

He cleared his throat and shook his head, taking a sip from his wine glass, if only to try to swallow back the burst of emotion Alex now recognized was overwhelming him. 

“As you know, I … I never made the time to have children of my own. You, on the chair across from me at Christmas dinner, with your wide eyes and eager nodding, was the closest I ever felt to something that resembled paternal.” 

It was Alex’s turn to sit still in shocked silence. 

She loved her father dearly, so she couldn't exactly respond that the feeling had been mutual. Her father was her father, and her uncle had always felt in some sense otherworldly- a federal judge, appointed by a president himself, a gilded portrait on the wall she could stare at, a statuesque face chiseled as a figurehead into the front of a ship sailing rocky seas towards the ideal that was justice. It felt stupid to admit at times she vaguely forgot he was human, but her admiration for him at times guided her over that bound. He was a solemn god, a person whose slightest reactions were something to be studied, every word he said something to be considered and remembered. 

Every conversation she had ever had with him felt like a competition to prove intellect, an exaggeratedly elaborate game of cards. She had initiated this conversation assuming she was playing something she didn't understand, but as it was revealed, she had misunderstood him from the start. 

Her uncle was not toying with her, and didn't want her to try to prove she was perfect the way she always thought she had to be in his presence.

They were family. She belonged to the lineage that formed his flesh and blood. He cared about her in a way that overwrote whether or not her reputation as a prosecutor affected the name of their family. 

In all these years, in all the conversations in which every miniscule movement he made had been studied by her in detail, she had never noticed.

“All you’ve ever known of me is this apotheosized solemnity, and you … you were raised, like your cousins were, to study me, because my wealth and my status uphold the idealized regard our family considers ourselves with. I don't know how to show much else, other than this …” 

He trailed off, something he had rarely ever done, because he was trying to open himself up to her. He was trying to show her the humanity inside him, express himself honestly and in a way that made it overtly obvious his metaphorical deck of cards was being scattered across the dining table for her perusal. 

“Other than this ideal of a masculine, intellectual, affluent ideal. For the majority of my life, that's all I’ve ever been. It got me to where I am today and the only regret I have towards it, is that it may have misled your perceptions of how I felt regarding your career.” 

He clenched his jaw, and then forced himself to relax it by swallowing down more of the wine he had ordered. She hadn't touched her own glass, and neither of them had even glanced at the food before them in minutes. The restaurant still hummed with the quiet refinery of a high-class establishment, but in that moment, nothing existed to Alex other than her uncle and his word. 

“The truth is,” he said once he found himself again, with a chuckle that held absolutely no humor, “I forget that myself. As all people do, I have molded to fill the space of my expectations. Don't misunderstand, I am proud of that- that when people look at me, they believe they're observing an insurmountable and impenetrable force of justice, masquerading as a man. In all authenticity, that's what I, at times, believe I am, too.” 

Alex could only nod. That's what she had believed of her uncle growing up, and still did. 

“But humans are not impenetrable, Alexandra.” 

He rubbed his glabella with his thick fingers, shaking his head slowly. It occurred to Alex to say something, then, but she had the feeling he had more to say. She tried to regulate her breathing, and her heartbeat. This emotional outpour from her uncle was something she had never, never in a thousand years, expected to hear. 

“You were the victim of an assassination attempt.” He looked up at her again, and did not try to disguise the way his eyes softened, the greyish blue of his irises pooling into the tears that still hung idly in his eyes. She nodded again. It was a fact- the cartel had attempted to kill her. She had dodged death, and only barely, while attempting to prosecute a case. Another who was involved in that same case had not been as lucky. 

“Your parents were at a conference the night it happened,” he said, his gruff voice going gentle. “The detective you work with- Detective Benson, I believe- was going through your contact sheet until someone answered. Apparently, I was the first one who picked up.” 

He put his head back in his hands, and then lifted it with his eyes averted, as close to fidgeting as he could ever come, staring at the space just beside her eyes as though he couldn't quite meet them- as if he didn't know what to do with himself. 

“I was reminded, in that night,” and now Alex pictured him in his reading glasses and vintage sleepwear, waiting by the phone at the chance Olivia may call back with news about her condition in either direction, “that I am only a man.” 

He met her eyes again, and she almost wished he didn't, because now he could see she was close to tears herself.

“And I wondered, in all the years I knew you looked up to me, if I had given you the perception that living as though you were untouchable was what you thought you had to do.”

Alex opened her mouth, but she had no response prepared. Her throat was closing up, but not from any lingering trace of the outburst of irritation from earlier. She had survived the attempt on her life and for weeks over she had agonized over the possibility she hadn't, but with the near-casual regard Olivia and her parents had expressed for her own sake, she had nearly forgotten how traumatizing that must have been for the people close to her. For her Uncle- god, for Casey. 

The people she loved and was loved back by must have been terrified, and for her sake they had pretended they weren't, so she could process her emotions however she best saw fit. 

She hadn't tried to share her grief with anyone else, and they hadn't tried to force her to share their own. But it had existed, tangible and powerful. 

It was real, and it made her want to cry now. 

“At times I’m harsh,” he continued, for now the floodgate of his words had been opened, “And sometimes I’m even further beyond that. You survived by the grace of a couple inches.” 

That, too, was a fact. Her assassin had attempted for the heart. That would've killed her instantly, similarly, if the shot had breached either of her lungs. He had missed both, but the shot hadn't started far from her subclavian. She would've bled out on the concrete floor of a New York sidewalk, with a desperate Olivia trying to keep her conscious by her side. If he had been successful, she could've been dead in seconds from her heart having been ripped open, or from her lungs collapsing, filling with her own blood. The bullet only impairing her nerves, and not even permanently at that, was a miracle.

“That night, I couldn't stand the thought of you dying, only while trying to follow in my admittedly large footsteps. I wondered- I couldn't help but wonder … if you were scared, if you wanted to recuse from the case when the threats were made, but only proceeded because I, the criticisms I’ve made of you, the indomitable facade I exert, made you think … made you think that you had too.”

A large tear rolled down his cheek, trailing slowly down the wrinkles in his aged face. Alex was frozen in place, cradling her injured hand in her lap with her other. 

She stared at him blankly, and realized too that the earlier numb expression he had donned wasn't from any sort of indifference, but because his face stilled into a mask when he was overcome by emotion- a behavior they both shared.

“You could've died that night, because of a case you thought you needed to prosecute, in a job I encouraged you to pursue, despite knowing the threats that are made against attorneys.” His voice was now hoarse, and the skin around his eyes was turning an overt red. “You could've died scared and with regrets because you were trying to fill my expectations, because you thought I wouldn't be as proud of you if you had stepped away. I couldn't handle that, Alexandra, you … you could've died.”

He was crying now, really crying. The tears falling down his face were indistinguishable from each other as they blended into a track of water down his broad face. He reached into his pocket to withdraw his glasses case, using the cloth inside which was intended to clean the glasses he wasn't wearing to wipe at his eyes. 

“I am only a man,” he repeated, “And by now, I’m an old one. I am helpless, trying to handle that you could have had the rest of your life stolen from you, and that I contributed to the situation that led you into the path of that bullet. If I had needed to attend the funeral of my own … my own very beloved niece, who was murdered trying to make me proud of her … who died, without knowing of the high regard I had long since held her in … Alexandra, I would not have survived that.” 

Alex took her glasses off slowly, because she was now also crying. Her shoulders shook softly with concealed sobs, parallel to the ones her uncle was similarly exhibiting. Blonde hair felt soft and loose on her scalp when she ran a hand through her hair, at an utter loss for words.

“I’m alive,” she whispered finally.

He licked his very dry lips and stared down at the plates full of food neither of them had considered in quite a while because he couldn't bring himself to look at her, at the blue eyes that were so reminiscent of his own when he was her age. She could only look at him because her eyes were so full of tears, all she could see was a blurry silhouette.

“I thank God every morning that you are,” he responded to her finally, his grave voice thickened and distorted with anguish.

Neither spoke for a long while. 

Uncle Bill began eating because he needed to fill his mouth with something other than the bitter taste on his tongue, Alex dabbed gently at her eyes with a tablecloth, thanking the universe for waterproof mascara. It was mutually recognized that they needed to take a minute to breathe, to coexist, in quiet sanctity after both had become so emotionally overcome. 

Logically she should've known that her uncle had an emotional bone in his body, but with the idealized version she had spent years looking up too, it being laid bare for her was still a shock she hadn't yet recovered from. He was now vulnerable, and was trying to grapple with the stone that covered his face cracking after decades of affirming it to be one and the same with himself. 

Alex expected her to be the one to restart the dialogue, but yet again, her uncle surprised her. 

“I know I can't keep you chained down, Alexandra.” He sighed, although he kept avoiding her gaze, “It would be pointless to try, and more than that, it would be depriving the world of someone exceptional.” 

“You’re being very kind,” she said quietly, unable to form anything profound to express the depth to which his words of praise affected her. Her uncle never made his approval so overt, but then again, he had broken a damn lot of ‘never’s over this pristine tablecloth. 

“Forgive me,” She opened her mouth, and then closed it again alongside her eyes, smoothing her hands over her face and trying to ground herself with the feeling of it. Her uncle, the gilded, idealized, unconquerable statue, had cracked himself wide open to show her how much she was worth to him. It was too much to process so quickly. 

“Forgive me for being inconsiderate,” Alex breathed, then, after a long moment. “I don't know how to apologize properly. For assuming the worst motive behind your objections to me returning, for being so headstrong when we needed to have a real conversation.” 

“I am not an easy man to converse with,” he muttered, “And especially not when it comes to emotional matters.” 

Alex began to eat quietly. She had only ordered a salad, so it hadn't gone cold, although some of the dressing had seeped through the leaves and pooled at the bottom of the shallow bowl. Her uncle ate steak as though he was a robot programmed to do so. At this point, his food must have long since cooled off. 

“I accept your apology in regards to my intentions,” her uncle said finally, after his plate had been cleared, “And I hope you forgive me too for not disclosing … how I felt to you before now. You’ve spent weeks in the dark without knowing why, of course you would be frustrated.” 

Alex swallowed, placing her fork gently down on the plate as she had decided she had eaten her fill, and gazed down at the tablecloth like she wanted to try to find something there.

“I do,” she whispered eventually, “I accept your apology. It must be very hard, being vulnerable for my sake. I appreciate it immensely.” 

He could only provide her with a solemn nod. 

“Uncle,” she leaned forward on her elbows, placing her hands on the intertwined knuckles of her hands, “For most of my life, I’ve felt as though I was obliged to follow your will. I won't deny that. But tonight, for the first time, I will ask you something, not because I feel obligated to act in accordance with your approval, but … because, as your family and as someone who loves you, I … I want to.” 

His eyes, which had iced back over into his more normal expression as he ate, softened again when he looked up at her, and he followed suit in placing his utensils back on the table. 

“Perhaps, in my youth, I wanted to be a lawyer because you were my role model and I wanted to be just like you,” Alex admitted quietly. It was the sort of admission that, although both already knew that, still felt vulnerable to say openly.

“But as my career developed, and when I was placed in the sex crimes division, I felt myself and my aspirations develop. I worked with wonderful people and uplifted a great many who needed the protection I could provide. I am aware that this work can be dangerous, difficult and taxing, but I don't feel at all as though I’m doing it because I have something to prove, not anymore. I want to make you proud, but I also want to do this. It gives me a sense of purpose; and I enjoy it.” 

She took a deep, clearing breath, and glanced up to see if he was still looking at her- he was, and his eyes were filled with a great empathy.

“... I can't promise that I’ll back away from cases that may put me in danger, because I won't. You asked me earlier if I thought I had something to lose, and I do. I have a great deal to lose, because I have had a very fortunate life- however, that makes protecting those who haven't been as lucky as I all that much more meaningful to me.” 

He nodded. He understood her.

“You have always been beyond important to me,” Alex murmured quietly. “If you truly believe my work will bring you such grief, if you'll wake up and worry about me, I’m sure I would find another way to help people the way I have been, without the risks I have been taking.” 

It was late in the restaurant, it was now quiet and starting to empty out as the other diners began to take their leave. Some tables were replaced with newcomers, others stayed empty. Waitresses in fancy clothes bustled about, but it seemed as though the workers understood something vital was happening at their table, and left them alone. Alex didn't perceive any of this. Her attention was wholly and entirely fixated on the greyed blue eyes sitting across from her, on the uncle who she had learned so much about over the duration of a few short hours.

“In my heart, I know I want to return to my previous position,” she spoke slowly, meaningfully, anxiety prickling at her stomach, “but I also know that to feel satisfied with it, I need your blessing.” 

“The bald eagle is a symbol of American bravery,” her uncle said without much hesitation, his voice gruff but much clearer now. “I will provide you the conclusions I’ve drawn from this discussion with a metaphor.” 

She nodded, and resigned to give him a moment to collect his thoughts, but he seemed not to need it now.

“Despite the way we revere the eagle for all the traits we deem admirable- bravery, strength, agility, liveliness, the sense of intimidation- humanity has rendered their species endangered. Pesticides are a major issue, among other things.” 

He let her sit with that notion for a moment, the dramatic emphasis a mannerism he had long since developed in all his years of practice with the law. 

“But to clip their wings, and keep them in gilded cages so we can ensure they will never die … It would be depriving them of the ability to display the attributes that made them so admirable in the first place. Dangerous as it may be for them, in a man’s world which is so full of poison, we must let them soar. We have a duty to watch over them, protect them as well as we can, without impeding on the freedom we associate with them.” 

He picked up his goblet of wine and swirled it once, watching the liquid as though trying to tell a fortune with the motion. 

“Fly, Alexandra,” he said, and then he downed the rest of his drink, “Spread your vast wings and sink your talons into those who oppose you. I have no doubt you’ll go unimaginably far.” 

And then he looked up at her again, at his niece, the only person in his life who had ever been interested in the stories he had to tell and the guidance he wanted to give without the ulterior motives of greed or personal ambition, the woman he had helped a little sparkly-eyed girl grow up into, the closest thing he considered he had to a child of his own.

“But please,” her uncle said simply, “Try your best to fly home.”

[anistarrose]

[Image description: digital drawings of Barry from The Adventure Zone. Barry is a chubby human man with pale skin, glasses, and short, graying brown hair. He wears blue jeans and a red t-shirt. He's seen mostly in states of grumpiness, confusion, and indignation.

Holding a paper, with a red robe draped over one arm.

As the Red Robe, with no visible expression but a heart in his dialogue bubble.

Facing away, sweating and looking distressed.

Pointing at himself and saying: "These are my favorite clothes. My name is Barry J. Bluejeans. I am not a big fan of this cave. My name is Barry Bluejeans."

Holding a sword and looking slightly injured, saying: "If you gave me the option, I would not do it again."

Saying: "I need to sleep - listen - I've partied pretty hard before in my life, I'm gonna need to sleep this one off."

Gazing at the gold coin that he's holding.

Looking defensive, saying: "No - well, maybe."

Wearing armor over his usual outfit and slinging a sword over his shoulder. The drawing is labeled: "bodyguard fit."

End ID.]

good ol barold the loverrrrrrrr

[astro-g0re]

Genuinely AI and character ai will never replace the absolute joy and excitement of planning out a whole plot and story with potential reactions, ideas, concept, and art with the other person

The people only using character ai really don't know the soul and fun that comes with doing actual roleplay that stays consistent and won't repeat the same sentence/motion a million times over

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

rewatching 13s era for me is not so much diminishing returns as it is something opposite and eviler...............increasing losses? increasing losses

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. moon ki-yong (the salesman) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words; part two (here)

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

moon ki-yong is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ki-yong doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what moon ki-yong was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ki-yong?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[tahbhie]

Creating Emotionally Devastating Scenes.

Crafting a scene that earns the total sympathy of your readers can be challenging, but it's not impossible. Most emotionally devastating scenes fail at two things, but when these are done right, the results can be powerful.

⚪ The Important Concepts for Writing an Emotionally Devastating Scene

1. The Build-Up,

2. Breaking the Dam.

Before I explain these concepts, let me share a case study.

⚫ Case Study

I wrote a story about a young orphan named Jackie and her younger brother. Their village was burned down, leaving them as the only survivors.

For the next few chapters, readers followed their painful journey and their struggle to survive. The younger brother had a heart problem, and Jackie vowed to become a cardiologist to save him.

She was very ambitious about it, but at the time, it was very ironic. Later in the story, when they encountered a tragic living condition with a family, the brother died while telling his sister how much he missed their parents.

When her brother was fighting for his life, she was sent out of the room, only to be let in again to see his cold, lifeless body.

⚪ Explanation of Concepts

1. The Build-Up

The build-up is extremely important when you aim to convey strong emotions. Here's a secret: if you plan for a scene with strong emotions, start leaving breadcrumbs from the very beginning of the story.

Take the previous case study. I carefully built up their journey so people could easily relate and feel the pain of the older sister during her brother's sudden death.

You need to give the situation enough reason to feel utterly hopeless and devastating. Gradually cultivate the tension until it's ready to let loose.

⚫ Understanding the Use of Breadcrumbs.

Breadcrumbs in stories ensure you utilize the time you have to build up certain emotions around your characters.

At the beginning of my story, Jackie’s fate was already pitiable, but she survived every hurdle. This gave the readers enough to feel for her while still leaning away from the outcome. When I built enough, I introduced her brother's sudden death.

Hence, leave your breadcrumbs while leaning away from the outcome.

⚪ How to Properly Leave Breadcrumbs

When building up your story, consider these elements:

☞⁠ Character Relatability: The characters need to be realistic to draw readers into the story. This helps readers invest themselves in your story.

☞⁠ Realistic Emotional Pain: Just as characters need to be relatable, their emotions need to be realistic and not appear forced.

☞⁠ Create a Strong Emotional Attachment: Give them something they care about or that has the power to ruin their lives in any way. It could be something that makes them happy or something their happiness relies on. When it's time, snatch it away without remorse.

☞⁠ Have a Backstage Struggle: This struggle keeps readers occupied, so they won't see the outcome coming. For example, Jackie’s constant struggle to find food and shelter keeps readers engaged while the impending tragedy looms in the background.

☞⁠ Attach Believable Elements: For a realistic character, emotion, and struggle, attach believable elements. It could be death, ailments, sickness, disorder, disappointment, failure, etc.

Now that we've covered the build-up, let's move on to the next crucial part.

2. Breaking the Dam

This is when you make your readers feel the strong emotions alongside your characters. All the tension you’ve been building up is released, making all emotions come into play.

☞⁠ Break Your Strong Attachment: Cut off your strong attachment from your character when they least expect it or at a point when they couldn't use more struggles (i.e when they are helpless).

This will not only evoke readers’ emotions but also pique their curiosity as they wonder how the character will survive the situation.

☞⁠ Description of Sensory Details to Invoke Emotions: The advice of "show, don't tell" will be really helpful here. It's crucial to ensure that the final execution matches the build-up.

A well-crafted build-up can fall flat if the emotional release isn't handled effectively. To avoid this, blend the climax seamlessly into the narrative, making it feel natural and impactful.

Reblog to save for reference! 💜

[heartyluv]

Note: Sylus is just the fluffiest man ever. He deserves all the love in the world and I shall be first in line to give it. ♡︎

Creds to @/strangergraphics & @/omi-resources for the banners.

No warmings ◡̈

Word Count: 1,040

Protective!Sylus/Reader Headcanons

♱ Sylus is so protective over you in a way that you thought only existed in all the movies you’ve watched and books you’ve read.

♱ It’s not overwhelming in the sense that it’s too much or suffocating. It’s overwhelming because you never thought someone could ever love you so much that your entire existence is what completes theirs.

♱ Sylus hesitated to tell you how important you were to him. He had difficulty accepting it himself when he came to the realization that you were his endgame, because loving someone meant vulnerability—even weakness.

♱ I feel like the moment he realized you meant the world to him was when he saw how seamlessly you mended into his life and daily routine without judgment. I’m still imagining him as the leader of Onychinus, so he’s still that feared arms dealer that everyone whispers about.

♱ I don’t believe he hid anything from you. He laid everything out on the table. For one, it’s because he doesn’t lie to people and two, putting everything out there left no room for you to find something to leave him for later. Sylus doesn’t necessarily have a fear of being abandoned, but he views it as an expectation. If you knew what and who he was from the beginning, he knew it wouldn’t be long for you to be solidified in whatever decision you choose.

♱ But when you stayed, when you held him and told him that there was nothing unlovable or unworthy about him, you were stuck with the man for life.

♱ “I’ll never disappoint you. Everything I do from this point forward will always and only be done with your wellbeing at the forefront of importance. Thank you for choosing me.”

♱ He definitely has a tracker on you, at least two. One in your phone and another in a necklace he gave you (you still don’t know about that one).

♱ He proposed the idea of you moving in with him a few weeks after you officially became a couple. While every part of you wanted to say yes, you had to be realistic. The relationship was just starting to get serious, but Sylus had already started moving you in without you being aware.

♱ I’m talking he buys an exact replica of your wardrobe, shoes, jewelry and extras. He’s got at least double of your favorite body wash, perfume, lotion, and hair products. Basically, all the things that make your house a home, he brought it to his place. All your books, records, and movie collections are in his home and if they’re classics, he tries to find original copies just because he loves to make you happy.

♱ “When you tell me that you are ready, there’s no need to wait so that you can gather your things. I have everything you need and more, ready for you to come home. Just like me, it’ll be waiting.”

♱ Sylus became so protective of you because you were the only thing in his life that seemed real. He did nothing, as he says, “to earn you love”, but Sylus being who he is, is what won you over completely. You didn’t question him when things felt a little concerning or judge him when it got scary. You stuck by his side, praised him, believed in him, trusted him. You loved him, something he thought he’d never experience.

♱ He appointed a personal driver and bodyguard(s) to you whenever he’s unable to be around you and they’re what he deems the best available. But if he finds better, he’ll replace them without any issue.

♱ He threatens them for sure LOL. I don’t think he’s light about it either. Like he’s gruesome and detailed about what he’ll do to them should they fail in keeping a smile on your face and your safety secured.

♱ And he goes to you for daily reports. You think it’s the cutest thing despite him being so serious.

♱ “Should you have any concerns or complaints about who I’ve assigned to you, bring it to me directly, sweetie. I’ll handle it.”

♱ He buys you everything. He wants you to feel secure in every aspect within his control. Keeping you happy is what keeps him happy because for him, you’re all that matters. So emotionally, physically, mentally, financially and whatever other -lly there is, he’s going to make sure you have the best because it’s what you deserve.

♱ You bring up a gaming system? He’ll buy it. You bring up a hobby you’re thinking about getting into? He’ll have nothing but the best supplies delivered to you. You want a baby? He’s more than willing to start the family he’s been ready to give you since you first time you told him you loved him.

♱ He has hurt people when it came to you. You don’t know this, but times when someone has called you out of your name or disrespected you and you told him about it, he didn’t go as far as to off them, but he made them feel what will happen should they or anyone else dares to ever try it again.

♱ “Your first mistake was believing you had the privilege to be in her presence. Your second and final one was disrespecting her and thinking there’d be no consequence.”

♱ Sylus loves your skin. HEAR ME OUT!!

♱ You’re just so soft, you always smell so good, and he lovessss to feel you. The man is addicted to rubbing you, licking you, touching you, anything he can do to be close to you because unfortunately, living in your skin just isn’t gonna happen. Like he’s addicted to you and only you get to see how serious he is about it.

♱ He hates seeing you cry, especially if it’s about something he can’t directly handle.

♱ “Tell me how to make it better, kitten. Nothing is unreachable when I’m here to correct it. Talk to me.”

♱ Basically, you’re like porcelain to him. By no means does he think you’re weak or that you need saving. But because you let him be your shield, because you allow him to be the one to protect you from all the dangers and the harshness of the world, he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly.

♱ You are his happiness. You are his reason.

[acid-ixx]

why can't we return to what we once were?

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

i know my main trope for the neglected reader series is how never, for once, bruce had ever held them in his arms, but i've been thinking of something which pains me where what if you were never truly neglected as a child, only that, your family's affection for you slowly faded over time?

what if bruce was a good father — always was, you thought to yourself even if it's been years since he last picked you up personally from school — and yet he's slowly been distancing himself from you from the overabundance of his workload, managing both wayne enterprises and his double life as batman?

a pile of tasks, of missions, all stacked up to the point he just couldn't pick a time of his day to schedule at least an hour with his so-called 'treasure', you?

what if the longer you've grown, the more their memories of spending time with you in the manor's garden, buying ice cream from the vendors off the side of the streets, or even quick runs to the grocery store with dick, him buying you your favorite treats, whilst carrying your small, younger form in his all became all but a fading memory?

what if they became too busy after you became older? believing you needed space, and yet all you received is an ever diverging relationship with each individual, a silent excuse, a mutter under their breath that they have things to prioritize, work more important than the time they spent with you all those years ago?

time so precious to you, time you realized you never cherished back in those golden days, where dick and tim would drop anything they're doing just to play board games with you back when you were freshly taken into bruce's arms.

time so slow, now, now that bruce looks at you with those sorry eyes, a gentle promise that feels like empty excuses that he'll be back soon, he'll find time for you.

and he'll cradle you, temporarily, time passing by oh-so quickly when he's with you, time you wish would just stop if it means being with your father for just a longer moment. he holds your sunken cheeks that he never truly gazed at, with calloused hands rubbing softly against the sleepless bags dipping below your eyes. and yet unlike last time, he never looks at you.

unlike last time, he doesn't cherish his hold, doesn't notice the finer details of starvation and utter desperation creeping deep inside your body.

the hasty goodbye hugs feel emptier than the presence of heartache which looms over your hallowed out chest.

his back turned on you as he entered through the hole behind the grandfather clock makes you wish you never hoped for his time in the first place.

their guidance is what led you to your growth, and yet it's what stunted you, forced you to cling into past memories, nostalgic laughter, dick's ridiculous attempts to make you laugh, to distract you from the trauma of watching your mother die. tim's awkward smile churned at you, and yet you once felt his care in the way he'd offer you his favorite energy drinks whilst alfred would snatch it away from his hands, scolding him for tempting a child to drink something unhealthy.

it once felt like the warm kisses of the sun, it once felt like a dream the longer you rest in your empty bed, in your quiet room.

a room once filled with laughter, a room which used to hold quiet sessions with bruce, where he'd read you your favorite bedtime stories, where dick would crash in after another fight with your father, where it used to be tim's favorite napping spot.

bruce loved you enough back then, to even adorn you with gleaming pearl earrings in one of the galas he'd take you with. he used to hold you in just one arm, carrying you off to the tables filled with desserts every time you point at it. he laughs heartily with the fellow rich, tells them of stories of your tantrums, of your achievements, wins their hearts with memories of you he recalls.

it once made you smile so widely it nearly hurt your cheeks, once made you forget what happened in that boxed up apartment, of your mother's corpse, replaced with genuine joy that your presence was held up like a trophy; that you meant something in this big, intimidating world.

now, even rebelling during the galas, masking your desperation for their attention with atrocious behavior. pretending to be all ditzy if it meant to steal your father's gaze for just a second, maybe your new brothers and sisters too— and yet all you're met with is judgement, barely disguised contempt for your inappropriate acts— tim's embarrassed wince, damian — the new youngest member — tsking.

where was it? where was once the light giggles at your clumsiness? where was once dick's gentle scolding and bruce's fuzzing over you?

they say things change. you know it's true, you should've believed it was, but you cling to hope so blindly, so eminently stupid that you think the world revolved around you, that you think you hold even an ember to the burning flames surrounding your weak demeanor.

they are heroes, you are not.

they hold double lives, you do not.

they are family, and sometimes, you feel like you are not.

not part of it, at least, not anymore.

and you don't know when it started, don't know why it feels like you're slowly slipping away from them, or rather, like it's them who throws you out of their circle.

but what you do know, what you always noticed, was that it hurts you all the same.

the same searing pain, the familiar ache against your chest once you've realized that they've always had time. that bruce always had time for the newer people living in the manor. he was always there for cass' ballet recitals, he was always there for duke even during his day shifts, he was always there for damian's football, for dick whom he'll drive away to bludhaven to care for if anything happens, for jason who works in the crime alley, for barbara constantly looming in the batcave, for alfred, for steph, for everyone but you.

just you.

the mundane little child who he used to easily pick up with just one arm, the kid whom he knew he cherished back then, who he proudly showed off to everyone during galas, who he used to match clothes with, watch movies with, helped silence their cries with hushed comfort, held them close to his chest.

to his heart which was always closed off, open just for you to hear the paced heartbeats if it meant help calming yours.

to his heart that held no more space for you after all these years.

seemingly forgetting you, seemingly rendering you restless, broken with all these questions on why, just why did this happen? just what caused all this sudden anguish, this sudden silence, this aching pain.

pain which held you in a vice grip, pain which forced you to smile at alfred as you pretending like all these— these attempts at restoring past memories never once hurt you, never once made you doubt if all the love they once had given you was all false.

pretenses, lies, deceit and manipulation which almost made you believe: that you're the problem, that they hate you, that your inherent choice, your eminent mistake at not choosing the vigilante life is what led you to your downfall; to this neverending pain.

and you almost believed, almost succumbed to the same paths if you were confident enough to believe in yourself.

after all, all you wanted was their presence.

all you wanted was to be cradled, no matter how childish you'd be called, no matter what it takes—

you cling to that hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd hold you once more.

maybe, just maybe, dick would swarm you in a pile of blankets like last time, bring home some junk food exclusive to bludhaven. that tim would sleep in your room, rest his head against your shoulder for just a sliver of rest. that bruce would just fucking hold you, console you when the tears become too heavy, when the weight of the world becomes too restricting against you.

maybe you wouldn't be alone anymore.

because after all, even if the hands that cradled you were calloused, blistering skin, scabbed and sullied. even if it held the weight of gotham's expectations for their saviors. even if it were stained with blood, and years of heavy combat.

even if it were unfamiliar now, even if you'll never know what it'd feel like anymore—

— it was still the same hands which cradled you all along.

and you could only hope it would cradle you once more.

you could only hope they care just enough to find you once you leave for an entirely different country, once you permanently erase traces which leads back to you.

you, just the mundane, useless child you once were.

a/n: wow, sorry for suddenly disappearing teehee <3 two things: i think i forgot how to properly write angst and i temporarily lost interest in the fandom (it felt too suffocating at some point), hence the sudden silence. everything felt utterly boring for me and i started to fixate on 10 other fandoms whilst trying to restore my love for this one. but hey! lookie here, a little concept i decided to post. it's my sorry attempt at regaining the spark of writing, and i'd rather not force myself to write for chapter 6 or else i'd end up losing more of my fixation for dc comics 😭

[fics-lovebot]

seventeen fic recs pt. 2

main masterlist - pt. 1

· ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

these are my personal favs, so pls reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

coffee talk - ( @wqnwoos ) fluff, coworker!vernon, work romance au, jwhhxsjxsjd cutee

bias - ( @wooahaes ) fluff, slice of life, vernon idol!au, you make the cats choose their svt bias, IT SO WHOLESOME :((((((((

mr. nice guy - ( @toruro ) smut, next door neighbor!joshua au, I HATE HIM skfffkjs this got me blushing and shit, he cosplays as a gentleman but he´s actually just a flirty nasty mf

confession - ( @nonranghaes ) bf!shua, fluff, slice of life, this is so cute sldfjshldjfkh

You Know What They Say About Men With Big Feet - ( @hansols-yoda-boxers ) smut, big feet, big nose, big muscles and a big dicc YUPPPPPP, seokmin has it ALL

2am conversations - ( @wqnwoos ) bf!jeonghan, slice of life, “what if crabs think that fish can fly?” “angel, it’s two in the morning,” sdkhfksb it´s cute :(((( so domesticc

the long way - ( @trblsvt ) model!jeonghan, staff!reader, UGGHHDSLHFLSKH i love this, he´s so confident and lowkey straight forward

tinted windows - ( @duhnova ) smut, ceo!hannie, panty ripper,, literally, car sex, “sir you have a meeting in twenty minutes.” “fuck that stupid meeting, i have more important things to be doing right now.” IT´S GOOD YALL

poker match - ( @hoshifighting ) smut, sub!hannie, dom!reader, famous poker player!jeonghan, famous poker player!reader. he finally meets his match in every way. I LOVEEEDDD this, it´s such a fresh concept

night time questions - ( @wqnwoos ) bf!jeonghan, fluff, LEAVE ME ALONEEEEEE THIS IS SO CUTEEE :(((( had me giggling and crying at the same time

drunk and in love - ( @97-liners ) fluff, wasted!hoshi, him in his tiger patterned-shirt, asdkjasdh he´d deff be like this, he rants about how wonderfull you are to whoever got ears, so cute

lollipops and candy bars - ( @hansols-yoda-boxers ) smut, sub!hao, reader loves to tease, cute and innocent looking reader, hao needs help lmao, "Well, I finished off my lollipop a while ago, do you have anything else I could suck on?” SKLHDLFJHKLDJ wow

clingy - ( @tomodachiii ) hubby!gyu x pregnant!reader, fluff. so you want me to kms,,THIS IS THE FLUFFIEST PIECE I´VE READ THIS WEEK (っ °Д °;)っ ilysm

sweater paws - ( @duhnova ) smut, virgin!jeonghan. yeah so i fucking love this :D literally one of the best smut pieces out there fr, so so detailed

bad girls make good boys cry - ( @duhnova ) smut. virgin!joshua. pleeeassseeeee this is so gOODD, "first of all, you rode me till i cried" IKTR!!

reaction to their s/o appearing on going seventeen - ( @welcometomyoasis ) fluff, crack. LMAOOO i loved this sm

them accidentally ditching you on your bday - ( @hannieehaee ) angst, idol!ot13 if you know me you know i´m a wHORE for an angsty fic, it just hits a certain spot on my brain idk, and this is IT, i loved both parts

menace - ( @hannieehaee ) fluff, simp!jeonghan, when you´re the only one who can deal with him. mannn why is mingyu always the target lmao

fake dating? - ( @hannieehaee ) crack, fluff, suggestive, bff to lovers. nahhh this was too funny lmao, poor vernon

whipped - ( @gi4hao ) FLUFF, bf!wonu. this is so wHOLESOME and ihateit (not) :((((( plssssss its so cuteee

when you call them by their name - ( @emocheol ) sdkhskdhf this is too good, no them panicking

12:31 am - ( @hoasvuon ) bf!jeonghan, fluff. so...i´m so in love :´)

leave your message after the beep - ( @shuaraes ) angst, ex-bf!minghao, the way this is written,, how tf doesn´t it have at leAST 1000 notes??? its crazy!

[emiliaoleary]

Hooking rugs that look like dogs

Here's how I do it:

The process I use is called rug hooking (not latch hook or punch needle or tufting, though it is the forerunner of the latter two techniques). Rugs are hooked by pulling loops of fabric strips or yarn through the holes of a base fabric with a coarse open weave, like burlap, or linen, or rug warp. The loops are pulled through the fabric with a squat-handled hook whose business end is shaped like a crochet hook.  There are no knots and the loops aren't sewed down in any way.  The whole thing stays put just by the tension of all those loops packed together in the weave of the foundation fabric.

This isn't a true detailed tutorial but a walk-through of my particular process. The same information is on my web page, emilyoleary.com .

I hook with yarn, rather than with cut strips of wool fabric, which is what many rug hookers use.  I can get a looser, more organic distribution of loops with yarn than I could with wool strips, which are hooked in neat lines. 

Mostly I use wool yarn. In terms of yarn weight, I can use DK, worsted, or Aran.  If I'm using thicker yarn, I leave more holes un-hooked; if I'm using finer yarn, I hook more densely or double up lengths of it.  I particularly like using single ply yarns (like Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride or Malabrigo Worsted).  I don't keep count, but I think I usually use around two dozen types and colors of yarn per dog.  

This is my yarn wall in my apartment. Mostly brown and gray yarn!

I start from a small drawing in my sketchbook, then I head to FedEx office to use a copy machine, blowing up the drawing repeatedly and experimenting with how big the dog rug should be. 

After transferring the image onto my linen, I immediately go over it with Sharpie, because the Saral is really difficult to see and really easy to rub off.

The rug is held taut by a PVC quilting frame that I set on my lap.

I push my hook down through the fabric with my right hand and my left hand stays below the fabric and guides the yarn while I pull it up and through with the hook. Not every hole in the fabric is hooked. Hooking every hole would make the rug too dense. I do hook pretty densely, though-- If you pick up one of my rugs you’ll see they have a slight curl to them, which is because they’re hooked pretty tight. I'm using all different weights and types of yarn, so it's a challenge to keep the overall tension even.

I hook my loops at varying heights to create a very low relief. Sometimes I trim the loops to make them fluffier or wispier or to shape a particular part. I look at a reference photo while I work and pull out and redo sections a lot.

My q-snap frame can accommodate the growing dog rug. I have extenders to make it bigger and I can clamp around my hooking.

The back of a rug looks like lines of little stitches. The lines are little worm trails snaking around because lines of hooking are not supposed to cross over each other. It's important to start a new length of yarn rather than cross over a stitch you already made! I read this when I first started and took it to heart. It makes it much easier to undo and redo hooking if you have to (and I redo sections A Lot). It also keeps the back from getting too bulky and resulting in uneven wear on the back of a functional rug that gets floor use.

When I’m done hooking everything I turn the rug over and brush watered-down Sobo glue on the edges of the dog, making sure to get one or two of the outermost lines of hooking. I do a couple coats of this thinned out glue. I'm careful not to use so much that it seeps to the front of the rug. When the glue is dry I cut the rug out, but I don't cut so close that the loops don't have any linen to keep them in.

​ It generally takes me at least several months to finish one dog rug. My hooking frame and yarn bag are very portable (though bulky) so I can hook out and about at coffee shops or the library or a brewery if there's enough space and light.

Hooking in the wild makes me an ambassador for making things in general and rug hooking in particular. I answer people's questions and always emphasize how relatively easy it is to get started hooking. Sometimes I get anxious that other people will hook rugs that look like mine but better, but I think that working in a traditional medium means you should share your knowledge for the good of the craft.

[simpjaes]

BOOK SMART? P*SSY SMART. — P.JS

The one where Jay basically lives in the university library and you live in any and every party you can find on campus. Unfortunately, your grades are suffering over it and you need help. You’re quite lucky though because Jay is quite helpful. 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― inexperienced loser jay x afab reader

CONTENT―  Jay wears glasses even tho the banner says otherwise lol, he’s also a loser ass dweeb in this, open minded and playful reader, college au, jay just rly wants to get in that but doesn't know how to

NOTE― this is a revamp, surprise surprise, nobody is shocked. was originally written for mark lee over on my other blog @/ncteez but i need jay like i need air so….cackling at the title tho, my brain is malfunctioning pls forgive me

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags :: MONSTER COCK AGENDA. Jay is a pervert and smells ur towel lmao, mentions of food and detailed popsicle eating,  reader is very vocal and talkative, slight use of the pet name “pretty”, a lot of cum, cream pie, unprotected sex, mention of bc pills, Jay has a huge cock and he didn’t even know it, inexperienced Jay, experienced reader, finger sucking, nipple sucking, grinding, oral (f recieving), Jay gets on his knees, making out, sex on a table

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         It wasn’t shocking that you were failing but it was shocking that not a single one of your friends were failing with you. They somehow managed to keep their grades up while partying just as often as you do. You don’t know how the hell they did it and you also don’t know why the hell they refuse to help you study now that they’ve seen your failure.

         Not the greatest friends, you think. They won’t help you study because they only have time to study their own classes and to continue partying without you, apparently. You knew you had to come to terms eventually that these people aren’t your friends. They’re just people to party with, people to have fun with, and apparently, people that will watch you struggle.

         It’s frustrating to walk home from classes by the run-down houses with booming music already playing. Without fail, every time, you wish you could be attending instead of studying. It’s even more annoying when you give up on your studies because you’re just not fucking getting it, and you probably would be fucking getting it if you were at a party talking to potential boyfriends or fuckbuddies. 

         Fairness in the world is so hard to grasp. Someone else always has it, but never you. The worst part about all of this is that you’re very aware of how lucky you actually are, you wasted away in college and allowed yourself to get this low simply because you were lucky enough to be well-liked. You prioritized the pointless things over the important things, and now you’re suffering for it. Complaining that you can’t attend parties, looking like a bore to your friends who pity and are embarrassed by you for not being able to multitask like everyone else.

         That’s right. You can’t party and study like everyone else, so maybe now it’s time to focus on the task you’d pushed aside for so long.

         Studying. Ugh.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         You don’t know Jay past the fact that he is in at least three of your classes, extremely quiet, and constantly in the library when you pass by to leave the campus. You’re a little bit ashamed to admit that the majority of people you are well-liked by are the people who are ignoring you right now. The only choice you have is to find someone that can help you catch up on all of the studies you’ve blatantly abandoned. You could go through the student center and “officially” attend tutoring sessions with someone who would likely scoff at you for not getting it, or you could find someone of your own choice to help you. 

         That’s the only reason Jay comes to mind. Again, he is in three of the four of your classes. Every semester, without fail, you’ll look for your name on the dean’s list knowing that it’ll never show up, but you have seen Jay’s name on that list more times than you care to remember. 

         Jay knows of you as well. The girl who cut in front of him in the cafeteria to grab coffee with her large group of friends, making him ten minutes late to be early for his class. The girl who loudly slammed a book down in the library and nearly gave him a heart attack, the girl who came into class stumbling and giggling with one of the guys, clearly still tipsy from the night before. 

         You are everything that Jay isn’t. You are everything he avoids when accepting friends into his life, and his interest in you doesn’t really go past the point of having a stubborn, pretty girl to look at. He is a man after all. A man who is finally away from home, surrounded by hormonal women and men who can’t see past their brain fog of sexual fantasies in class. Never towards him though, he’s usually just on the outside looking in. 

         Jay has those fantasies too, but it isn’t his focus. He is dead set on being a top student, one that people recognize on the academic end rather than the partying end of it all. So, here he is, sitting with his nose in a book, glasses sliding down every few minutes as he munches on a pack of crackers. He’s been here for three hours already and finds comfort in the silence of the library. It’s such a vast place with so many corners to hide in if someone were to come and disturb his peace. Today is no different from any other Friday, where few students choose to study and instead opt for one of the various frat parties or bar hops. 

         You wish you could be one of those people, truly, but instead, you’re making your way to the library in search of Jay. The one student who you assume may actually take you up on the offer of study sessions. You imagine his shocked face when you sit in front of him, and you try your best not to imagine a look of disgust rather than approval. You need Jay now, for the first time in your life, more than ever. His knowledge of the three out of four classes you have will surely work wonders on your GPA, you will probably have to admit how much you’d be relying on him in order for him to even consider your offer too.  

God, you hate begging.

The library is so deafeningly silent when you walk in. You can’t hear even the slightest of a whisper as you walk around and peek into the many empty study rooms and cubicles. After several minutes of searching, the anxiety bubbles up inside of you. What if he decided to do something else? Of all days? The one day where he is needed to be studying? 

Just as you turn to leave, ignoring the entire second floor of the library, you nearly walk straight into him. And by nearly, you actually do  walk directly into him. 

Books clatter to the floor, Jay sighs as he looks down without making eye contact with you. It’s not the first time he’s been walked into and it probably won’t be the last. He is forever wishing that people could just watch where they’re fucking going.

“Hey, I’m sorry–” You go to say as you lean down to help him pick up the mess, he still doesn’t look at you though. Honestly, he barely even notices you there with those airpods in his ears and eyes on the floor. 

To be fair, most people who walk into him just continue walking, so…

         When he does take note of another person helping him retrieve his things, he looks up. You’re not shocked that all he does is nod at you when he takes the book from your hands and makes his way back towards his study space. 

         In an awkward way, you follow him. You feel dumb and kind of lost in this world of books and good students. Up the stairs, towards the floor you’d not even bothered to check, Jay unintentionally leads you to his little corner that already has papers and books laid out. 

         You swallow hard when he takes his seat and looks up to see that you have followed him. Jay is quick to swipe one of his AirPods from his ears and you can kind of tell that he instantly went from relaxed to nervous.

“Uh–” You look around, feeling awkward standing there. “I was looking for you.” 

“Me?” Jay questions with a soured look on his face. He doesn’t really do it intentionally, it’s just, like, what? 

 “Why?”

“Okay, just hear me out.” You start, taking a few steps forward and inviting yourself to sit at his table. There is absolutely no arm space on this side, but that doesn’t entirely matter. You begin your pitch.

“I know it’s kind of weird, but, I’m failing.”

“That’s not weird.” Jay mocks, shaking his head and moving to put his airpod back in his ear.

“Wait! Just, please–hear me out.” You plead now, a little frustrated that he’s already refusing to help you.

         He looks around and then lets out a deep sigh. Rubbing his temples, he nods.

“I know we aren’t the type to like, help each other or whatever– but I’ve asked all of my friends, and they kind of blacklisted me…you are my last resort, I swear.” You say, begging with your eyes. “Can you please just help me study for like, one day a week?”

         His body is stiff and his face is unimpressed by your pitch. 

“An hour a week?” You adjust clapping your hands together to plead even harder. You very nearly start to grovel on the ground before him. “Jay, please. I need to get my grades up.” 

“If you had just given yourself a day a week, you wouldn’t have to be asking someone you’ve never even spoken with to help you study.” He rolls his eyes, still mocking and appearing a bit cocky at the sudden power he’s been given. Of course he only gets approached when someone needs something from him. 

 “How many classes are you failing?”

“I’m failing three classes and have a C in another–” You shamefully admit. “Just an hour a day, please.”

         Jay eyes you over, shifting a bit in his seat before letting out another sigh. 

“Finals are barely a month away.”

“I know! I’ve already got extra credit lined up so I can at least get my grades up by a letter but– I,” You look down, more ashamed than before.

“You don’t know how to actually do the extra credit, do you?” Jay finishes for you and is, for some reason, shocked when you nod. 

         He can see the panic in your eyes, and he noticed for the past week that you’d been looking incredibly tired around campus. Not the hung-over type of tired either. He’s noticed you move your seat closer to the front in one of the classes and even noted that you’re actually taking notes during your time spent there. Maybe he should help you out. If not for the fact that you genuinely seem to need it, but also maybe because he’s like, incredibly aware that he is attracted to you.

 He always has been, but that’s not the fucking point. 

“Okay, you can come study with me whenever you want then. I usually study here because I have a roommate who isn’t exactly the quietest person–” He goes to explain. 

“I have an entire apartment to myself, you can come study at my place. Really, I’ll make food and everything.” You panic, still trying to sell the idea despite him already accepting your offer. 

         Jay is a little shocked and offended that you have your own apartment, and yet you’re failing your classes. No way in hell are you paying for that yourself. This only prompts him to want to help more. Because, like? An entire apartment to study in? Where a pretty girl makes his food? 

“Okay, that can work. What days and times can I be over?” He follows up with a nonchalant nod, noting the three shared classes and the one other you’ll probably need help with. He hopes he’s already taken the outlier class, otherwise he won’t be much help in that regard. 

“You can walk home with me after those classes if you want, and we can study until you’re ready to leave?” You offer. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be every day, but–”

“We can meet up after every class and decide if you want to study or not.” Jay finishes for you yet again, and you nod with a smile. 

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask, wanting to make a mental note of keeping your end of the bargain. 

         Jay thinks hard at that because being put on the spot like this makes answering any question a bit difficult. 

“Here–” You hold out your phone. “Put your number in and you can think about it. I’ll text you so you have mine.”

 You can’t wipe the smile off of your face, the anxiety is practically dissolving from your body at the very idea of someone being willing to help you in the comfort of your own apartment.

         He, on the other hand, is a bit more anxious now. He realizes that now, he’s going to be studying with you. A girl who had never even looked at him twice during the semesters you’ve shared classes. He’s putting his number into your phone, and you’re going to be texting him, and spending time with him instead of going to the parties that he’s never invited to. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?” You ask in his silence, sending a quick text to him so that he can save your number. He nods and looks down at his books. “Don’t forget to text me what you want to eat, okay?”

         He nods again as you stand to walk away. He watches intently at the way you have a little bounce in your step and can’t help but feel his cheeks flushing. God, why is he doing this to himself? 

         Slamming his head on the desk, he, much like you, cannot stop smiling now. All thoughts of studying for the remainder of the night left his head and were replaced with his new study schedule. He thinks he will try and take it easy this weekend, specifically so he is mentally prepared. He’s only talked to you for a total of fourteen minutes and he’s already lost his ability to study and think clearly. 

If he’s lucky, the two of you will pass this semester with flying colors. There’s still that tiny part of him though, that wonders if maybe you’d find interest in him, and maybe he will fail the semester with you because, honestly, you are so distracting.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         On Monday, you sat up straight in class while eyeing the back of Jay’s head most of the time. Mostly to prepare yourself for if and when he makes a break for it. He hasn’t even texted you what he wants to eat today, and part of you wonders if he went back on his promise to you. Not that it was much of a promise in the first place, anyway.

         He was a little shocked that you weren’t the first out of the room once everyone wrapped up though. Like you, he was assuming the same thing. You’d make a fucking break for it and pretend you never approached him in the first place. After all, It was common for you to leave mid-way through class or be the first one out the door. Instead though, he finds himself proud of you. You stood there awkwardly looking at him as the room emptied out, clearly unsure of what to do or say to him.

         Jay nods your way as if to beckon you towards him. 

“You’re still wanting to study today?” He asks with a brow raised in surprise. 

All weekend he had thought about it. Thought about the possibility of it just being a joke to you, or maybe that you’d change your mind and allow yourself to flunk out like you already had been doing. His heart kind of jumps a bit noticing you looking at him like this. 

“Yeah? Wasn’t that the plan?” You ask, nudging him a bit once you get up beside him. “You didn’t text me what you wanted to eat so you’re just gonna have to eat whatever I have in the fridge, by the way.”

         Jay nods, opting to stay silent at this moment. He’s going home with you. He’s going to be seen on campus walking home with you. He’s not the sort to want attention, but this situation feels dangerously attractive to him. Especially when he takes note of how you’re probably going to look all…cozy and at home in your apartment. Like, he gets to be in your space teaching you things that you should have already known. 

         It all shouldn’t be so exciting. After all, his days are filled with the typical boring sessions of reading, writing, noting, and memorizing. It is exciting for him though. Never has he studied with someone like you, or really even gotten to talk to someone that most of the men speak to, the unreachable men no less. The ones with families that own the city, and all the houses in it.

You’re one of the unreachable women on campus, he thinks. The ones with standards based on fun, attractiveness, and chaos rather than charisma, personality, and knowledge. It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Jay to be doing this right now.

“Okay, so...” Jay drones out, avoiding eye contact with you as he packs things into his ratty backpack. “I’m not super hungry right now but–we are going to your place right?”

He needs the confirmation himself if he’s being honest. Nothing would suck more than assuming and being proved wrong.

         You nod with a smile, grabbing his hand as soon as he throws his backpack on. It isn’t intimate to you, but for him, it’s…something. Holding his hand is reserved for intimate relationships with family or girlfriends. He never holds hands.

 He’s never really gotten the chance to anyway, aside from a little cousin when they were crossing the street last summer. He can’t help but buckle in on himself in a shy sort of way as you lead him from the room and out of the building. 

         You’re rambling about all of the things you need to study. All of the snacks you could offer to him. All of the hours you wish you hadn’t wasted partying, yet, all he’s thinking about is how warm your hand feels in his. You seem to be a natural at talking to people. Touching them without a single worry in the world, it’s kind of nice, he thinks. The fact that you aren’t ashamed to be seen together with him, heading towards the place you sleep. Sometimes Jay forgets that this is college. No one actually cares who is hanging out with who unless they are in the middle of a raunchy frat party, seeing their love interest getting touched against a dirty bathroom counter. 

         He smiles to himself as he finally catches up to you and allows you to stop dragging him around. He keeps pace with you now, resting his hand as if to allow you to let go, but you don't. 

“Just around that corner–” You say,  glancing over at him and noting the shade of color his face has become. “You good?” 

         Jay nods, staying quiet and trying to force himself out of his thoughts. He glances down at your hand holding his and then back up at you on instinct. 

“Ah, sorry.” You mumble, releasing his hand and trying hard to understand that maybe you truly are too clingy with most people in your life. You think his reaction was kind of cute though, and now you’re a little determined to help him relax those stiffened shoulders. Jay can’t be as boring as he seems, right?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I have peanut butter and jelly, eggs, noodles, some leftover pizza and–”

“I’m not hungry, but If I can have some water or something, that would be cool.” Jay cuts you off, slipping off his shoes in an immaculate show of how clumsy he is. You can hear the clatter of your entire coat rack falling to the floor due to his weight leaning on it through that single task. 

“Okay–” You side eye his mess with a slight smile. “Water, got it.”

 You trail off to get him the drink, keeping a small mental note of how nervous he appears to be right now. He’s panicked, frantically trying to balance your coat rack back in place as if you hadn’t walked directly into him just the Friday before. 

“Jay, it’s just a coat rack.” You laugh with water in hand, hearing him mutter a sorry as he hangs one of your empty purses back onto it.

“Thanks.” He says now, reaching out for the drink.

         Watching his eyes go from the glass of water to your apartment, you smile at the look on his face. Such a smart guy acting so incredibly stupid the moment he’s alone in an apartment with a girl. Cute.

“Is this good?” You ask as if you’re offering a change of subject so that he doesn’t have to think about the coat rack he had just knocked over. You point over to your dining table that’s placed perfectly in a little nook against a window and look at him as he stands in place. “We can start whenever you’re ready?”

“Can you show me to the bathroom first?” Jay blurts, hyper-aware of his awkward demeanor. He needs to calm himself down before even thinking about sitting down to fucking study. 

   You point to the bathroom quickly, making your way to the table and adjusting everything so there is space for the piles of books soon to be laid on it. You watch only a little bit at how Jay makes his way over to said bathroom in a show of not-so-confident body language. He seemed kind of cocky on Friday, but today he seems to be like jelly. 

         You sit at the dining table without thinking much more of the man in your bathroom, instead, you pull out some textbooks and lay them out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         Jay stares at himself in the mirror, he can practically see the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he comes to terms with the fact that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to your apartment to study. You’re attractive. That alone is a reason in his head to avoid it, but he’s here and he’s already made a fool of himself. 

         He slaps his face a bit with some cold water and tries to will himself to stop acting like such an awkward idiot. Surely you’ll pick up on his inability to talk to women if he doesn’t get it together, right? You’re going to think he’s some weirdo, a pervert maybe, before throwing him out and avoiding him forever.

         Staring harder at himself, he waits for the color to run from his face so that way he can get out there and start the study session, but then his eyes start to wander. 

         Your bathroom is immaculately clean save for some makeup stains on the counter and a few stray hairs that must have been yanked out of your head while you attempted to brush out a night of drinking. It smells fresh and your perfectly hung towels look plush hanging against the wall. Without a thought in his head, he leans towards the towel so that he can dry his face and hands, and that’s just what he does. Except, maybe he buries his face into the towel a bit longer than he needed to, and maybe the smell of it was so astronomically sweet that he nuzzled against it even more.

         He could tell the towel had been used at least once though, solely because he could smell a scent that wasn’t the soap on the counter, nor any laundry detergent he’s aware of. Then…his eyes flick to the actual hand towel that he somehow missed, right beside it? A lace bra. The flush comes back to his face, making him feel even warmer than he did when he entered the room. Which feels like a fucking nightmare if he’s being totally honest. 

         It dawns on him again. He’s in your apartment, smelling your towels, and staring at your bra. Coming to the bathroom in an attempt to calm down has done nothing more than make things worse, and the only option he has now is to stumble out of the bathroom hoping you assume he was in here doing number two rather than planting his face into a towel where you dry off your naked body. 

         Mumbling to himself, Jay prepares himself to face you. Sure, you probably see nothing out of the norm if he does well and hides the fact that he’s hyper-sensitive just for being in your space, then again, Jay has never been the best at playing pretend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You offer him a bright smile once he finally makes his way back into your living space and seats himself at the table. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with you, bashfully pulling his own books out of his bag with shaking fingers. 

“Are you okay? You sure you don’t want a snack or something?” You look at him, head tilting at him in concern. 

Jay finally looks at you and notes how comfortable you seem while he feels like he’s internally falling apart. There shouldn’t be any fucking issue in his head when it comes to this situation, but here he is, panicking because a pretty girl is in front of him. 

He feels so dumb, so obvious, so embarrassed. Yeah, maybe he should eat something, at least so he can buy some time to focus on something else before he starts stuttering through your studies. At this rate, all you’re going to learn about today is how awful Jay is around women. 

“Maybe I should eat, yeah–” He says in a small voice, still staring at the books as he places them on the table.

“Come look in my kitchen, we can eat something together?” You offer, reaching toward his hand. 

He pulls back from your touch and tries to play it off casually like he was just reaching for a pencil, but you didn’t miss the fact that his hands were cold and shaky.

Taking note, it starts to dawn on you. You’ve dealt with men like him before, and it was always an interesting situation. To check your theory, you rise from the chair and lean over the table, being sure to squish whatever cleavage you have visible to make it more visible to him. 

“Salty or sweet?” You ask, watching his eyes intently and the way they struggle to reach your face. Score one for you, Jay is definitely a man above all. Luckily for him, you have lots of experience in that field, while he appears to have very little in the field of women. 

“W-what?” He drones out, pulling his eyes away from you in an attempt to hide the way his face immediately flushed. 

“The snacks? Savory or sweet?” You laugh, propping yourself back from the table and hopping into the kitchen, checking behind you to see if he follows.

He does stand to follow, but by the time you round the corner, he isn’t behind you like you figured he would be. Peeping your head around the corner, you watch as he holds his hands in front of his groin, looks down at himself, and then lets out a deep sigh. You then watch as he adjusts himself in his pants, uncomfortably hiding a semi-hard on so that he could come into the kitchen without suspicion. 

By this point, you’ve already decided that studying will very likely not be part of today’s schedule. He wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing like this, right? You should help him, right?

“Took you long enough.” You joke as he appears in the kitchen, turning to look at him and intentionally trailing your eyes down his body just to see if you can see any sort of bulge. He’s safe though because he apparently must have skills in hiding his arousal during the worst times. 

Jay, on the other hand, can already tell that your shift in mood is intensely different compared to before he went to the bathroom. Twice now you’ve been blatant towards him and it is not helping him at all right now. Is he reading it wrong because he’s very obviously horny right now? Were you really trying to dangle your breasts in front of him like that? Are you really checking him out right now? 

“Sorry–” He looks down. “I– uh, I dropped something.” He offers as an excuse, uncomfortably trying to shift from your view and avoid eye contact. 

“Sure.” You say with a roll of your eyes, knowing full well that he was hiding his cock. “I want something sweet. Sounds good?” You change the subject, reaching out and running your fingers down his arm. 

He swallows hard, stiffening his shoulders and nodding to you. Without hesitation, you let your fingers stay against him for a few seconds longer, keeping eye contact with him before turning and opening a cupboard. 

“Peanut butter crackers, cereal, and oatmeal.” You deadpan, slamming the cupboard and stepping to the fridge. “Pudding.” Then you open the freezer. “Popsicles, and ice cream.”

Jay just stands there when you close the doors to the fridge and look at him in question. He could opt for the crackers but his throat is already dry enough. Choking right now would be even more humiliating. Cereal could work but that would be embarrassing too, for some reason. Oatmeal is an option, solely for how disgusting it looks, surely it would tame his boner. 

But, popsicles? Hell no.

“Grab whatever you want, I'm eating a popsicle.” You say, raising a brow and throwing open the freezer door again to take your pick.

Of course, it’s  intentional. It’s fun to see his eyes light up at the very idea of seeing you eat a popsicle, and even more fun to imagine how flustered he’s going to be in mere minutes.

Jay looks to the floor and heads towards your fridge, also opting for a popsicle despite his very recent internal protest. Mostly so you don’t think he’s a pervert when he inevitably sees you eat it. But also, like, just in case you really are trying to flirt with him right now, at least his lips will taste sweet too. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had expected Jay to get flustered, and boy did he. What you didn’t expect though, was to become flustered yourself by the image of Jay’s tongue darting over sweet ice, and then over his own lips to suck up the melted and sticky juice. The only image in your head right now is the idea of if he would lick his lips like that if you were to spread your legs for him. Would he lick up your mess on his face, chasing the flavor the same way he’s doing right now?

A dull ache begins to spread throughout your body as you watch him. His eyes still avoid you but you manage to catch him a few times. Each time he makes eye contact with you, your gaze shoots to his lap just to see if he’s gotten hard enough for his cock to leave its tucked position in his waistband. 

Jay is hyper-aware now too, with the way you’re staring and almost leaving your popsicle unattended as he eats his own. He feels confused, like? Are you doing what he was actively avoiding doing to you? Jesus, you really are kind of a whore, god.

By the time the popsicles are finished, your fingers are sticky from allowing it to drip down the stick. You make a point to suck each of your fingers innocently, looking under your lashes at him for split seconds as you begin to shuffle through the papers on the table. 

“So–” You say, popping one finger out of your mouth and inserting another. “Can we start here? I need to have a paper written on at least one topic on this list and have no idea how to find a good source to read from.”

Jay hears and sees you in tunnel vision right now, but he manages to catch the ass end of your sentence and begins to try and focus on the studies at hand. Still watching you suck your fingers into your mouth, he clears his throat and places his own popsicle stick onto the table, pretending he doesn’t wish your tongue would lick him like that.

“I wrote mine based on this topic, and I found a lot of good sources for it. I don’t think our professor would think too hard about us choosing the same subject–” 

“Yeah, especially because it’s me. They’d never guess you’re in my apartment right now.” You laugh, smirking over at him. 

“I would’ve never guessed either–” Jay says without thinking, barely processing how embarrassing he is before you squint at him with a wider smile. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, raising a brow and leaning forward. “Why’s that?” 

Jay tries to look around but now can’t seem to force his eyes away from you. A much different circumstance compared to before when he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. There’s a connection here, he can feel it. You’re definitely coming onto him and you have been for the past however long he’s been here.

“You’re kind of out of my league, don’t you think?” He laughs more at himself than he does the situation, and to you, he honestly looks pitiful after saying that. It’s incredibly attractive to you in the way he seems to praise you for being a failure simply because he’s attracted to you. At least, that’s the case if you’re reading him right.

“Who said someone like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two?” You have a smile in your voice, and it comforts him, but that comfort is shot down when you stand on your feet and walk over to him. “Who says I’m out of your league?” You ask again, watching him scoot back with his chair as you come closer.

You prop yourself against the table, essentially blocking him from his books and papers. You look down at him now, dipping your head in a playful way. “I don’t think I’m out of your league.” 

Jay notes how you’re between him and the table now. You look comfortable leaning in front of him like this, and when his eyes trail up to your face all his body can do is give in. He looks at you through large eyes, the overhead light is sparkling through them at you. 

In that instant, you can see his embarrassment fill his body because he’s no longer resisting the urge to be himself. He’s staring at you as if you could be a god and saying nothing in response to your words. 

“If anything, Jongie–” You soothe him, grabbing one of his hands and smiling at the way his pen immediately falls out of his grip. “You’re out of my league.” 

He blinks up at you, soaking in the words and not yet understanding in full what you’re doing until he feels warmth enveloping the entirety of his hand and wrist. 

“Do you know how lucky I am that you’re here right now?” You ask him, basking in the way you can see his breath get caught in his throat. “How lucky I am that you’re not only smart but hot too?”

He dips his head at this, a bashful show of your words having an impact on him. He hides his face briefly against his arm and then he realizes–

“Is this okay?” You ask, holding his hand in place as you begin to move your hips against his palm.

Jay watches the way you’ve managed to pull his hand out and plant it between your legs, all so you could grind against it without so much as a warning. He’s not against it though, if anything, his head is shot back to reality and he’s immediately back to glancing around the room and avoiding the scene in front of him.

His palm is against your literal, dampening panties, and all he can think to say right now is, “You could write your thesis on human connection and its effects on the brain.” 

You smile at his attempt to continue to study through this moment.

“I could,” You say with a deeper voice than before, feeling the way his hand stays relaxed in your grasp as you grind against it. “Or we could think about how your brain is being affected right now?”

Jay groans, feeling the warmth of your wet beginning to seep through the fabric, and honestly, it is happening so fast that he’s sure it would be more embarrassing if he walked out now. 

“How are you feeling?” You reword your question towards him, intentionally swiveling your hips so that you can position his fingers into your underwear. 

“You’re warm.” Jay chokes out, eyes now zoning in on your legs slightly spread in front of him. 

You let out a small laugh at this, pulling a bit on his arm to pull him closer, but he doesn’t compute it at all. 

“Do you like it?” You ask again, this time slipping his fingers into you. You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes back, fucking yourself gently against his fingers before you look at him.

He’s nodding, probably more thankful now that you’d worn a skirt today rather than pants. He didn’t allow himself to take note of your attire, because if he did, he would have made even more of a fool of himself. But he’s nodding now, watching the way you hold his arm in place and slide his fingers in and out of you. 

His silence is louder than his words could be right now, you think. You can feel him straighten his fingers inside of you, you can practically see him salivate at the very idea of how you’re using him right now. You’re not done though, no, no. He’s far too sweet like this, but you want to hear words.

Gently, you pull your hips back effectively slipping his fingers out of you. There, you lift his arm and examine your wetness against his fingers. You smile again, eyes now adjusting to his face rather than his wet fingers. 

Jay watches as you guide his fingers to his lip, and without a second thought, he opens his mouth to taste you against them. He licks circles around each of the two fingers, closing his eyes almost instantly so that he can relish the experience.

He no longer cares how awkward he must seem sitting here like this, letting you do all the work.

“Do you like the taste too?” You ask, releasing his hand and watching how he continues to suck his fingers. 

“Mhm–” Jay groans with his closed mouth around the digits, making damn sure to suck every bit off.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” You compliment him this time, tearing your eyes from him and slipping your panties down your legs. You turn yourself over so that you’re now bent over the table and you ignore the corner of one of the textbooks poking against your ribs, all in favor of what sound Jay will make when he opens his eyes. 

“You can taste more, if you want.” You offer, lifting to look behind you at the way his fingers drop from his mouth and his eyes immediately zone in on your bare pussy displayed for him under your hiked-up skirt. 

He does let out a whimper, one that seemed entirely desperate to do just that for you but–he doesn’t move. He just stares, soaking in the words you’re saying, memorizing each fold and dip in your glistening pussy.

You don’t intend to wait though. Reaching behind you, you grab the back of his head by his hair and guide his face to you. The way you can hear his chair tip over as he falls to his knees makes you quiver a bit before him, and you’re almost surprised to not just feel a face against you. It appears that Jay does know what he’s doing. 

He instantly jumps into action, loving the feeling of your hand in his hair basically telling him to do it. Giving him that green light, letting him.

You can feel his tongue exploring and his other hand reaching to lift your skirt entirely over your ass. His tongue is soft, warm, wet, and so entirely eager to lick and suck every inch of you. It’s not until he starts allowing his moans to vibrate into your flesh that you hike one of your legs up and open your cunt against his working tongue more.

Guiding him by his hair still, you press his face harshly into you with little to no fight for air from him, and you’re loving it. Loving the way he whines for more when his tongue reaches the furthest limit, loving even more when he finally reaches his hands up to your pussy and spreads it out for himself.

He isn’t even thinking at this moment, just tasting and feeling you guide his tongue as if this is what you wanted all along. The thought alone of someone like you wanting to fuck his tongue like this sets his cock on fire in so many ways. He’s so hard right now that it hurts to think about it at all. Jay doesn’t give a single fuck about how pathetic he must sound to you right now, whimpering and panting against you as if this was the only sweet thing in your apartment he wanted to eat anyway. 

You hear a clatter to the floor, knowing for a fact that he’s knocked his glasses off of his face from the angle in which he skewed his neck in order to fuck his tongue into you. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now, because goddamn he’s eating you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He’s impressively messy and loud with it too, making you feel as if you must taste like the sweetest thing on earth to him. 

For some reason, thinking back to all of the non-sexual situations you’d passively seen Jay in? It turns you on even more. The big-brained student who is constantly making straight As and never going out to parties eats pussy like this? Eats your pussy like this? Better than half of the men you’d already been with? Jay doesn’t miss a single centimeter of it,  and you can tell he’s focusing on you more than he has ever focused on his homework or studies before. 

You feel so deeply needed at this moment by Jay that all you can do is let out a desperate moan for him. One so that he knows he’s not the only one utterly stunned by the turn of events, but also because you’re fucking loving what he’s doing to you.

With each moan, Jay picks up his pace, using those same two fingers and spreading your cunt out impossibly wider just so he can attempt to bury his tongue deeper into the messy, wet heat you offer. He’s spreading you apart so well that it almost pains you to move without the fear of being torn open by his tongue alone. Your clit has barely even been reached but he still managed to make you feel sensitive to the point of wanting to beat your fists on the table out of sheer frustration for not approaching him sooner. 

Not only can he help you pass your classes, but he surely could make you feel like a fucking queen on top of it all, licking you open, up and down, as if he were born and trained for you and you alone? Insane.

“You’re so–” You groan out, releasing his hair from your grip but pressing your ass out more so that you can feel him slip his tongue back to your clit with impossible reach. He continues that, sliding his tongue from your clit to your entrance, dipping in and swirling the muscle before going back to your clit. All while he’s moaning, groaning, and panting against you. 

It’s too much, he’s so incredibly eager that you’re honestly too sensitive to let him keep going. You hate it when you pull your hips forward and lift from the table. Your legs are shaking when you do this, and shaking even more when you turn to face him and lean against the table again. 

“How–?” You look down at him in pleasant surprise, watching him lick his lips much like you hoped he would. “How are you so good at this?” 

Jay is stunned by your question because in all fairness, he’s only ever eaten a girl out once and like, it wasn’t that great because she made him stop within like a minute. He wasn’t really thinking about what to do with you though, or how to do it. He just…did it. That’s all. So obsessed with the taste and smell of you to the point he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He’d still be licking you right now if you didn’t move away. 

“I–don’t know.” He shamefully admits, nonchalantly moving his hands to his pants and unbuttoning them. Not to fuck you or anything, mostly just to release his cock from the chokehold of the denim rubbing against him. 

“You’re lying.” You deadpan, running your hand between your legs and quivering the moment your fingers run over your swollen clit. “There’s no way you haven’t practiced doing this.” You gasp, looking at him as if no other man exists. 

He shakes his head, looking up at you from the floor with innocent eyes. His lips are wet, his eyes are hooded, his hair sticking up from your fingers guiding him– it’s a lot to see him like this when you’ve only ever seen him as that goody-two-shoes student who doesn’t know how to have fun. Clearly, Jay knows how to have fun.

Your gaze on him makes him feel more bashful as he looks down to the floor, feeling embarrassed that you’re praising a complete amateur at this. 

Using your leg, you nudge him.

“You did all of that and didn’t even touch yourself?” You ask in curiosity, noting how he had only just now undone his pants to relieve pressure. “Let me see it.” You say again, almost demanding as you hop up on the table and spread your legs even more.

Frantic at your tone of voice, Jay stumbles to his feet and pushes his pants down to his thighs. His cock springs out and stands erect in front of you. You could stare all day, honestly. Jay, of all people? He’s the one with a cock this big? He’s the one with a size that could make you feel as if you’re being split in half? Well, fuck.

“God.” You comment, mouth falling open at the way it twitches in mid-air. “All of the girls would be fucking swooning, Jay, really.” You get a bit flustered yourself because only now do you understand who you just seduced and what he’s got to offer outside of brains. 

In all of his shyness, Jay hides his face from you again despite his cock out in all of its glory. Your mouth could honestly start watering if he hadn’t just eaten you out to the point of needing him to stop. Meaning, your throat is too dry right now to start drooling. 

Without another thought, you pull your shirt and bra off all in one go. No way in hell is he leaving without fucking you stupid with a cock like that. Absolutely no fucking way  would you let this go to waste.

“When’s the last time you’ve done anything with a girl?” You ask now, reaching for his arm and pulling his gaze back towards you, now almost completely naked save for your skirt hiked up to your waist. 

Jay stares at you again, much like he did when you spread your legs in front of him, this time zoning in on the way your nipples are erect and begging for his mouth to be put to use again. He nearly forgets that you’re talking to him because of the way you’ve presented yourself to him. The reality is right in front of his face, but he still wonders if this must be a dream.

“I–um– right out of high school before she broke up with me,” He says in a lazy voice, slightly raspy. It sounds as if it doesn’t even matter to him because he is so focused on you in front of him. “I’ve only had sex two times.”

“Aw–” You pitifully look at him. “What a waste, you’re such a pretty boy.” You coo, wiggling your hips as if to entice his cock to make its way towards you. “You’ve got the brains and the cock for it. You must feel so neglected.”

All he does is nod, because yes, he does feel fucking neglected, partly because he let it happen and mostly because he knows he doesn’t know how to talk to girls. Right now, Jay could genuinely start crying if you keep talking to him like this though. He can’t tell if you’re mocking him or being genuine, but the only thing he wants to do is bury his cock so deeply inside of you that all you can do is moan out mantras of how pretty he is again. He wants to hear you moan over how much time has been wasted without his cock inside of you, how badly you’d want him again and again after this. 

You can see his facial expressions change every few seconds and to be fair, your body yearns to be filled. With the way he is looking at you, there’s no way he doesn’t want to.

“Wanna fuck me, Jongie?” You ask, realizing that you much prefer calling him this rather than his full name because he seems to lean directly into it. 

“God,” He sighs out, hanging his head to look at the way his cock still stands painfully erect throughout the conversation. “Can I?” He asks now, making eye contact with you through pleading eyes.

You reach out for him, grabbing his waist and pressing his cock directly against your core. You lean your head back a bit to look at him and the way his eyes sear straight through your own. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks are rosy, and his lips are glistening. You lick against them, and the way he immediately starts to kiss you makes you think he’s a liar. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his mouth regardless of where it is. His tongue presses into your mouth so beautifully that you genuinely could argue that this man has only ever had sex twice. 

Maybe he’s a natural? 

Jay knows exactly when to grind his cock between your folds, knows exactly when to pull back to kiss your neck, and knows exactly how to lean you back with his hand protecting the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam against the table. 

He slips his cock so beautifully as he trails his kisses to your tits too, suckling gently against one of your nipples before he nearly can’t stand it anymore. He’s in his own world, barely recognizing that he’s not the only one experiencing this right now.

With an eager hand, Jay grabs his cock and presses it directly into you without waiting any longer. He isn’t slow or gentle with it. You can feel how desperate he is solely because of the way he can’t seem to fathom taking it slow. He doesn’t let you adjust, no. The second the head of that thick cock slips in he’s slamming in. All the way, forcing a yelp from your throat and a tight grip to his back.

He’s lost himself in the moment and you’re loving it. Loving the way his tongue picks up against your nipples, and the way there is no rhythm or rhyme to his thrusts. His size alone is enough for you, and you can admit to loving every single push and pull his body is offering.

The room is silent save for his whimpers, your gasps, and the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. You’re quick to wrap a leg around his waist so that when he presses in again, you can force him to stay in place, if just to let him genuinely feel what it’s like to have a pussy clenching around him.

“You feel it?” You groan out, feeling his teeth pinch against your nipple and sending a sharp pain down your body. 

He nods frantically, pulling your nipple with his lips as he does it. You can tell he’s drooling, wetting your chest in such an embarrassing way, but he’s so–Jay. He’s Jay. This is Jay.

You watch his face and the way he winces with each pulse of your hole quivering around the sheer size of him, and you coo out at him when his cock twitches in response. As if you can handle yourself right now, as if he can too.

Neither of you can comprehend the pleasure.

“Can’t believe I get to be your third.” You sing out. “You’re so good, so–”

“S-stop talking, fuck-” Jay calls out in a broken and choked gasp, feeling too turned on by the way you speak. He can’t help it when he forces his hips to move against the pressure of your leg trying to keep him in place. This time he fucks at a quicker pace. His mouth falls open against your breast and his hands shoot to your waist as he pulls himself up and opens his eyes. 

He watches the way your sticky cunt coats him as he slides in and out of you, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that you feel he could be bruising you. 

You’re so in awe of him losing complete control that you want nothing more than to cum with him inside of you. You quickly reach your hand down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive spot almost to the point that you could start crying out at how painful it truly is at this moment. You’ve never been this sensitive for a man, and yet, you’re coming undone beneath him and nearly losing as much control as he has. 

A mess of moans and groans is filling the room as Jay chases his high, and you are at the point that you want to say the nicest and dirtiest things to him out of sheer arousal. So you do, you talk, and you talk. Whispers of “girls would die to be fucked by you,” turn to screams of, “yeah, fuck Jongie, just like that!” 

It wasn’t until you moaned out, “Cum with me, now, Jongie, I can’t hold it–” when Jay ’s hips stuttered and his eyes closed tightly in a frustrated groan. “Stop–” He grunts, hips pressing impossibly hard against you. To the point that you scoot up on the table. “Stop, I’m–” He groans again, attempting to pull out so that he can release against your pulsing and empty pussy.

But you don’t let him.

Your legs hold him in place as you release your clit and pull yourself up on your arms just to grab against his neck and pull him down with you against the table. 

“Cum in me.” You nearly demand, holding his face so that he can’t look away from you.

You watch the way his pupils dilate more at the words and you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you. Then? His pupils are gone. He’s rolling his eyes back now, looking so fucking beautiful while doing it.

Jay’s eyebrows fall much like his mouth does when he cums. His hips are frantic but his face looks calm, and not a single sound releases from his lips. His breath is caught in his throat with each twitch, shooting ropes into you so deeply that you feel each wave of his pleasure hitting your cervix. 

  You’re very quick to rub your clit again, harsh and rough circles being amplified by the way his abdomen adds pressure to your hand with each push of his cock in you. It sends you over edge so fast, even he feels the clench, choking out each spurt of his remaining orgasm. 

You grab onto him harshly now, without a thought in your head besides kissing him. He kisses you back, realizing that despite having sex before, this may be the first time he’s ever made a girl cum. It’s certainly the first time he’s ever felt his cock being tugged by the walls of a pussy as it works itself through an orgasm, anyway.

Crazy thing is…he’s not done. Like, he can’t stop cumming. Lasting entirely far too long and far past sensitivity. Jay opens his eyes to look at you when you’re reaching the end of your own orgasm, all while he’s still filling you up, and even feeling his load bubble out from around him with each tight thrust. Your voice is beautifully raspy, and the way you hold onto him makes him feel like you should never let go. 

Upon his ears popping and finally emptied, he genuinely feels the mess between the two of you. Quickly, he pulls back and notes that the hem of his shirt is absolutely fucking soaked. In an attempt to take a small step back in order to remove himself from you, he nearly trips over his pants that had fallen to his ankles.

“Oh.” You laugh, wincing as you feel his cock leave you empty. “Probably should have undressed you.” Your eyes sparkle at the large damp spot, nearly making his shirt entirely see-through from just how soaked it really is. 

Jay steps out of his pants silently and just kind of stands there awkwardly, watching the cum spill from you. Then panic spreads across his face. 

“Um,” He croaks out, voice cracking almost immediately. “I– I couldn’t pull out…I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to.” You soothe him, noting how he’s right back to his awkward and shy persona the moment he’s finished fucking you. “It’s fine, I’m protected” You confirm for him, just to see the relief replace that panic.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So–” You comment, looking down at the wrinkled papers in front of you. “You really expect me to try and write at least 1200 words tonight?” 

Jay tilts his head at you, sitting with a blanket covering his entire body as his clothes go through the cycles of a wash. “If we hadn’t gotten off track, you could already be almost done with it.” 

“God, you are such a fucking bore.” You laugh, shivering at the cold air hitting your bare skin. “I’m literally naked right now and you’re making me do this right now?” 

“Finish your paper and we can talk about that. Besides, I kind of need to recover for more than thirty minutes from that, you know? I’m sensitive.” He shoots back, not afraid to sound as embarrassing as he truly is now. 

To his surprise, you nod with a cheeky smirk. Promising you any amount of him after what happened was enough to force your focus on your school work for now at least. Just because he did it once doesn’t mean he will always want to fuck stupid girls. If anything, Jay deserves someone who respects his work ethic and need to help others right? The huge cock is just a bonus when you think about it.

You know it’s going to be a hell of a month after tonight, but for the most part, you think that studying with Jay may have been your best college decision to date. You can learn a lot from him, and apparently... he can learn from you too. You just hope he doesn’t run off and use that knowledge on other girls once he realizes he’s definitely got the ability to break hearts. 

[alloftheimaginesblog]

ready (klaus mikaelson)

plot: klaus always knew that one day you'd take him up on his offer.

character: female vampire reader x klaus mikaelson

inspired by something similar he says to caroline

"One day, love, you'll come to me. Might be in two years, might be two hundred but mark my words, you'll realise I was right along. I am the only one who can fulfil your wildest desires and your largest dreams. When you realise that, you'll come knocking on my door and then... well, love, then I'll give you the world."

It had been three and a half years since Klaus Mikaelson had said this to you. Three long years. He'd came into your life as a villain, you were supposed to hate him. He had killed, harmed and tortured so many of your friends (and his sister had tortured you a fair few times) and yet, he was always so delicate and gentle with you. He'd been interested in you pretty much ever since he came to Mystic Falls. You'd hated him... or at least, you tried.

He had gotten under your skin all of those years ago. He'd saved you too many times to count. He had shown you kindness and compassion, had recognised you for who you were; Klaus had seen you. You'd gotten to see a glimpse of the human side to him, not the scary big bad wolf, you'd started to see him. And when he left, with an invite extended your way, it took everything in you to say no.

Klaus hadn't stepped foot in Mystic Falls since he left and yet, every few months or so, he would write to you. Seldom did you respond but you enjoyed reading about his travels. Each time he wrote, he would send photos of the new place he was visiting usually with a list of reasons as to why you'd love it there with drawings he'd done and every single time he wrote, he attached a plane ticket to whatever destination with your name on it. You never used them, instead they gathered dust in a drawer which was full of his old letters. Klaus also always wrote exactly where he was staying at the end of the letter so you knew exactly how to get to him. Periodically, you'd go through and read some of them. They always smelled like him and had the same send off each time.

'Unequivocally yours, Klaus'

You knew that if you needed him, he would be there immediately. He had promised you as such. And the one time you called for help when Caroline got bit by a werewolf, Klaus couldn't be there in person but he sent Elijah with a few vials of his blood (extras for any future emergencies). He would do anything for you and all he wanted was the chance to show you as such.

So when this month's letter arrived with details of his new adventure complete with a plane ticket to Italy, you decided to take the chance you'd regretted not taking three and a half years prior. Your friends were oddly supportive which surprised you but Bonnie had told you she wanted you to be happy and if he's what made you happy then so be it. Damon wasn't impressed but he rarely ever was. Stefan urged you to your happy ending. Caroline approved, she'd seen the way Klaus would've done anything for you so even though she didn't like him, she knew that he was the real deal. Elena was supportive, she'd gone for the 'bad guy' in Damon so she understood the inner conflict and told you that it was okay to let yourself be happy.

So, you packed a bag and headed to Italy.

Getting there was the easy bit; the hard bit was finding the courage to knock on the front door. Your heart hammered in your chest as you stood on the grounds of what you could only describe as a small castle. It was beautiful, with glorious gardens and fragrant flowers. You swallowed hard before taking a breath, this is what you came for, and you knocked three times.

After a few seconds, you could hear someone's voice approaching. Klaus.

"-I didn't ask you to go to such lengths, brother, though I have to say I do appreciate it-"

He opened the door and his expression turned from one of mild annoyance to complete shock.

"Elijah, more important matters have emerged, I'll speak to you later." He hung up, pocketing his phone quickly. He looked good. The Italian sun suited him, turning his hair a shade blonder and making his blue eyes pop, "(y/n)..." A slow, wide smile spread onto his face.

You swallowed hard, "Hi, Klaus."

He stepped aside, silently inviting you into his castle, and with a small smile you breezed past him. He closed the door and led you through to a grand room with various couches and paintings. You looked around incredulously, "This place... it's incredible."

Klaus smiled, "I told you that you'd like this one."

You looked at him and felt nerves bubble in your stomach. You'd came all this way and now... you didn't know what to do. Klaus eyed you curiously, trying to gauge how you were feeling, "Do you need something?" Oh, how he hoped that you were here for him but he had to be sure.

You shook your head, finding words too hard to find, and instead looked back to the paintings, "These are beautiful, did you do these?"

Klaus appeared at your side, making you jump slightly, "Sorry, love," he smirked. He was so close to you, so near that you could smell his cologne. Your heart raced. His hand reached out past you to touch the painting, "I painted all of these, yes. This one is my favourite."

"The colours are lovely," you nodded.

Klaus smiled, quickly vanishing and then returning to your side, "Here, look in the mirror and then look at the painting."

You frowned at him but complied regardless of your confusion. He handed you a small hand mirror which you looked into and then at the painting, "I don't get it," you said to which he urged you to look again and then you realised, "my eyes."

Klaus grinned, "There we go, love," he beamed proudly, "my favourite colours and shades to use. They crop up a lot in my paintings. Go, look," he encouraged you forwards, "take a look and you'll see how often you feature in my paintings."

For a moment, you walked around the room, soaking in the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) hints of your eye colour in every single one of his paintings. It touched you causing you to feel warm inside and you couldn't understand why. You looked at him. He stood on the other side of the room watching you with awe filled eyes, "But why?" You asked softly with tears filling your eyes, "Why me?"

In an instant, he was in front of you, chest touching yours, with his eyes locked with yours, "Oh, love," he whispered, hand reaching out to graze your cheek softly, "It's always been you."

You looked up at him, "You asked me if I needed something earlier." Klaus's brow furrowed and his hand stilled - fear; fear that you weren't here for him, fear that you needed something and then you'd disappear again. "I do need something, Klaus."

"Anything."

"I want... I need you." Your admission was quiet but he heard you loud and clear, "For years, I've regretted saying no to your offer to come with you. I want to live, Klaus. I want to be free. I want to be happy and that means letting myself be happy with... you."

"Me?" Klaus asked.

You nodded as your own hand found its way to rest on his chest, "I'm ready to fall in love with you, Klaus. I just hope I'm not too late."

He grinned, wider than you'd ever seen him smile, "You're right on time, love," he said before his lips crashed to yours. And for the first time ever, you let yourself give in.

[lexiputellas]

Pillow Talk

It’s your first day back at work.

You stretched your maternity leave as far as humanly possible, used every single vacation day, and worked from home until you ran out of excuses—but today, there was no escaping it. You had to go back. At least your office has a daycare. If it didn’t, you’re pretty sure you would’ve quit on the spot.

Now, finally home, you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see Alexia. Not only did she get back before you, but she also brought dinner. You could’ve kissed her right then and there—actually, you did. You love her, truly, but if she had waited for you to cook—or, God forbid, asked you to help—you might have had a breakdown.

Dinner was great, dishes were ignored, Alice fell asleep peacefully, and now you’re both getting ready for bed. It’s your favorite part of the night—when everything slows down, and you can just be. Alexia already talked about her day, and now it’s your turn. Normally, this would be when you two discuss important things, but Nicole unloaded so much gossip at work today that you have to let it out before your brain explodes.

You’re fluffing the pillows as you talk, and Alexia, already lying on her side under the covers, is nodding along like a very patient woman.

“Nicole told me Amanda from Compliance is literally faking a relationship online.”

Alexia blinks, lifting her head slightly. “How?”

“I don’t know yet! I’m getting more details tomorrow,” you say, putting in your bruxism mouth guard. “I don’t even get why she’d lie, she doesn’t need to.”

Alexia hums, settling back in and you keep going.

“And you won’t believe this—the sitter at daycare said Alice was the easiest baby to deal with. She barely even cried! Which, like, I knew our baby was perfect, but now it’s confirmed by an expert.”

Alexia hums again. This time, it sounds more like sleepy agreement than actual interest, but you’re on a roll now.

“And remember that guy from the party last year? The one who told you he was a Real Madrid fan?”

Alexia makes a vague noise of acknowledgment.

“Not that he was special or anything,” you continue, “but he invited Nicole out.”

That gets a reaction. Alexia forces one eye open. “That guy?”

“That guy.”

“She said yes?”

“She said yes. And if she’d asked me first, I would’ve told her absolutely not.”

Alexia exhales, long and slow, adjusting the blanket. “Baby, I love you so much, and I want to hear all of this… tomorrow. We have to wake up early.”

Which you think is fair. She was the one running around after a ball, going to the gym, lifting weights—you mostly just fought with spreadsheets, tried not to cry when Alice waved goodbye way too enthusiastically at daycare, and dodged an email from HR that felt suspiciously passive-aggressive.

“I know,” you say, climbing under the covers. “I love you too. But can I just finish really quick? I swear, I’m almost done.”

She hums again. That’s permission.

“So, turns out the guy? He was dating someone else the whole time. Poor Nicole, bless her heart, but maybe a little stalking would’ve helped her.”

Silence.

You glance over. Alexia’s eyes are closed, her face relaxed, her breathing slow and even.

“Oh,” you whisper. “You’re already asleep.”

You sigh, amused, and watch her for a moment. The way her eyelashes rest against her cheeks, the way her hair falls across the pillow, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips—it makes your chest ache in the best way.

She looks warm, soft, safe. Like home.

Carefully, you scoot closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

“Good night, baby,” you murmur, even though she’s already lost in dreams.

Then, finally, you close your eyes.

[minus-plus-zer0]

Valentine's Day Special - First Chocolates

“Um… Happy Valentine’s Day, Bakugou!”

Bakugou gawked at you like you had grown two heads. There you were, in his bedroom, hands outstretched to offer him your best homemade chocolates. You knew nobody ever bothered to give Bakugou chocolates before, so you didn’t know what to expect next despite knowing the boy better than anyone. 

From his seat at his desk, Bakugou took the cute pink box from your hands and gingerly opened it, popping a chocolate into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. 

“Well?” you asked. “Do you like it?”

“‘Course I do,” he spat. “But… why’re you giving me these?”

You tilted your head quizzically. “…Because we’re best friends?”

Bakugou paused, scrutinizing your answer.

“You give any of your other ‘best friends’ delicious chocolates?” Bakugou asked, sneering at the thought. 

“I did give some to Kirishima, Todoroki, and Midoriya…” Bakugou’s face darkened with every name you listed. “But I made yours extra special! Because we’re so close!”

Bakugou’s face slowly broke into a wide grin. “S’that so? Sounds about right! Next year, you don’t gotta give those guys chocolates. Just give ‘em all to me.”

Bakugou spent the rest of the day eating your chocolates in front of all his lonely and single friends whenever they came to bother him. He also paraded you around Kirishima, Todoroki, and Midoriya in particular, often walking up to these boys and smacking his lips as he chewed through your super special chocolate to make his intentions quite clear. 

Of course, the Bakusquad swarmed Bakugou in the dorms and asked him one very important question that even Bakugou was still wondering about. 

“Are they friendship chocolates?” Ashido asked. “Or romance chocolates?”

“What, it ain’t obvious?” Bakugou replied, having no clue himself. “Such a dumb question.”

Bakugou looked away with a huff, but he could never give the Bakusquad a straight answer. Whenever they interrogated you for details, Bakugou not-so-discreetly glanced over his shoulder to check your response. 

You merely replied, “It’s a secret.”

This frustrated the Bakusquad (and Bakugou) to no end, but you weren’t quite yet ready to tell your true feelings to anyone, at least not in public. It wasn’t until much later that same day when Bakugou caught you for some alone time in your bedroom that he brought up the question again. 

“Hey…” Bakugou said, sitting alongside you on your bed with a concerned expression. “Next month, I’m gonna totally outdo the gift you just gave me. But don’t go taking gifts from other guys. I’m not gonna give anything to other people either. Remember, it’s just gotta be our thing, ya know?”

You hid your face a little in your hands to cover your embarrassment from his sweet statement. “Oh, okay! Anything for my best friend!”

“Good.” Bakugou steeled himself to say his next piece. “That means we’re officially exclusive from now on. And the only gifts we’re gonna give each other are gonna be special, right?”

He was genuinely wondering about your answer judging by the bit of desperation behind his words. He was so cute sometimes. You needed to tell him the truth.

You beamed at him playfully. “Well of course! I can’t just give everyone romance chocolates, now can I?”

Bakugou appeared surprised for a second before breaking out into a satisfied and proud grin.

“‘Course not,” Bakugou said, his heart pounding as he leaned over to eagerly kiss you.

(I still exist! I have just been busy with real life and I am sick. Thankfully I was able to get this post out in time!)

[narcjsistx]

— YOUNG TO BE DESTROYED, OLD TO BE SAVED

ও kaiser michael x fem!reader

ও warnings: small age gap between characters (reader 16 and kaiser 17) ; mention of domestic abuse ; mention of attempted suicide ; mention of teen pregnancy ; mention of burns caused by a fire ; mention of a sex scene. nothing is described in detail, but if you think you can't read it don't worry :) stay safe!!. the kaiser at the beginning of the story is the same as the one at the first meeting with ness, without tattoos, the story will also follow them as adults after

ও 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

Sixteen is not the right age to start stealing to survive. If you have to steal to live, it is better to start when you are young, so that you never know the feeling of having a warm house with food always on the table. Starting at sixteen means overturning all the principles that until a minute before had been the pillars of your life, rules that your parents had taught you since your first breath. Stealing is wrong, but dying of hunger is more wrong. You don't have much choice when your parents refuse to look you in the face. Berlin has always been cold, since you were born you never felt the heat of the sun on your skin for more than a few hours. You love Germany but hate the city you live in, which you never had the chance to escape. The last time you tried it got you into this shitty situation you're in now, with the misery all around you

You look up, the light from the distant field lamps faintly illuminating the messy place that has been your new home for weeks now. The sound of the whistle echoes in your ears, as if the soccer field were just a few meters away from you and not at least one kilometer away. You hear the screams of the players, the curses, the laughter, everything that comes out of their mouths as if you were there with them and not lying on a mattress recovered from a bin. You observe their blurry silhouettes, the balls that whizz through the air, all as a silent spectator. They don't know you've been watching them for days, ever since you found this shelter while wandering. It would be weird to know that someone you don't know has been watching you for so long, watching your movements, the way you train and joke with your teammates. Hell, it would be scary for you too to know that they're staring at you from afar. But watching them is the only human contact, if you can call it that, you have with civilization. It seems like the whole world has turned its back on you, but you're not completely homeless. You are, yes. But you get a shower every day thanks to the same players who leave the locker room door open

You've learned some of the names of the players, at least the ones who are most often praised or accused. You still can't tell the difference from their tone of voice. The most called is a certain Grimm, who does nothing but make assists that then take him to the net without a striker who can score. Another who is called often is a certain Alexis, who however seems more useful than the other. You didn't know the rules of soccer, but since you camped here you're suddenly an expert

Your father had shown you some soccer games when you were younger. He didn't like sports, but watching his national team play in anything important was a kind of pride for him, even though he had been beaten up as a child by some kids who were now part of the team. He told this story with a pride that often made you doubt his sanity. When moments like that happened, the house became even quieter than it already was, with you crushed on the couch between the bodies of your parents. The smell of cigars filled the air and the only acceptable noise was that of the television. You didn't enjoy watching the games, but as long as you had the opportunity to go to bed an hour and a half later than usual, you were fine with it. It was kinda a transgression, but you were proud of it

Your father was not a big fan of Bastard Munchen, one of the most exclusive sports clubs in the entire country, if not the most important. Yet for days now you found yourself staring at them, the club's players and their cannon shots on net. This too was a transgression, probably the second most important in your entire life after the suicide mission that was supposed to lead you to run away from home. More than once you had approached the campus, going past the fences less than two meters high. The locker rooms were attached to the fields, you didn't have to go over the fence to enter and use the showers, but curiosity had pushed you to wander a bit through the team's territories. The dormitories were south of the field, the cafeteria connected to them and you counted at least ten fields from the bit you had managed to explore, when no one was around or the team was away for some match. Security was not doing its job as it should have done to protect future German prodigies, and so sneaking into the camp to steal something from the mess bins was quite easy

You didn't go every day, that would have been too dangerous, but every time you went you made sure to take at least a week's worth of supplies. Sometimes the food ran out early, sometimes you didn't get past the fence for two weeks. But now, with your stomach empty for two days, you think it's time to go. You should have done it a few days ago, but due to some stomach pains you couldn't. This had delayed the arrival of the new food and consequently you were on an empty stomach. You have to wait for their workout to finish and maybe go after dinner time, hoping to find something that can ease the pain. They usually never eat much, lucky for you

You wait for the right moment before starting to walk, a ruined sweatshirt that protects you from the cold of the night. You go beyond the fence and hide in the half-light that the dumpsters give you, waiting patiently for the time when you know the maids will throw out the garbage bags. You hear the voices of the women and the players through the open windows, and the familiarity with which everyone seems to be in the canteen environment doesn't particularly affect you. You've never had the chance to experience something like this, a normal dinner with your parents or the simple pleasure of staying home to rest, so you don't know this feeling that was so described in the books you were forced to read. It should be reassuring, but the only reassuring thing you've ever had in your life was a caress years ago that a woman at the supermarket gave you, mistaking you for her niece, who was accidentally next to you

It's cold, but the sweatshirt seems to warm you a little as you rest your chin on your knees, warming your hands with the little warm breath you manage to create. Your stomach is hurting like hell, but the hope of being able to put something under your teeth pushes you to resist, even if the maids are delaying their usual time to put out the garbage bags. You haven't known what time it is for several weeks now, but it's probably well past midnight already and the garbage bags are not yet in the drawers, while you feel like dying. You tremble, trying to make as little noise as possible, because you know that if they discovered you they would call the police. The police have never helped you, and they wouldn't if they found out you were doing something like this. The only solution is to wait and hope you don't die here tonight, even if under current conditions it would be possible. It will probably happen, sooner or later, but you want to hope that later is as far away as possible. You're still too young to go away like this

As you close your eyes, you hear the sound of metal doors slamming. You hear the chatter of women throwing out garbage bags, filling the dumpsters that slam into your face. Blood starts to drip from your nose, but that's not the main problem when the smell of burning meat finally reaches your nostrils. You struggle to wait for the women to come back inside, but as soon as they disappear behind the door, you rush to the dirty bags to open it as if it contained the most beautiful Christmas present in the world. You voraciously start throwing pieces of meat into your mouth, also taking some tomatoes and some yogurt sauce that is stuck to some bitten bread. From the emotion small tears form at the edge of your eyes, but you can't help but let them out as you fill your stomach after days of panic. This is the first time this has happened to you since you became homeless, but it feels so good to finally have a full stomach again

"A dog? A stray dog?"

You freeze when you hear a male voice outside the dumpster. The food gets stuck in your throat, while your agitation starts pumping through your veins again. You tremble uncontrollably, almost unconsciously, as you turn your head towards the presumed voice. There is definitely someone here, and it is a man. You hear footsteps approaching the dumpster you are locked in, and in a last ditch attempt to save your skin you hide under the bags, at the bottom of the metal container. The stench burns your lungs, but you hold your breath while you trying to move as less as possible. If they catch you now, it's over. This is definitely trespassing, and it's punishable by jail time. In prison they would kill you for your weakness, or probably use your body only for personal purposes. Both options would kill you anyway, and you still have so many things to do before you leave this world

A hand slips through the garbage, feeling the bags covering your stomach. You hold your breath, even when the hand accidentally lands on your breast, squeezing it. You feel the hand disappear above the surface, then grab the bags that cover you. You remain paralyzed when not even a bag has the possibility of covering you, thus marking the end of your hiding scene. You no longer feel air in your lungs due to the anxiety of having been discovered, and you look up where the dumpster has its opening: a pale face, vaguely illuminated by the street lamps, appears in front of your vision. You notice a young man, with blond hair and a light red eyeliner, with eyes too blue to be human. Some of his long, messy hair falls onto your face, pinching your face, which is stained with something wet from the garbage. His eyes are a little surprised when he notices you, but he doesn't seem that surprised either. He raises an eyebrow, grabbing his hair and putting it behind his shoulders "What the fuck are you doing here?"

You don't know how to respond, the words that don't want to come out of your mouth and create a remotely convincing excuse. You stammer something, but that only seems to annoy him, as he looks at you questioningly "Are you a woman? I assume... oh. I touched your breasts, earlier. While you were hiding" he says maybe a little guilty, but you wouldn't be able to tell from his confident tone of voice "I thought you were a damn stray dog. Even though it smells the same" he says chuckling, but you don't share his irony while you're still figuring out if he'll call the police or not. He seems to notice your silence, taking your arm to at least make you sit up "I was joking, don't take it personally. Not that I care about your perfume, I don't know you" he says shrugging. He then seems to remember something "Get out of the way. I have to check if they threw away something I need" he says, pushing you aside, picking up a bag and placing it on the floor, disappearing from your view. His attention shifts completely to the object, as he opens it and throws out the waste, swearing something under his breath in a thick Berlin accent

You get down on your knees, resting your hands on the edge of the dumpster as you watch him, still scared "You… you’re not going to call the police?" you ask, stammering, but he huffs, not even turning around "I don’t care. You can just walk away" he says throwing the garbage around him, but suddenly he turns, looking at you in the face "Indeed. Come here, if you don't want me to call it. You have to help me find something" he says smiling victoriously, and you stand up, following his order. He seems satisfied when he sees you at his side "You have to look for the drawing of a blue rose with thorns along the arm. Like... a tattoo sketch" he says looking, and you remain a little perplexed, but you nod. In the middle of the night you start looking for this sketch, an almost holy silence that holds between you. You search without asking questions, without attracting more attention than you already have. You drop your conditions to help this stranger who seems to be able to give you freedom, if you help him. With shaking hands you search for at least ten minutes, until you turn around noticing that he hasn't been searching for a while now, more interested in studying you "How young are you?" he asks bluntly. You press your lips together, moving your gaze back to the envelope, still searching for "Sixteen" you say a little uneasily, but he nods "I'm seventeen" he says confidently

You think the conversation is over, but less than ten minutes later, you feel his eyes burning on you again "Why were you here? I won’t call the police. But answer me" he asks, and you feel a little uncomfortable answering without sounding like a criminal. You think about it a bit before telling the truth, lying to him would make him angry and he might change his mind "I needed food. Opening the bags and eating the scraps was the only option" you say a little embarrassed by your own words, but your words don't seem to surprise him "I understand"

After almost half an hour of searching, a small ketchup-stained piece of paper pops out of the mass. You grab the sketch, handing it to him "Is this?" you ask uncertainly, and he smiles at it "It's this" he says taking it, looking at it proudly. You stand up from the ground as he seems too happy to pay attention to you. You clasp your hands behind your back, looking down. Thanking him would be better, showing respect is always appreciated "Thank you... thank you for not calling the police. I will never come back here again" you say promising something completely false. He looks up, getting back on his feet. Only now do you notice the difference in height between you. He nods, chuckling to himself "At least make promises you know you can keep" he says, but you have already run away behind the fence

Running back to your shelter, you can't help but think that luck has saved you. If he had called the police, you would probably be in a cell in any police station by now, awaiting legal proceedings. Yet you found someone whose only interest was himself and his desperate need to find that drawing. It was probably a staff member or a player, but you're not sure about either possibility. It's enough to know that for tonight you're still alive and with a full stomach. You have taken less food though, which you will probably finish earlier than expected due to your stomach pain. Your return there will be much closer than you want, but as long as you live you're happy. You curl up on the mattress, still chewing a piece of bread. You fall asleep sooner than expected, still thinking about today's luck. When you wake up you notice with regret that it snowed during the night, and that your sweatshirt is completely wet because of the loose flakes on your body

You stand up from your hiding place, looking out at the distant campus now completely covered in snow. You're cold, but your sweatshirt was the only long-sleeved thing you had left. You go back to the hideout, taking off your now completely soaked sweatshirt, remaining in your bra. You light a small fire with some paper, closing the exit of the hideout with the mattress turned over. You pull your legs to your chest to save heat, but the shivers don't seem to go away even as you're about to fall asleep again. The last thing you see before you fall asleep is the calm flame of the fire in front of you. The first thing you see when you wake up is the shelter completely in flames. You wake up because of too much heat on your body, especially concentrated along your left leg, finding yourself surrounded by flames. You regain alertness almost immediately, looking around for an escape route while your heart risks coming out of your rib cage, and the only option seems to be the exit which however is still partially blocked by the burning mattress. You tremble looking for a solution, and the only option seems to be to move the mattress with your bare hands. You take a generous dose of snow that you put on your hands before grabbing the edges of the object to move it

The pain of the flames immediately reaches your hands. You scream in despair, feeling your whole body burning, but you don't let go. You try to move the mattress and only succeed after a few attempts, not daring to look at your hands that you can no longer feel because of the pain. When you finally move the mattress you fall to the ground, onto the cold snow. The cold hits your bare, burned skin, causing a sensation you would compare to the hell your mother said she feared. If this isn't dying, you don't know what is. With your knees planted in the snow you look down just to take a look at the state of your hands, but you are disgusted to see only burned and bloody skin. Looking down you also notice a large burn on your left leg, the same one where the heat was concentrated. You try to calm yourself down with deep sighs, but all you really do is scream at the top of your lungs in pain. You cry as you look at the burns, barely walking away from the shelter that is now completely destroyed. The cold is killing you as is the pain, giving you a headache so bad that you pass out a few meters away from the fence of the Bastard Munchen campus

The last thing you see, blurry, before passing out, are the soccer players training on a nearby field. You're afraid of dying, either from the cold or the pain. Maybe yesterday's luck was just a last favor. Maybe dying young is the only solution, if the pain will stop. You breathe loudly, but your eyes close

The first thing you see when you wake up is snow. You move slightly, brushing away the snow that has fallen on you. You don't know how much time has passed, if even a day, but the sun is setting. You sit up, your head is pounding and a bad general discomfort throughout your body, but the pain has disappeared in all places except those where there are burns. You look at your hands and leg, where scabs now cover the skin: you shiver at the sight of them, but you are alive. Your body is completely frozen and you're still in your bra and pants, but you're alive. You try to stand up, but you fall almost immediately; you try again until you can stand up with some difficulty, but strong enough to walk a few meters. You look at the nearby fence, and turn towards the shelter: now only a pile of black ash covers that area. You almost want to cry, but you're so dehydrated that you don't even have any body water to use. You look around, seeing how the showers aren't that far away: you walk towards them and when you notice that no one is inside, you close the door behind you heavily. You let yourself fall along the metal of the door, feeling the heat of the showers, probably recently used, finally warm you up

You find yourself sitting on the floor, your body warm and your burns a little painful from the sudden heat. You shiver as you stand up, walking towards the showers to turn them on and drink, even though you don't know if your hands still work. You limp to the shower hallway, but are frozen when you find the same blond boy at the end. He turns instinctively when you let out a gasp, and you look into each other's eyes: he seems surprised to see you here, while you're just scared to see him. You remain silent, and only then you realize that he is naked except for a towel covering his lower waist. He seems to notice your eyes moving, but it doesn't seem to bother him "Aren't you cold like this?" he asks casually, but you shiver as you don't know whether to go out and run away or stay here. He raises an eyebrow at your silence, taking a few steps forward while you take a few steps back. Your back hits the wall, and his fingers find their way to your chin, grabbing it to look up at you. You close your eyes, opening them only when you don't notice any annoying hands on your body: you find only his blue eyes staring at you, studying you

"You smell like something's burning" he says, looking you up and down, then focusing on your hands, which he grabs. He deliberately presses his fingers against the scabs, making you scream in pain. He does it again, and you notice a small smile on his face "You have a low pain threshold. You wouldn't resist a tattoo under your eyes" he says proudly, and from your teary eyes you can tell that the red eyeliner he has is actually a tattoo. He chuckles at your confusion, letting go of your hands but not moving away from you "You’re here again, you know it’s forbidden to enter a sports campus? Or did you want help?" he asks, smirking. You avoid his gaze, stammering something "I know it’s forbidden… but… I…" you say, confused, but he shakes his head "It’s okay. I like stray dogs" he says reassuringly, and even though the comparison he just made between you and such dirty animals bothers you, you remain silent. Your silence seems to amuse him, to the point of patting you on the head "Do you want something? I can give it to you, I won't call the police. If you want to take a shower, go ahead, I'll wait here" he says walking away, sitting on the bench in the locker room. You look at him a little perplexed, but you run towards the showers and lock yourself in one, turning on the water. As you wash yourself quickly you hear him humming, and this makes you a little nervous "Are you sure... are you sure you won't call the police?" you ask, rubbing soap on the scabs, which make you grimace in pain "I don't feel like it. I don't particularly like cops" he says, and you breathe a sigh of relief "You don't even like them, do you?" he asks, and you sigh "No..." you say while washing yourself, and your answer amuses him "We have already found something in common between us" he says, and you remain silent again

"I left you a shirt behind the shower door" the boy says, and after drying yourself off, you put on your bra, your panties from before, and the shirt that turns out to be your team's. It's big on you, and when the boy pops up near the showers to look at you, he nods in satisfaction "It's a little long, but I think it's better than the way you were before. You're hungry, too, I guess. And those nasty burns need some dressing" he says, looking at you, and you don't know how to reply "Wait here" he says, leaving the locker room before putting on a sweatshirt. You hadn't noticed him, but he seems to have dressed while you were cleaning yourself. You haven't looked at him much, but he seems to have a very trained and toned physique for a simple member of the staff, he's definitely a player. You could run away now that you're finally alone again, but this undue kindness from a stranger is making you soft. He probably doesn't want to bother you, otherwise he would have done it already. But you're not used to kindness, especially if you haven't done anything for him, besides helping one time

He returns shortly after, with a container with meat and a bottle of disinfectant. He bends over next to you, while you have sat on the floor near the sinks. He passes you the container, which you open with difficulty because of the burns, while he soaks some bath paper with disinfectant. You bite the meat, and let him take your hand that he soaks with the liquid "Shit!" you scream in pain, but he doesn't stop, almost making you cry. He continues for a while before wrapping your hand with bandages, doing the same thing for the other hand and leg "It should ease the pain a little. I don't know honestly, but they do that with the injuries we inflict on ourselves on the field" he says resting his head against his palm, and you look up from your meal just to stare at him for a few seconds "Thank you" you whisper, but he shakes his head "This time a thank you is not enough. I want to know your name" he says, and you answer even though you don't want to "My name is Y/n. Can I know yours?" you say, and he smirks "Michael. Kaiser Michael" he says putting his palm in front of you, but you look at him and a small smile forms on your lips. He seems to understand that because of the burns you can't shake his hand, but it doesn't seem to bother him "My mistake" he says, and you chuckle "Don't worry"

The two of you sit in silence, next to each other. You look at your bandaged hands and wonder why he’s been so nice to you. His blonde hair hides his face from your view, so you can’t see if he’s thoughtful or calm, but you assume he’s okay with not talking. He turns his head slightly toward you, tilting his head "Do you have a home?" he asks "No" you answer without regret, and he looks even more amused "So you’re homeless. Why did you run away? Didn’t mom and dad give you enough sugar?" he asks, laughing, but you look down, remaining silent "I touched a sore spot. Nice" he says, but you turn away "It's not a sore point. I... I just don't want to talk about it" you say shakily, and he nods "Okay, stray dog" he says, but you glare at him "I don't like that nickname" you say pouting, but he shrugs "I like it. Make up one that bothers me, so it's fair on both sides" he says, and even though he doesn't want to stop calling you that, you're interested in how to resolve it "Umh... dog... Berlin dog" you say, but he bursts out laughing "Calling me a 'Berlin dog' when my favorite animals are dogs and I'm from Berlin is not a very smart move on your part" he says, and you prick up your ears "Are you originally from here too?" you ask, and he nods "Since birth" he says, and you seem more interested in the discussion "Which area?" you ask but his mood changes slightly, less funny "I don't remember. I haven't been home in a long time, I'm basically always on campus" he says, but you look at him puzzled "You don't remember the area where you lived for years? I have to call you 'stupid dog', then" you say, and his mood seems to return "I can accept this" he says, again amused. Things seem a little less awkward now that you’ve finally joked around and talked a bit. Michael stands up, offering you a hand "Do you want to sleep here for the night or do you have a shelter to go back to?" he asks, and only now do you remember what happened to your shelter. You purse your lips, standing up on your own "Umh… if it’s okay I can sleep here" you say, and he nods "Don’t worry, the campus is completely player-controlled after 10pm. We can bring whoever we want into the rooms" he says, and you look at him in surprise "You didn’t mean here in the locker room?" you ask, and he seems amused by your stupidity "Of course not. If you have to stay, at least use the comfort services. I don’t know how long you’ve been homeless, but I bet you miss sleeping in a warm bed" he says

You haven't slept in a real bed in far too long, and if he gives you the assurance that the surveillance won't tell you anything, you can accept it. You nod, taking a step forward "Okay... thanks" you say, and he leaves the locker room as he begins to walk towards the dorms. The two of you remain silent, until he reaches the entrance "You still haven't told me how you got those burns" he asks, and you cross your arms "Fire" you say, and he seems to accept it. You enter the dorms, where you can hear people chatting and laughing through the doors, much like they do during the training sessions you've been watching so much. You enter his room, where you find a boy sitting on one of the two beds in the room "Oi, Ness. We have guests" the boy says closing the door behind him, letting you in. A boy with brown and magenta hair looks up from his book, watching you curiously but not with a perverse look "Hello. Do you know her?" he asks straight to Kaiser, and he nods "Kinda. She'll be sleeping here tonight" he says disappearing into the kitchen of the room, returning with a pair of round glasses that he puts on "This is Alexis Ness. He is my roommate and teammate. Don't worry about him, he's a good guy as long as you don't insult me in front of his eyes" he says, and even though Kaiser's description reduces the boy to a loyal dog, he doesn't seem to mind too much "My pleasure" he says, and you shake your hand with a nervous smile. You realize now that Alexis is a name you've heard before, and that makes you curious "You both play for the Bastard?" you ask, and Kaiser sits on his bed "On the pre-adult team, at least until we both turn 18. But yeah" he says, and this makes you curious "Which roles?" you ask, and Ness rubs the back of his neck "He's a striker, I'm his midfielder" he says, and you nod "Cool"

A few hours later, with another meal in your stomach and a generous helping of water, it’s time to go to sleep. You’re left in Kaiser’s shirt, and he signals you to lie down next to him. Normally you’d refuse, but you have plenty of reasons to accept: you’re sleepy, you miss having a bed to sleep in, Michael is kind, and you really don’t have the right to refuse. You take a few steps forward, lying down next to him with your body pressed against his, while Ness is already asleep in his bed. You both remain silent, but you know he isn't sleeping even though his eyes are closed "Weren't you sleepy until just now?" you whisper, and he opens one eye "I can say the same thing about you. I'm not sleeping because I'm used to having more space in my bed" you say, and you look at the ceiling "I can go sleep in the showers or on the floor, you know" you say, but he shakes his head "It wouldn't be polite of me to let a young lady sleep on a dirty floor" you say, and you stifle a laugh "Young lady?" you ask, and he nods "You're one year younger than me" he says, and you realize it's true "Oh, I told you the first time we met" you say, and he nods "When you looked for the sketch in the garbage" he says, and you think about it "But why do you need that drawing, in the end?" you ask curiously, and he smiles "That's the next tattoo I want to get. When I turn eighteen... the first one I got was done illegally. I want the two roses on my neck, the thorns along my arm and the crown on my hand" he says, and you're shocked "That would be really cool. But why do you want to do that, any particular reason?" you ask, and he smirks "I've known you too little time to tell you. Become my trusted slave first and I'll think about it later" you say, and you giggle "Really funny, hope so Micheal. But at least, can I know when you'll be eighteen?"

"Christmas day" he says, and you choke on your own spit. Kaiser looks at you puzzled, making you sit down on the warm mattress "Does Christmas disgust you that much?" he asks ironically, but you shake your head "I was born on December 25th too" you say, and this time it's you who sees him completely surprised, even his frown is replaced by a little smile "This is unexpected. Another thing that unites us, then"

You spend the rest of the night joking around, trying not to wake Ness: he tells you about the team, about his role as a striker, about how he's been living in the Bastard Munchen dorms for at least a year, and you tell him about your burning hideout. Before you know it, it's dawn. You stay in bed, while Kaiser gets up to go to the bathroom, Ness who has just woken up. You watch the two boys in silence, watching them wander around their small apartment undisturbed, as if you were not there and could not see their bare and toned chests as they put on their sports uniforms for their morning workout. This is also a transgression, your parents would go against everything you have done in the last 24 hours. But for the first time ever, you are having fun with someone who is actually quite simple. With Ness already gone to breakfast and Kaiser still in the room, the boy approaches his bed, sitting on the edge "You can sleep, we don't have room service unfortunately for us. If you're hungry eat, make yourself at home. I should be back by lunchtime" he says, and you nod with half your face covered by the blanket. He chuckles at the scene, walking out of the room and leaving you completely alone. You spend the morning sleeping, eating a bad brand yogurt and watching the boys team up out the window: Kaiser stands out among the members, with his fast movements always followed by Ness. He scored without showing too much effort, demonstrating a resistance to the duration of the training that honestly surprised you for such a young boy

At lunch time the door opens, and Ness comes in leaving you a tray full of food "Kaiser couldn't come. I hope you like our canteen" the boy says, and you can't help but show your disappointment at the lack of the blond boy. You take the food and eat alone, staying like that until dinner time when the door opens again, this time with Kaiser carrying the tray. You get up from the boy's bed, walking towards him "You said you'd be back at lunch time!" you say taking the tray, but he sighs amused "My mistake, miss. I had to check something. Let's have dinner together, shall we?" he says, taking a bowl of soup. You don't ask yourself many questions, taking the soup and starting to eat. Kaiser tells you about his workout, as if you hadn't been watching him from the window of the room all day. He dresses your wounds again and gives you a taste of a dessert that the campus cafeteria gave to the players this morning, after the breakfast. Before Ness goes back to the shared room, you're both back in bed, almost asleep

For the next month, you find yourself spending your days like this. You rarely leave your room, walking the dorm hallways late at night with Kaiser. You’ve occasionally come out of the fence, but you don’t like walking near the pile of ash that the fire has destroyed. You try to stay as far away from the black on the snow, which even after weeks has not disappeared. Your stomach hurts when you think about it, but the uneasy feeling goes away when Kaiser is next to you. Some players have noticed your presence on campus, but no one dares to tell the directors: Michael said that you are a childhood friend of his, and that you only occasionally sleep in his room. You don't think that the other players want to talk behind his back, once he happened to tell you about how he beat up one of them when he first arrived at Bastard Munchen for a relatively stupid reason. You spend your evenings in bed with him, playing board games, reading Ness's books, or watching the TV he had installed in the kitchen just for you. He tells you about amazing things like special training sessions, the times he took planes, or what it's like in foreign countries like England, Italy, and France. He tells you so many interesting things that you almost feel guilty for being able to tell him only about your strange experiences as a homeless person. You haven't told him about your past, about who you were before you were a tramp, just as he hasn't told you anything about Michael Kaiser before Bastard Munchen called him. You never talk about topics from the past just because you don't want to run the risk of having to talk about them: it's a limit that you've put on yourselves without telling each other, a barrier that still can't be overcome even after all this time of synchronicity. You're not big fans of physical contact, you see how he often reject even Ness's high fives. But when you're alone in the room, in silence, his arms almost spontaneously find space around your waist, while you're lying on the bed with his face in the crook of your neck. Without speaking to him you stroke his hair, and you feel at peace with the whole world but above all in perfect connection with the boy who apparently saved you from humiliation. Often you don't need words to communicate, often you just need to look into each other's eyes and read the soft and real meaning you mean

Despite being locked up most of your time inside four walls, you have never felt freer than this: free to eat what you want, to talk to whoever you want, to hug whoever you want, to be faithful to whoever you want. In sixteen years, you have never had so many possibilities. Now that you have it, for the first time you feel like a normal teenager and not an idealized perfect model who tried to kill herself. You're grateful your parents kicked you out of their house if it resulted in you meeting your savior, that in less than a month he will finally be able to get the tattoo he so desires. While you wait, you try to be as faithful to him as possible: you eat the food that only he brings you, you wear only his shirts, you keep your hair loose just because he once mentioned that he thought you looked good with your hair like that. They are small gestures that want to show him how much you owe him, even if you can't repay him properly. But you will, one day, you absolutely will

It's Christmas Eve when you hear Kaiser knocking on the door. You run to open it, noticing the tray full of chicken soup "It's so much" you say, letting him in, and he nods, placing the tray on the coffee table between the two beds. You go to his side, first grabbing some spoons from the kitchen "Ness? Dinner with the players?" you ask, and he nods "He'll probably be back after midnight. He said he wanted to go to some kinda party they're throwing in the main room. Usual shit" he says, starting to eat, but you tilt your head "You're not going?" you ask, and he turns around, raising an eyebrow "Why should I?" he asks questioningly, and you put your elbows on the table, stirring the soup "You're part of the team, you should. It's a party" you say, even if you never had a concrete definition of a youth party, accustomed to elegant balls "You're here, why should I go?" he says, and for the first time, his words have an effect on you. You smile like an idiot, choking on your soup. Kaiser grabs a handkerchief, rolling his eyes in amusement as he wipes your mouth "You’re acting like a dog. You’re going back to your old ways, like a stray dog again" he says teasing you, and you take the handkerchief to clean yourself "I'm not a stray dog. Not anymore" you say defending yourself, but he snorts amused "You're not anymore, I know. Thanks to me. I tamed you"

The handkerchief remains against your mouth, but his words seem to enter your head like missiles. Involuntarily, you let yourself go into the care of another person as soon as you had the chance to do so. Even if by running away, or trying, you had promised yourself not to do it again, now the situation is as before. Kaiser is kind, though. Kaiser does not force you to drink your own saliva when you spit out the bitterness of the poison. Kaiser does not force you to remain with a bloody face for days just because the blood makes them happy. Kaiser doesn't make you sleep naked when it's cold just because you talked back to your mother. Is it really that bad to be tamed by your savior, in this case?

"You don’t like soup?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you snap back to reality. You shake your head, pushing the handkerchief aside and smiling sheepishly at him "No, no. It’s good. I was just thinking about… have you booked your tattoo appointment yet?" you ask, making up an excuse, and he seems to believe it "Tomorrow morning. I had to pay triple the price to book an appointment on Christmas Day, but I know it’s worth it" he says proudly, and you agree with him "It definitely will be. You'll finally have what you want" you say, placing your face in the palm of your hand, but he shakes his head "Just a part. The rest I want I can't get yet, but that will come too. Also, I added a small modification to the tattoo, but nothing too big" he says, and you connect his words to his desire to be the best striker in the world "Really?" you ask, and he nods "Exactly. But it's so small that I don't want you to see it, I'll show it to you directly tomorrow" you say, and you nod

A few hours later you find yourself on his bed, his arms around your waist tighter than usual and his face more hidden in the crook of your neck. You caress him trying to stay awake to wish him a happy birthday, even though you know it's yours too. But he's your savior, and it's the first one you've spent together, in each other's arms. You can ignore yourself for this year. Before the alarm can ring, you're already squeezing his hand. "Happy birthday, Michael" you whisper, and he looks up only to meet your eyes. He smiles tiredly, resting his face on your chest"Thank you. You too, Y/n" he says, and you almost get emotional in front of his enormous kindness of having even remembered the right date. You smile at him kissing his forehead, but only afterwards do you realize that you went a bit too far. You pull your head back embarrassed, but he tilts his, probably amused and tired from the little nap he had taken on you "If only this was your gift, I'm totally fine with it. But I would have preferred the kiss lower down" he says in a low voice, and it gives you the shivers. You press your lips together not knowing how to respond, but he seems to want to tease you a bit "I have to give you the gift, mh?" he says

Involuntarily or perhaps not, your eyes fall on his lips as his on yours. The caresses become slower and the grip on your waist more possessive. His face slowly approaches, and this time you don't take steps back like your second meeting in the locker room, this time you are the one closing the distance, letting your plump lips end up on his. You both remain still for the first few seconds, but he is the first to reply, pushing them more voraciously towards yours. Instinctively you tighten your arms around his neck, enjoying the sensation of a kiss you have always dreamed of but never received. It is your savior who gives it to you, that's why it tastes so sweet. Kaiser gets on top of you, kissing the edges of your lips, and when you pull away you can't help but laugh both of you. This time it wasn't words that were needed between you, but gestures, and you like this new way of communicating, if it makes you so happy. Michael just leans down to rest his forehead against yours, and you both close your eyes "Give me one more year, just hold on one more year. After that we could be anything you want" he whispers against your lips, and you nod, you would do it even if they were insults if they came from his mouth. He kisses, you kiss him, this all night until your lips hurt. When you fall asleep, a trickle of saliva still connects you, but the trickle and his body are not there when you wake up

Ness wakes you up and shakes you, while you are still in the world of dreams "Get in the closet, run. The directors are checking the rooms, some players brought drugs into the party last night... some went to the hospital" says the boy lifting you up, and before you can even reply, you are locked in the closet. Waking up you realize the gravity of the situation, and a hole in your stomach starts to eat you slowly, understanding that if they find you it's over. Kaiser wasn't next to you, is he still on campus or has he already gone to get his tattoo? You need him, you're dying of anxiety and he's the only one who can defend himself in case the directors find out about you. You need the kisses he gave you last night again, the reassuring way he made you feel even if you weren't anxious. You need your Michael. You think this, but you hear Ness opening the door and the footsteps of at least three people in the room. You hug your legs to your chest, holding your breath as you watch them wander around the room through the crack, checking their clothes or the kitchen. You don't see Ness, you don't know if they've thrown him out for inspection. You try to think clearly, but when the closet door reveals your hidden figure, the world falls apart

"And you? I don't think the team has any female players. Miss, I kindly ask you to follow us" a man says, grabbing your arm and throwing you out of the closet, making you fall to the floor where all the other directors are watching. As you are dragged out of the room you hear Ness talking to the directors, but they tell him to go back to his room or risk having his contract annulled. Like a humiliated puppet, the directors drag you to the main office of the campus, dragging you as if you were unable to walk independently. You cry silently without realizing it, but this does not stop them from locking you in the room with them, starting to write a report of the discovery "Miss, your name? Where do you live? Why were you in the room? Do you have any contact with Alexis Ness or Michael Kaiser? Do you know it is illegal?" they ask, but you, sitting on the plastic chair, cannot even compose a complete sentence, trembling and with a probable attack of mutism. You look around confused, biting your nails in nervousness. This doesn't seem to stop them from asking you more questions, but after what seems like an eternity but was probably less than an hour and a half, the door is opened by someone else

You turn around, and Kaiser appears in the room. He closes the door behind him, walking straight to the director’s desk, slamming his hands on the wood "Is that a fucking way to treat a young lady, dragging her across the campus without even giving her a chance to explain?" Michael barks, and you look at him like he’s given you a drink after walking across the Sahara. The director swallows a lump of saliva, avoiding the direct gaze "She had a chance to sp-" he excuses himself, but Kaiser slams his fist on the wood "Are you kidding me? The players made videos of her being dragged" he says, continuing "If they make videos of you doing something like that, you'll be prosecuted right away. I'll make up some other bullshit to defend her and you will end up in prison" he says, and the director looks up "Are you kidding? Why would you?" he asks anxiously, and he laughs "Because then you'd lose me too, and your fortune with the campus. And that chance of us having Noel Noa train us? Nuh nuh, no way" he says, and the director clenched his fingers into fists "I... I won't do anything to her. But she has to get off the campus, it's against the rules" he says, but he shakes his head "If she gets off campus, I'll get off with her. But off the team. I'm going to ReAl" he says, and the director stands up "Don't you dare threaten me, Kaiser!" he shouts, but Micheal remains calm "I didn't say anything too absurd. It's your decision" he says crossing his arms

In your eyes now Kaiser is like water: necessary, destructive, perfect. He lets himself go without fear of breaking something, and he's doing it for you, for the same girl he kissed last night as if his life depended on it. The freshly inked tattoo flexes against his skin stiff from punching the desk, but that only gives it an even more suggestive look of perfectionThe blue roses, the thorns, the crown: finally everything he ever wanted is engraved on his body. It's damn beautiful, he is. You are proud to be faithful to him and only him, to be tamed by this very human being

"She can stay, she can do it, damn it, okay?" he says, reaching the limit, and Kaiser raises an eyebrow "And?" he asks, and the director glares at him, but lowers his gaze "And have dinner, lunch, do whatever she wants" he says exhausted, and he nods. He nods at you, the first since he came in, and takes your hand as he leads you out of the room. You don’t talk along the corridor, but in the open air you stop. Kaiser turns, not letting go of your hand "Does something hurt?" he asks, and you shake your head "Why did you do that?" you ask through tight lips. It’s cold, your breath condenses as it leaves your lips. Kaiser looks at you surprised by your question, taking a few steps back "Why wouldn’t I have done that?" he asks, and you want to answer him but you can’t find the right words. He remains silent, and only when he notices that you’re not angry, he comes closer, closing you in a hug. His hands rest on your waist, while you press your face against his chest "I want you to stay with me. I want you by my side, at least until you turn 18 and I can buy you an apartment of your own. I want you here" he whispers to you, and you feel the blood rushing through your veins again. You let out a loud sigh, looking up. "I want it too. But I don’t want you to have to change something in your life just for me" you say, and he chuckles at your words "But I’m okay with it. I’m okay with it if I do it for you" he says cupping your face, placing a light kiss on your lips "This is the last one. I want to give you the next one as a present for your eighteenth birthday" he says, and you frown, saddened by his statement but okay "Also" he says, moving away from you and lifting the sleeve of his shirt to better show the part of the tattoo with the thorns "I didn't show you the tattoo or the modification. But you can look for it" he says, bringing his arm closer to your face. Questioningly you take his arm in your hands, examining the complicated tangle of thorns that now surround his arm. On the thorns, in a point parallel to his heart, you find a small writing. You take a few steps back, looking up at him who is already looking at you smiling "Happy birthday" he whispers to you, sweetly

In a handwriting similar to yours, the name 'Y/n' stands out among the thorns. You open your mouth in shock, not believing it "You can’t really have done that" you stammer insecurely, but he runs a finger over the tattoo "It’s permanent. It’s there and it’ll never come off"

"Stop doing things for me when I can't repay you" you say with tears in your eyes, still emotional. He shakes his head, taking your hands and kissing your knuckles "Repay me by continuing to be just the way you are. Devoted" he says, and you can swear that right now you feel in love with him. In love with Michael Kaiser. In love with your savior, your God, your only rock. It's not just pleasure, it's love and only love

Almost two months after that Christmas, you find yourself sitting on the benches of the soccer field for practice. Kaiser chases the ball, his hair now also blue that flutters in the cold wind of mid february. It is a change in his appearance that he has made recently, and yet you have already gotten used to the idea of this new haircut that Ness made under your and Michael's advice. It sets him apart, more than it already did before, even just his charisma. You read a philosophy book that Kaiser lent you, but you're not that interested. You look up from the pages only when you see him approaching: you lower the canteen to him, and he sits down next to you, drinking greedily. He puts the empty canteen on the grass, wiping the light sweat from his forehead with a towel "Do you have anything else to do?" he asks, and you look at him puzzled "No? Do you need something?" you ask, closing the book

Kaiser looks around, but you've been alone for hours now. He looks at you for a bit, before looking down "Have I ever told you about myself before the Bastard?" he asks, and you stiffen, shaking your head and realizing that it's finally that moment "I was different, I was born different and still am. But now I don't have to deal with my father anymore" he says, and you move closer. Kaiser looks up, he takes your hand in his, playing with your fingers "My mother is an actress, I think. I never really wanted to understand it actually. She worked with my father when she wasn't famous yet, she got pregnant and right after giving birth to me she realized she could be someone if she left me to that lout of a father of mine. She was my father's muse, a director famous only thanks to her. He went crazy when he found out she was gone, maybe I was still too young to remember the slaps and punches he probably gave me. So I never went to school, staying in the criminal area of Berlin. I stole to support the family, maybe I learned to steal even before I learned my name... but that didn't stop the slaps. My father always thought that I was the problem of his breakup with my mother, the reason for his failure. He never changed his mind as I grew up, getting used to making me almost a dead corpse every chance he got. But then I met soccer... I bought a ball, I gave myself a gift for the first time. I held that ball as if my life depended on it, as if it was the only thing that made sense to me. I got pretty good at it without knowing a single damn rule of the sport, but then I got caught in a theft. The police arrested me for something other kids in the neighborhood had done, but I rebelled so much that they took me straight to jail without a legal trial. I thought about killing myself for a few days, I won't deny it. I was fourteen or fifteen years old... but someone saved me. A very powerful man in soccer found out about my story, paid to have me thrown out of prison and entrusted me to the care of Bastard Munchen. I had to go through a selection, there I met Ness for the first time, but from that moment the real part of my life began" says Kaiser, and every word sticks in your mind as if it were sacred. You try to stay strong, but it hurts to think of all the pain he had to endure just because he was born, just because his mother decided to run away and not take her responsibility. You squeeze his hand, letting yourself go against his shoulder "Thanks for telling me. I know how much you hate being pitied… but you already know that no matter what, I’m here for you, even if it’s something huge. I want to be as kind to you as you’ve been to me from the very beginning" you say, and his arm tightens around your shoulders "I know. Thanks. Just saying... only you and Ness know about this" he says, and you nod "I understand"

You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so Michael and not Kaiser. You think about him as a child, about everything that happened, about everything he thought during prison. It’s something so intimate that he only told you and Ness, which means he wouldn’t judge you if you told him about your past. You’re a little unsure, but you try to relax your muscles "Do you want to… do you want to hear about my past?" you ask, and he takes a moment to you can nod "I'd like that" he says, and you take a long preparatory sigh. He's the first person you've ever told about your life before, when you were still someone

"I am the daughter of my mother's betrayal, I don't know who my real father is. The man who raised me never particularly loved me, but he gave me a more than dignified life... it's complicated to explain. Since my mother fucked another man, he did everything to become the man she loved again, giving her and me everything that could be called rich. But the extra work stressed him, and the constant arguments led them to hit each other... and when I was old enough, their slaps also reached me. They introduced me to the upper class of Berlin at a young age, making me frequent circles where I didn't really belong, like private schools or classical ballet classes... I never liked this stuff, but the first time I disobeyed them, I found myself drinking rat poison for days, without food. Following their rules to perfection meant I would get slapped less, but I swear, I just couldn't do it... the looks of others... the whispers... they terrified me. I was afraid of everything and everyone, and at fourteen I thought about committing suicide"

Your hands are shaking, it's a sensitive subject for you. But you want to talk about it, if he's listening to you

"I just thought that I had no reason to live if I was suffering even just to breathe. One night I gave myself an almost lethal dose of antidepressant drugs, my mother's, and I waited to die. But it didn't work, they admitted me to hospital but I was still alive. When I came home a month later, my parents locked me in the house for almost a year, making me self study so as not to give me the chance to be influenced by negative thoughts... they always thought that my attempted suicide had been caused by others. One night I took some clothes and ran away from home, I wanted to leave Berlin and take the first train to Belgium, but they discovered me at the station. They told me that they didn't want me at home anymore, and that they had already disinherited me. From there, my being homeless began" you tell trying to avoid some painful parts, but then you realize there is no point in not telling 'em "Also... I almost died once. They beat me so bad that I went into a coma, but only for a few days. They justified everything to the police by saying that I had pushed myself too hard in dance and the stress had done this to me. The police ignored the bruises on my body" you say with a shaking voice, remembering how you had burst into tears in front of the police but to no avail, still forced to live in your golden prison

The two of you remain silent for a few minutes, probably processing each other's stories. The cold wind corrodes your skin, but you feel warm at the same time: it is a warm sensation that comes from knowing the truth about the past of the boy who saved you. Of all of them, he chose you, not another person. You have never been chosen by anyone, and yet he had no problem telling you such an important part of himself, so intimate, so vulnerable. You try to shake Kaiser's hand, and when he notices, he returns the squeeze, kissing your knuckles. You smile at him, and his arm spontaneously finds space around your shoulders: he pulls you close, leaving a kiss in your hair before getting up to go back to training. From afar, now, Micheal seems to shine even more than before. If you were devoted to him before, now you know you are dependent on him. You don't want change all this

A year later, you are in exactly the same situation. The days on campus are going by peacefully, you have started to earn some money by cleaning the cafeteria, even though Kaiser has always insisted on not letting you lift a finger. Since he came of age he has started to earn a much higher salary, which gives him the possibility of having lots of money: as vain as he is, his money often ends up in clothes for you or makeup, or in any case in things to give you. He has told you several times that he has no problem spoiling you, if you continue to be as in love as you have been for a long time now. The money often ends up in an extra ticket when the games are abroad, and for the first time you have taken a plane and left Germany: you were not afraid of flying, even less of talking to the people you met in the new country, in Italy. You were finally able to see him play seriously and cheer for him, and the result of your screams was a kiss in the locker room at the end of the game, with a cup won and the shortness of breath for his hungry lips on yours. You had the chance to spend time together on your days off from the foreign match, days that you spent on each other's lips, even though he said that your next kiss would be on your birthday. At the end of the soccer season he spent more money to take you on holiday to Spain, where you had the chance to swim in the sea thanks to him. It's always thanks to his affection for you that you've had so many opportunities in such a short time that you're surprised that you were his choice, you who are mediocrity personified compared to someone as fantastic as him. He loved you, he spoiled you, he gave you the love you had sought but never received. He knew how to make you feel good when you didn't even know how to feel, when your thoughts became too big. He had saved you and continued to do so every day, and you weren't afraid to admit it: you showed it with your loyalty, with your sweetness, with your dedication towards him. It was the least you could do before you found a way to pay him back in full

Dedicating yourself like this to someone was dangerous, you knew it perfectly well: you knew you had changed a lot from who you were before the fire, losing traits of your personality that you had previously thought were unique. But he had lost himself to find you, to help you, to give you a life. Losing yourself couldn't have been such a bad decision, if he had done it for you too. You didn't worry that he might get tired of you, you wouldn't have allowed it, you would have stayed by his side forever, as he wanted, he would never have chased you away. You didn't risk your life when you sacrificed yourself for him, it was all due. You were happy and that was enough for you, you just needed to know that Kaiser was there

"The room is huge" you say looking around, putting your bags on the floor. You walk towards the walls made of glass, which show the great city of Munich. Kaiser nods, sitting on the edge of the bed "Yeah. If you like it, it's money well spent" he says, and you roll your eyes, moving closer "You shouldn't have. I would have liked to stay in the dorm room too" you say positioning yourself between his open legs, and he smirks at you, pulling you close to him putting his arms around the lower part of your waist. He rests his face against your stomach, looking up "It's an important date, in a few hours you'll be an adult" he says, and you huff "It's no big deal. There was no need to organize all this" you say caressing his face, and he rests his face against your palm "Let me spoil my beautiful girl" he says in a low voice that makes you shiver, making your knees weak and your mind stupid

It was Christmas Eve, in less than an hour it would be midnight, and that meant both of your birthdays. Kaiser had surprised you this afternoon with a flight to Munich just for the two of you, in one of the most luxurious hotels in the city, with a reservation for a whole week. The flight lasted a few hours, and now that you are in the hotel it is almost time to celebrate your birthday. In fact, you would have officially become an adult, far from your parents and close to the boy who considers you his girlfriend, even if in fact you have never talked about what your relationship is really like. You love each other and kiss each other, you consider each other's partner, and you are both jealous as hell of the other. But neither of you has ever talked about making the relationship concrete, about putting a point and calling it 'dating' and no longer something random. It's something you've wanted to do for a long time, but you don't want to push Michael into it. When he thinks is good talking about it, you'll do it too. Waiting is the only choice

You look at the clock, noticing that while you were putting your clothes away in the closets, the minutes separating you from the age of majority have now become five. You turn to Kaiser who is lying on the bed, climb on the bed and crawl towards him, catching his attention "Impatient to become an adult?" he asks massaging your back, and you giggle sitting on his stretched legs "Not too much. I'm curious to see you nineteen, what will be different from the normal Kaiser?" you ask, and he snorts amusedly "I think absolutely nothing. Maybe just a few more bucks spent on condoms, what do you think?" he asks, and you are surprised "OH" you say embarrassed, imagining things you shouldn't be imagining. He seems to notice your behavior, and it amuses him "Did I overdo it? I thought you'd thought about it. But I can wait" he says, massaging your thigh, and you glare at him, your cheeks still red "I thought about it... but... god, this is embarrassing" you stammer embarrassedly covering your face, but leaving his hand on your thigh. Before he can reply, his phone rings: you both turn towards the object, and you automatically move off of Kaiser, who stands up "Give me just a second" he says, taking the phone. You sit on the soft hotel mattress, watching him walk towards the glass door of the room

He answers the call, putting the phone to his ear. You see him listening to someone's words for a while, until a smirk appears on his face, as if he is finally satisfied. He lowers his face, as if some sort of shadow is covering his eyes. You tilt your head to listen better, but the only thing you hear coming out of his lips is "Get on your goddamn knees, Blue Lock". You remain confused, but the ringing of your alarm makes you understand that it is midnight: it is your birthday and his. Normally you never bother him during his calls, but this time you get out of bed, walking towards him on tiptoe: arriving at his side you hug his waist, standing on tiptoe to reach his neck, where you leave him a light kiss "Happy birthday, Micheal" you whisper, making him look down at you. He smirks at you, pulling the phone away from his ear before ending the call. He wraps an arm around your waist, kissing your forehead as he pulls you close "Happy birthday. You’re an adult too now, liebe" he whispers to you, and you nod, pushing yourself against him "Impossible to believe, right?" you ask, ironically, but he kisses your lips, holding your face with his tattooed hand

You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, smiling "Was this the famous kiss you said you’d give me when I turned eighteen?" you ask between the pauses between kisses, and he nods, not stopping "I want to give you so much more than this. I want to show you how important and amazing you really are to me" he says kissing you again, and you feel a slight need in his words, in the way his hands hold your hips as if he were afraid of making you run away. You respond to his kisses trying to keep up, but the more time passes the more your knees become weak from the passion with which he is torturing your lips and your neck, where there are already some hickeys. A slight knot forms in your stomach, and involuntarily little moans escape your lips that make Kaiser stop "Can I?" he whispers to you, and at the same time his hands end up on your thighs, picking you up. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, letting his face end up on your breasts, giving you the chance to look at him from an angle that makes him so damn handsome. A stupid smile forms on your lips, as you lean closer to his ear, a little awkwardly "Do what you think is best" you whisper, and that's enough to make him start his long torture. You end up with your back against the mattress, him on top of you with a visible desire to ruin you, with a face that makes you dumb. Before you know it you're naked with him, wrapped in his arms as a new sensation is created between your thighs. Kisses turn into hickeys, his hands on your hips in signs of love and his back full of scratches as he starts moving inside you. When you are already destroyed, you finally feel a feeling of satisfaction in your stomach, as if a weight has gone away. Kaiser ends up at your side, wrapping his arms around your waist, a peaceful feeling on his face "You were gorgeous. You always are" he whispers to you, and you can swear that the tear that just fell is one of pure happiness, pure love for him

A week later, sitting on a flight back to Berlin, you find yourself thinking about what happened during the vacation: beyond the nights of sex, the walks through the city and the dinners in the nicest restaurants in the neighborhood, you involuntarily ignored one thing: the call from the night before. At the time you didn't think about it, but now thinking about it it sounds a little suspicious, even if Kaiser has never actually hidden anything from you: for some unknown reason, however, you think you should ask more. You can't explain the feeling you have, but you prefer to eliminate it in the moment

"Hey" you whisper, and he looks up from his book "Liebe? Tell me?" he asks, and you swallow a lump of saliva "Listen... do you remember the call you received the night before the Eve? I was wondering... who was?" you ask, and imperceptibly you notice Kaiser annoyed "Nobody important, team related matters" he answers you, and you nod, even if the answer doesn't satisfy you. You spend the rest of the trip in silence, and when you get off the plane, Kaiser doesn't take your hand. It makes you sad, and you think it's your fault that he's rightfully angry with you now, you didn't trust his answer and obviously he understood it. Back on campus you lock the door, and everything seems to go back to the way it was the night you lost your virginity, with him inside you and your nails on his pale back. The following days pass peacefully, but you have the feeling that there is still an unresolved situation that you don't have the courage to face, because you don't like seeing him angry with you. You'd rather ignore the problem than find the love of your life against you

A month later, you're on your knees in the hallway of the campus rooms. Your fists clenched on the carpet, tears now flowing freely "What do you mean you're leaving for Japan?!" you ask in shock, seeing the suitcases at his sides blurred by the tears. Kaiser looks at you indifferently, then looks at his cell phone to check the time. You are alone, the entire campus is already inside the buses headed to the airport, and you only discovered it when, a few minutes ago, you returned from your walk in the city. You knew absolutely nothing about all this, no one and especially Kaiser had told you anything about this sudden transfer of at least six months to Japan, on the other side of the world. You ran into the room to see if Kaiser was staying, but you found him in the hallway with the suitcases in his hand, as if he wasn't forgetting you here. When you threw yourself at him to hug him he shook you off almost immediately, and you inadvertently ended up on the floor

"What, what's going on? Micheal? What's this all about?" you ask stammeringly, taking a few steps forward, but he takes a few steps back to avoid contact. He looks you up and down, judging you for the first time in the years you've known each other; in his eyes you don't recognize the same boy who fucked you shamelessly for many nights, whispering the sweetest phrases you've ever received. In his eyes there is not your savior. You tremble without being able to control it, and when you finally grab his hand, you squeeze it tightly "Micheal, why? What did I do, why didn't you tell me?" you say sobbing, but he doesn't bend down to kiss your knuckles, one of the gestures he has always made. He looks at your hand, perhaps disgusted "I didn't have to tell you anything, why do you expect this? Isn't everything I've done for you enough?" he says harshly, and the world of certainties you've built for yourself falls miserably. You let go of his hand, looking at him without knowing what to say: you've always been grateful for him saving you, but in fact, you've never done anything to repay him, and you haven't even tried. You look at him with wide eyes, your lips trembling and shiny "I... Michael, I am..." you say, but he interrupts you "Don't you dare tell me you're grateful, what I do with it? I spent money, a tattoo, my feelings for you. What did I get out of it? Nothing" he says disgustedly, and his annoyed look makes you feel so small and useless. You try to take his hand again, but it's him who grabs your wrist and blocks it, forcing you to look him in the eyes "I'm not forgetting anything here in Germany, nothing and especially no one. I no longer want to waste my strength on someone who doesn't know how to do anything but be a pig, an animal that follows its owner without personality, and who actually has the courage to say that I'm forgetting an important part. Go away, Y/n, I don't want to see you anymore, until my last fucking breath" says Kaiser, and leaves you like that, still, in the middle of the corridor while he disappears into the elevator

Standing in the hallway, you feel like dying would be a lot less painful now. Your breathing is blocked, and your ability to move has stopped the moment he made it clear that he wants you dead. His words start to spin in your head, spinning so much that your vision blurs and everything around you goes black. Your god doesn't want to be worshipped by you anymore, your Michael Kaiser doesn't want to have you around anymore. Everything you shared with the same person for more than two years has now been thrown in the trash, along with all your hopes for a future with him. Are you really a useless pig? Is it true that you no longer have a personality? But really, why did he do it? Was it a particular behavior of yours that hurt him? Why did he throw you away so easily?

The world no longer exists, you no longer exist. He took your life with him, on the bus, on the plane and in Japan. He threw you away when he had the chance, and what are you left with now but a blurry memory of yourself before you met him? What are you now that he, your sense, is no longer there?

What are you now? A pig? Alone?

He is not here, he will not be here as long as you live, but you already know that you will not live anymore. How can you continue to live when all your certainties are gone, leaving you like a fool? Do you really still have any sense? Are you still you?

Even before the time is up, the stick already has two clearly visible pink bars. You stare at the stick speechless, feeling a general feeling of unease throughout your body after realizing what I have suspected for a month now. Your hands start to shake, causing the test to fall to the floor, which however does not change the result at all. The room, even though empty, suddenly seems so narrow, the more you look at that stick the more you realize how deep in shit you are. It wasn't supposed to happen, not now with you in this condition, but he never took precautions even once, and you let him do it because there was no point in telling him to do something else

The pregnancy test comes back positive, even after you've been staring at it for a whole hour. You're pregnant with Michael Kaiser's child, now the star of the Blue Lock TV

But you and him haven't spoken in three months.

Today is a beautiful sunny day in Berlin. You woke up early to go running, meditated and took some supplements that the doctor prescribed you last week. Berlin has had a huge boom in sunny days lately, but that's probably because it's almost spring, and that means more time for your skin to be kissed by the sun. Warm light also comes in through the window of the room, from where you see outside a beautiful garden that you've already stared at a thousand times. You turn to Ines, who is still coloring her book: you should do her ponytails like this more often, now that you look at her, because it makes her blonde hair look better. Maybe you too should start wearing your hair tied up again and no longer loose

"Miss, it's always the same story. You shouldn't take your medication with coffee, don't ruin all the work you've done with another addiction" the doctor says, looking up from your clipboard and directing her gaze to you. You chuckle nervously, playing with a lock of hair as you lean back in your chair "You're always so funny, Dr. Horwell. You always know how to make me smile" you say, and she huffs, probably as tired as you are from this session. The two of you have a staring contest for a few seconds, but the psychologist seems to be winning "Really, Y/n. You’re such a nice girl but often… often you get lost in useless memories. In stupid things. It makes me feel like you want to continue therapy just to meet me" the woman says, and you raise an eyebrow at her comment "Not that I like spending 100€ every time I come here, but yes, I enjoy your company" you say giggling, and this makes the other woman chuckle too, but she looks at you with a serious look of displeasure. She sighs, placing the folder on the table "If you enjoy my company that much, I’d be happier to see you in another context. Not in therapy, like the last three years" she says, looking down

You don't react, they keep smiling. You don't like to admit that you're not healed yet, and that since the last thing happened, it feels like you've wasted years of therapy. But now there's no point in showing sadness, the psychologist knows how much you're still tied to your trauma, to the reason why you decided to start the sessions years ago. You don't need her words to realize how much you pretend to have overcome the situation, when instead you still feel like you're in that corridor in Berlin. Even though you want to move on, you feel like if you do, you'll be taking away your last chance to be whole in the way you want to be and not the way the psychologist intends. You're fine with this, you've been used to being in this condition for years now. It would be strange to change, even if this would probably lead you to be able to start living for yourself again and not for the sixteen-year-old you

"I think seeing him was the icing on the cake, really… tell me again, how are you?" she asks, and you smile "Great. I’m still shaken up, but I think I can handle it" you answer, but for the umpteenth time you are lying to yourself. Seeing him after five years was harder than you want to admit, more destructive than his words left to you years ago. But it happened

You still remember how Ines complained about having your hand too tight on yours, which you were involuntarily squeezing tightly. You still remember perfectly how he turned towards you even before you recognized him. You still remember how you felt like a pig again, as if you were watching your master taking you to the slaughterhouse. You still remember how smelling his smell again after years made you cry without you even realizing it. You still remember when, few days ago, you saw Micheal Kaiser again after years, and you with his daughter, whose existence he doesn't even know

"Do you at least regret what you did to me?"

"I regret you, not the situation"

"I know when you lie to me, I know you. But you still have the same problem as when you started therapy..." says the psychologist, and you tilt your head, waiting for an answer "You still chase the problem, rather than accept the end. You gave so much to him that you didn't realize how little you had become for yourself" says the psychologist, knowing full well how to stab you without making you bleed "Accepting that it's over for you means accepting that he only wanted you from the beginning for one purpose. But accepting it would make the sixteen-year-old you suffer, even if it would mean bringing the you of now to finally be free. You're afraid, you're afraid to see yourself happy because you still think you haven't repaid him for saving you" she says, and the room becomes quieter than you can stand. You look around, avoiding direct eye contact now that you're in the corner. Your hands start to sweat, and you try to take deep breaths to regain some clarity. You look up a little, lips trembling "Did he ever love me?"

The psychologist smiles at you, perhaps a little to reassure me "I can only give you my personal opinion, but for me, yes, he loved you. But he was broken, just like you, and he blew it all when he realized that the situation could hold him back from becoming the best in the world. He loved you, but he did it as a consequence, not as an initial goal. At first he helped you only because he needed another support, someone he could give everything to fill the holes he had. But something broken can't try to fix itself using something else that's broken. You were simply too young to be destroyed, but too old to be saved"

word count: 15,696

[giuliannna]

BEEN AWAY

hamzah wants to take his time with you when he finally gets the chance.

“slow down,” hamzah chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he pries your fingers away from his body.

your hands were itching to touch him all night. you wanted to pounce on him the very instant you two arrived back to your apartment, but he insisted on holding back.

you were bubbling with anticipation to see him after several months of being apart. long distance was taking a toll on your emotional state; your separation lead to countless nights of missed calls and makeup texts - apologies for being too busy to respond that day. it was frustrating, but you two always manage to push through.

not to mention, it was even more frustrating for your sexual desires.

you could only send each other so many scandalous photos and videos as a distraction before you were left lonely and desperate for the feeling of real intimacy with your boyfriend.

but, of course, it wasn’t all about sex. you were overjoyed with the fact that he sacrificed time out of his break from youtube to come and visit you.

when you opened the door to see him standing proudly outside your apartment building’s entrance; leaning against his car, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, it was really tempting to just make him cancel your dinner reservations and spend the whole evening in bed with him instead.

after showering you in kisses and compliments he treated you to a lengthy date at your favorite restaurant. of course you loved getting to spend time with him in person after being apart for so long.

except.. hamzah really dragged it out.

“hamzah,” you’d groaned. “we’ve talked about everything possible and we finished dessert. don’t you think it’s time to go back home?”

“oh, c’mon. i’m just enjoying the first date we’ve had in months. now - this is important, if you were ice cream, what flavor would you be?” he smiled, adding on another silly question to the prolonged conversation.

even when the both of you were finally stumbling in through your door, he wasn’t quick to give in.

it was frustrating, to say the least. you’re not some sort of sex-crazed freak, but you’re on the verge of acting like one.

you had spent the last few months pining over him, and now that he’s within your reach, your top priority is to memorize every inch of him as fast as possible - for fear that you might forget all your favorite details of his body the second that he needs to return to toronto.

you barely get the door shut before you’re on him. your hands are in his hair, your lips are crashing onto his. you’re messy, frantic.

and of course, he slows you down. his hands settle on your waist, grounding you, his lips stilling against yours.

“mmh, slow down.” he softly protests. he meets your gaze, his eyes filled with love and adoration. on the other hand, yours are shrouded in desire and lust.

“m’sorry. just missed you,” you mumble, your tone slightly guilty.

“i know,” he says gently. “let’s just go slow, okay? we have plenty of time.”

you huff. “hamzah, seriously?”

a smirk tugs at hamzah’s lips, but his eyes are soft, soaking you in like he’s memorizing you all over again. “yes, seriously. just let me take care of you.” he says, his voice dropping to an entrancingly low tone.

you practically squirm under his gaze. “why are you messin’ with me?” you ask, sounding a little bit more pathetic than you intended.

“m’not tryin’ to,” he murmurs presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, then your neck, his lips soft and slow as if he’s committing each inch of your skin to memory. “just wanna make sure i feel you. really feel you.”

he always does this. he makes everything feel like more than just desperation, more than just a fleeting moment of heat. he’s trying to make up for every second spent apart.

your breath stutters as his lips trace a slow path down your neck, enough to make you shiver. you grab fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but he stays steady, his control unwavering.

“you’re not being fair,” you breathe out, basically pouting at this point.

he laughs, soft and warm against your skin. “you’re not either,” he says, his hands roaming lazily up and down your sides, feeling the fabric of your dress. “you’re tryin’ to rush me. that’s not very fair.”

“but i’m only rushing ‘cause i missed you.”

“and i missed you,” he dips his head lower, lips pressing just above your collarbone as he speaks with a frustratingly unbothered tone. “that’s why i want to take my time with you.”

“hamzah, you’re so f- ah!”

whatever annoyed phrase you were about to throw at him is instantly forgotten as hamzah sweeps you off your feet, literally. in one swift movement, he’s picked you up bridal style and started carrying you toward your bedroom.

“what was that?” he taunts with a grin, nudging the door open with his foot and practically tossing you down onto your bed.

“nothin’,” you mutter, your cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment as your eagerness rises once more. you wonder if he’s finally going to do something, anything.

you watch him, waiting for him to move first. to shove you back, to climb on top of you, to finally let go of all his patience and take what’s his.

he doesn’t.

instead, he stands between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs, warm and steady. his thumbs move in slow, lazy circles, like he has all the time in the world.

he doesn’t seem to notice how loud your body is internally screaming with need for him right now.

you exhale sharply, tilting your head back with a groan. “i think you’re killing me.”

hamzah laughs, quiet and deep. “you’ll be just fine.”

his fingers trace up, dragging along the hem of your dress, and you suck in a breath as he pushes it up - inch by inch, nothing hurried, nothing rushed.

every movement is deliberate, like he’s unwrapping something precious. and in his eyes, he is. you’re the most precious thing in his life.

you lift your arms, letting him undress you, your skin prickling at the loss of warmth. he’s quickly touching you again - his palms glide over your bare shoulders, down your arms, and across your ribs, like he’s learning your body all over again.

he leans in, finally, brushing his lips against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. it’s soft, barely there.

“more,” you whisper.

hamzah’s lips hover over yours, close, but not close enough. “not yet.”

your hands slide up his chest, gripping at his shirt. “why?”

he smirks, kissing your jaw instead. “because i love watching you like this,” he says, quiet and teasing. “all desperate.”

your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, frustration curling in your stomach like a flow of lava.

he hums in amusement, his lips trailing lower, his fingers slipping under the thin straps of your bra. he toys with the fabric but never pushes further.

your breath catches in your throat when his mouth finally moves lower, leaving a warm path over your chest and your stomach. his hands ground you, steadying you against the mattress as you arch instinctively toward him.

just when you think he’s about to break, about to finally give in, he slows down again. his lips press soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin.

you whimper, tugging at his shirt in frustration. “hamzah, please.”

his grip on your hips tightens at the sound of your voice, and you don’t miss the way his breath stutters - like he’s just as affected by all this restraint as you are. his willpower is just now beginning to fade. yours is long gone.

“say that again,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. his eyes are dark and burning with something you can’t quite put your finger on. your fingers reach down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip.

“please?” you whisper again, softer this time.

something snaps.

with one fluid motion, he tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, his hands quickly returning to your skin.

there’s no hesitation anymore, no patience. his lips crash on yours with pure heat and hunger, his body pressing flush against yours.

his hands roam, no longer teasing, no longer holding back. his fingers trace every curve, every dip of your body. it’s suddenly urgent, dripping with the kind of hunger that’s been building since the second you two walked through the door.

you gasp against his lips as he presses you further into the mattress, his weight settling over you in a way that makes you feel impossibly small beneath him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you, positioning you.

you can feel the way his control is slipping between his fingers like sand. you can feel it in the way his body moves against yours.

“hamzah,” you breathe, your voice breaking around the sound of his name.

he groans, low and rough, like hearing you say his name just like that is his undoing. his forehead presses against yours, his breath is warm and uneven as he rolls his hips against you, slowly and purposefully.

you moan, your fingers clawing at his back, pulling him closer. “i need-”

“i know,” he cuts in, voice thick with want. his lips brush against your cheek, then your jaw, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. “i’ve got you, baby.”

eventually, somewhere between messy kisses and frantic touches, your clothes have been shed along with his and hamzah’s body is now hovering over yours on the bed, heat radiating between the two of you.

you’re so deeply lost in him that any frustration has long since evaporated. all that remains is the intoxicating pulse of anticipation as he aligns himself with your entrance and finally - finally, he shifts, pushing forward, sinking his cock into you in one smooth, perfect motion.

your breath stutters, your body arching into him as he fills the space between you completely. a deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest as he stills for a second, his grip on your hip tightening dangerously.

he exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. “you feel…” he trails off, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

instead of trying to complete his thought, he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, devastating kiss as he finally starts to move. he presses deeper, slower, letting you - no, making you feel every inch of him. he groans at the sensation of your nails in his back, his body tensing up as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“hamzah,” you whine, your voice shaky and overwhelmed.

he shudders, his hands flexing against your waist before sliding upwards, cradling your face between his palms.

“look at me,” he murmurs.

the second your gazes lock, something in you shatters. your body? your mind? your soul, maybe?

there’s a melting pot of drastically different emotions swirling behind his eyes, you can’t even begin to describe the way it makes you feel.

“you’re everything,” he whispers, his voice rough, like he’s speaking the words without even thinking. “you know that, right?”

you nod, unable to speak, not with the way length is dragging in and out of you too slowly. he tilts your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours so softly it makes your stomach twist.

“say it,” he demands in a murmur against your mouth. he’s trying to break you, you think.

you fingers slide into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “i know.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“there’s my girl. so good for me, aren’t you?” he says with a small smirk, knowing the effect his words have on you. “can’t believe i spent so long without you.”

his lips crashing onto yours, raw and consuming, like he’s trying to pull you into him completely.

“hamzah - more,” you choke out breathlessly against his lips, your mind melting at the slow pace he’s set.

he chuckles lowly, but doesn’t protest this time. he knows he’s got you ruined already.

his hands slide beneath your thighs, shifting you just enough to deepen the angle, and when he moves again, it’s harder, needier. he’s finally pouring himself into you fully, dropping the ‘let’s take our time’ façade.

your chest heaves as desperate moans and choked whimpers escape your throat, the way he’s now snapping his hips into you - it makes your lose all remaining composure.

your head tilts back against the pillow, overwhelmed, and hamzah’s right there with you. “that’s it,” he breathes, voice shaking. “y’sound so pretty.. god, i love you,”

he drives into you harder, deeper, his pace growing erratic. the pure hunger in his eyes matches the frenzy building between your legs, a gnawing need that has you gasping with each stroke.

“mmh.. love y- love you too..” you force out, lips trembling.

“uh-huh..” hamzah breathes, his voice rough, practically growling as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “oh - fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well,”

you whine at his words, and you can feel the heat building in your stomach, the pressure mounting with each thrust. you’re almost there, your abdomen tenses as the pressure in your tummy builds.

“please.. harder, hamzah,” you beg, barely able to form the words as your body quakes beneath him.

his lips curl into a dark smirk. he drives into you with twice the effort, setting a punishing new pace.

a low growl vibrates in his chest, pleasure surging through both of you, turning your minds to mush. the way he’s moving, the way he fills you - each thrust is making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

“fuck,” you choke out, your voice cracking with need as you meet his pace. his strokes are relentless now, the pressure building at an unbearable pace. you can barely hold on, the sound of your frantic breaths and his skin slapping against yours filling the room.

hamzah watches your face, your lips parted in a silent plea, your chest rising and falling in desperation. he only moves faster, harder, like he’s chasing something just beyond reach. “c’mon,” he grunts. “get there for me, baby.”

you can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you completely, his every move making your body tremble, your senses on fire.

your legs tremble as you reach the edge, the world around you blurring. “hamzah, i- m’there, feels so..” you gasp, desperate for release, your voice raw with need.

he nods erratically, his hips stuttering as his sanity slips along with yours. “yeah, give it to me,” he moans, his voice rough yet on the verge of being whiny. “finish f’me, be the good girl that you are.”

with a final, deep thrust, everything breaks. your body convulses, and the pleasure washes over you in waves, almost too much to handle. your moans spill out breathlessly along other broken, incomplete sentences as you shudder beneath him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

hamzah closely follows you over the edge, his body shaking as he finally releases, spilling into you with a low, guttural growl. his body collapses on top of yours, both of you trying to catch your breath, the room now filled with nothing but the sound of your rapid breathing and the faint hum of your heartbeat in the aftermath.

for a long time, neither of you speak. there’s really nothing else to be said. your breathing falls in sync.

the heat between you is still buzzing, alive. his fingers trace lazy patterns along your hip, his lips brushing against your temple. his small, absentminded gestures feel just as intimate as everything else that just happened.

“you okay?” he eventually murmurs, voice still thick with exhaustion.

you nod weakly, your fingers threading through his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp. “mhmm.”

he smirks, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before finally shifting, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, tangled up in him. “told you, going slow would be worth it.”

you scoff and roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. he just grins in response, knowing he’s right.

and he is right, he really is. it wouldn’t have been the same if he didn’t make you wait. after not seeing each other for so long, rushing - despite how badly you wanted to - wouldn’t have been nearly as romantic or special.

you huff, tucking yourself closer against his chest. hamzah’s arms tighten around you instinctively, like holding you is second nature, no matter how long you spend without each other.

xoxo giulia