#like. youre just a bad artist after a certain point

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D

⊱ General Fluffy Headcanons ⊰ || Mr. Scarletella Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and horror-elements), Unhealthy Obsession/Possessiveness, Cultural Barriers (Mr. Scarletella Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions/Expresses Them Differently Than a Human Would). Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~900 words Request: “Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D” Author’s Note: I’ll be honest with y’all, writing straight-up fluff for these characters is really hard to do lmao. I try to stay as canon-compliant as possible (it’s low-key a curse, but it’s such a great way to practice writing 😔), so I hope these are fluffy enough for you given, well… the source material as a whole haha. Mr. Scarletella wasn’t originally one of my favorite characters from the game, but he’s honestly starting to grow on me at a concerning speed – shout-out to all the artists on Twitter who have added to my enjoyment of this man. ✌️

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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🩸: Whenever it rains, Mr. Scarletella is always standing right there next to you, holding his red umbrella over your form so you do not become drenched because of the dreary weather. He takes his job very seriously, too, not minding how cold water causes his clothing to cling to his already deathly cold skin. He does it with an ever-present smile, too, watching you with unblinking eyes while he happily follows you around. Mr. Scarletella doesn’t get cold, he typically doesn’t feel any physical sensation in the first place, so getting a little wet while being able to keep you dry is something he doesn’t mind doing for you. If you invite him to join you under the umbrella, he falters for a bit before eventually standing next to you, shielding both of you from the rain (he loves being able to stand that close to you – he can almost feel the warmth radiating from you, and he finds himself craving it even after the two of you have found somewhere to take shelter). 

🩸: If there’s something you express an interest in, whether or not Mr. Scarletella is around when you make the off-handed comment, you’ll wake up to it lying right in front of your door. It’s honestly a bit creepy sometimes, just waking up to the article of clothing you looked at for longer than three seconds or the book whose title you briefly mentioned sitting at your feet when you open the door. In the past, any gift he left used to just be haphazardly placed in front of the door, and it reminded you of when a cat would catch a mouse and bring it to their owner (you’re not going to talk about the time you woke up to a literal human heart waiting for you, though…). However, Mr. Scarletella noticed that humans who exchanged gifts typically had them wrapped in paper, so he started to mimic their behavior, too, in the hopes you would like them more. Sure, his wrap-jobs were bad, almost hilariously so, but it was the thought that mattered. 

🩸: Whenever he looks at you, his pupils further dilate (even more than they usually are – it’s almost to the point where his entire eye is purely black, the red of his irises lost in the dark void of his gaze). Mr. Scarletella loves being able to just look at you, needing nothing more in life. He’ll watch you with an unblinking stare while you do literally anything. Whether it be cleaning your home or making yourself a meal, he will observe you as if you were the most interesting thing to have ever existed. As stated before, Mr. Scarletella is very good at mimicking human behaviors so, sometimes, he’ll ask if he can join you in whatever task you’re doing. He’ll copy the way you clean the floors or perfectly execute chopping the vegetables for the dish you were making after showing him what to do a single time. He’s very pleasant to be with during moments like these since he’s very good at acting like a human most of the time (other times, though – say if you need something from the top shelf – his body will twist and morph in very unsettling ways... It just emphasizes that, even if he’s good at pretending, he still isn’t human at the end of the day).   

🩸: Being with Mr. Scarletella means that you cannot have an unserious relationship, it’s just not in his vocabulary (because he’s obsessive, especially regarding you). He’s devoted to you entirely – body, mind, and soul – gladly letting you have the red umbrella to do with it whatever you wish. He’ll shiver slightly whenever you hold it in your hands, your touch is so strangely gentle as you softly run your fingers along the handle or press a kiss to the unassuming object. It hurts but in a different way. A part of him wishes you would just throw the umbrella to the ground, dig your heel into it, and have him experience a pain that was easier for him to understand… but you don’t. He loves your sweet touches, even if it’s painful and causes his chest to ache. He finds himself wishing he could touch you in that way, too, his ghost-like caresses causing your skin to tingle with static whenever his feather-light hands graze over your flesh (he loves cuddles and loving touches, even if he can’t experience them with you in a conventional sense). 

🩸: If you ever find yourself being bothered by someone who won’t leave you alone or someone who won’t take no for an answer, well… they may or may not end up missing. If you don’t want Mr. Scarletella to take care of anyone who is bothering you for you, you’ll definitely have to explain that it’s not appropriate because of the differences in your cultures – death and murder are common in the other world, after all (I’d also explain to him that he cannot harm or threaten people you care about, either, since he honestly wants you all to himself). This does mean, though, that you know that you’re safe no matter where you are. Mr. Scarletella is always watching you so, if you find yourself in a situation where your safety is at risk, you honestly have nothing to fear. He’ll keep you safe – you’re his love, his world, his reason for living, and he won’t let someone else take that from him.

[perenlop]

“ughhh it takes me FOREVER to draw afros though and its so hard to make them look good! YOU ASKED FOR THIS!!!” ok it takes me forever to do any of my art. you dont see me having a conniption over drawing black hairstyles

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[sofastuffing]

this isn't meant to be derogatory but i think one massive sign that someone's a newbie artist is the way they add very prominent warnings not to repost their work

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

David Gaider: "Just to clarify the "they're probably why you'll never see Fenris" thing, as it's spawned commentary: 1. It's the reasoning as was explained to me back then. 2. Obviously, if Bio *really* wanted to, they'd find a way around it. But it was a complication that meant he couldn't be included casually." [source]

[hwallazia]

OCEAN, BED, TATTOO – 정우영

synopsis . in which wooyoung tattoos your skin with ink... and with his lips.

pairing . jung wooyoung & fem! reader

genre . smut (mdni!), fluff & comfort, established relationship, tattoo artist! wooyoung

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho | comment your username if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! ♡

word count . 2,1k

DISCLAIMER! dom! wooyoung (he’s a teasing menace here) sub! (and very whiny) reader, fingering, clit play, light scratches, unprotected sex (boooo👎), tattoos involved, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, petnames (my love, sweetheart, youngie & more). lmk if i missed anything.

NIC’S NOTES hey, i’m back at the game again after a long month full of exams !! i’m soo glad, i missed writing so much ♡ well, enjoy <3

tattoos aren’t as bad as people say. they look cool on your skin and they are aesthetically gorgeous. when you were about nine years old, your older sister, a few months after she came of age, got a tattoo of a beautiful, fine mandala on her right leg, and from that moment on, you were committed to tattooing your skin—probably the forearm, you often thought.

and you finally did it when you turned 20. with your sister’s company, you arrived at the tattoo parlor in search of a certain “wooyoung”, who would be the artist who would draw the permanent (and hopefully pretty) lines on your skin.

“excuse me. um, we’re looking for wooyoung? he’s supposed to be the tattoo artist for my sister.” your sister said to the man behind an old oak desk that seemed to be some kind of reception, her body leaning against the wood, elbows resting on it. 

“guess you’re looking for me then” a voice not participating in the conversation intervened. since you heard it coming from behind you, you turned around. just to meet the most good-looking, jaw-dropping, mouth-watering man you’ve ever seen, his figure leaning against the door’s frame that seemed to lead to his studio with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his notoriously pump chest.

“you must be yn.” he continued as he approached you and your sister’s position. “hi. i’m wooyoung.” he extended his right arm, placing his left hand under it. oh, he looks like a prince, a tattooed prince, but hush. “well, do you want to come in alone or do you want your sister to accompany you?”

fortunately, your sister could read you like a book. so when she saw your momentary inability to formulate coherent sentences —she’d later study the reasons why you suddenly were flabbergasted— and before you could say whatever thought your short-circuited mind processed, she answered for you. “go on. i’ll wait here. sometimes you gotta face situations without your dear older sister’s help, right?” she said as she ruffled your hair playfully, slightly messing up your hairstyle. an annoyed huff escaped from your lips with a small pout in reply. 

a cute, quiet snort came from wooyoung, your embarrassed heart racing a little at the sound of it. “come on, then” he tilted his head sharply indicating you to enter his studio. you walked side by side towards its door and before you both could pass the threshold, he stepped aside the door’s frame and extended his arm, his fingertips pointing to the inside of the room.

“ladies first” he uttered in a honey-dripping tone that made your heart skip a beat. and the warm smile he gave you after you locked gazes? double kill. heat flushed through your cheeks, now turning into a more reddened hue. when wooyoung saw your adorable, bashful face turning into a cute tomato, his eyes closed even more. two beautiful, heartwarming crescent moons decorating his eyes. you bowed your head slightly at the embarrassment and entered the studio. abstract art pieces hanging on the wall; a melting-type clock on the side of one of them; a few framed diplomas embellishing a narrow decorative table located below a large window, which gave the most beautiful view of the busy downtown of seoul and, at the same time, allowed the entry of divine natural light, changing the ambience completely. he also had some plants here and there.

“so, what did you have in mind for today?” he spoke as he reached for his chair, grabbing it by its back and pulling it to him so he could sit on it. his arms finding support on the top of the chair as his upper body vaguely leaned against it. “is it your first time?” he asked and turned around to prepare the tattoo machine by grabbing the black ink he’d possibly need.

“yes, um. it is, actually” you stuttered, trying to sound as clear and understandable as possible. “i thought about tattooing the word ‘resilience’ on my forearm. is that okay?” your eyes wondered between wooyoung’s fingers and the veins that came from them, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol in his right hand. 

“of course it’s okay. you’re the boss in here.” he chuckled a little at your stammering tone. ‘well of course it is, you’re the one getting the tattoo and paying for it anyway, so duh’ a bothering voice in your head replied to you, a soft huff from you was heard. “so, do you have an idea of how you want it to look?” he continued while he stretched the latex glove on his left hand and then replicating the action on his right.

“yeah, let me get my ph-” you started to say as you touched your upper body, and then your hips, and then your pockets, and then your pants... you had totally forgotten your phone, in which you kept the idea you saw on pinterest the other day of the tattoo you wanted to get. a murmured curse coming off your lips when you realized. “i, uh. i don’t have my phone with me right now. i... forgot it at home.”

“oh. well don’t worry! it happens to me more times than i’d like.” he laughed not too exaggeratedly. he wasn’t trying to piss you off by giggling at your disgraceful situation; he was comforting you in the best way he could because, after all, you were strangers. “hm. so do you wanna reschedule or-”

you didn’t think twice before responding by shaking your hands in front of you. “no! i trust you with it! it’s just a word anyway.” the words easily slipped out of your tongue, not a hint of doubt in the spark that glimmered in your orbs.

“but it’s your first tattoo-” wooyoung replied with notorious insecureness in his tone and you, unbothered, interrupted him.

“come on!” you spoke as you lifted your dark purple oversized sweater’s sleeve, revealing your soft skin to his fox-like eyes which doubted for a second before resting his slim, latex-covered fingers on your exposed skin. you were able to see a very close-up of the touch of his fingers against your skin, your hair standing on end as a result. his fingers sent shivers and sparks down your whole anatomy, a weird feeling forming in your belly and chest. you felt how his touch dragging flowers through the meadow of your complexion, creating the most beautiful garden.

who would say that that boy who marked your skin for life with his art would now be the one with whom you wake up every day, the one to whom you trust your most intimate secrets, the one whom you love and kiss every day. the one that makes you see stars.

like now, fucking his fingers sloppily from all the right angles into your wet cunt.

“youngie, wait i- hgh- i don’t wanna cum yet.” you whine as you grip the silk, champagne-colored sheets underneath you. he has spent a generous amount of time prepping you, playing way too much with your sensitive clit. and that has brought you to the brink of abyss. you want to cum when he finally fills you with his rock-hardened cock, but wooyoung seems to have no intention of stopping. he is a hundred-percent committed in making you cum as much as you physically can.

“huh? what’s that, sweetheart? didn’t quite catch that.” he mocks at you, deepening his index and middle fingers inside you and putting his thumb to work on your bud’s stimulation. a desperate cry bubbling out your throat. “but stop crying, baby. so you can respond.” his non-working hand releases its firm grip on your hip and moves up to your cheek to stroke it in the most gently way.

your voice lets you down, your tone drowning in the blubber that erupts from your lips once your body feels the consequences of wooyoung’s incessant thumb swaying over your clit. the palms of your hands sheltering your reddened cheeks.

he chuckles at the sight of you, “covering your face when you’re dripping all over my fingers?” he withdraws his fingers from your warm interior, your walls clenching around nothing due to the nostalgia of being satisfyingly full. he then covers your hands with his and takes them away from your blissed expression and pecks your lips briefly. “shameless.” 

he gets on his knees in between your legs, his hands pushing them apart before he bends over your figure, trapping you between his strong, tattooed arms. you have tried in the past putting your legs on his shoulder; and yes, he does push further than usual, but it was an uncomfortable and painful position for you. so you opted for simpler things, nothing so difficult so that it replaces pleasure with pain. wooyoung always puts your satisfaction over his, doing everything he can to give you the most toe-curling orgasm every time. and he never fails. 

your hands instinctively find comfort on his back, your fingers mindlessly stroking his back tattoo. “i’m putting it in, love.” he murmurs against the crook of your neck as he pushes in further and further, your nails digging onto his bare back. the combination of a masculine grunt and a whimper floats in the air, which is getting heavier and heavier. 

“holy shit- ah, wooyoung. you’re so.. fucking deep.” you blubber as you feel his cockhead faintly rubbing your g-spot. his thrusts are precise and strong, driving you quickly over the edge. his sighs blowing on your face as almost invisible clouds because of the humidity generated by the situation. 

“fuck baby. you feel so soft and warm. and tight” he exhals, some strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. he does some kind of push-up to come down your face and kiss your swollen, red lips frantically. your tongues fighting and his winning over yours. “wanna stay inside you forever. ah.” wooyoung pants out his words, hips still going and knocking a little more roughly against your cunt with every push.

“i know you can give me a little more, though” he pants raspily, totally out of breath. your fucked-out mind can only process something about ‘wanting more’ or something like that, you don’t know, way too gone to even say your name without stumbling with your own words. you can only understand what he says when his very familiar touch lingers strokes on your clit, so swollen and tired of overstimulation. the cute, pleasured sounds coming out of you only encouraged him to speed up his fingers and his hips as well. he practically is wanting to break you completely until you aren’t able to even recognize where you are, your name or how much is two plus two. and wooyoung finds your current state quite amusing, so he starts to imitate you, mocking your broken sobs and pathetic mewls exaggeratedly. 

“if only you could listen to you right now. but you aren’t even listening to me, are you, doll?” he teases, enjoying a bit too much the tears that pitifully stream down your face profusely. your eyebrows furrow together, your thighs shake more than usual and you start feeling lightheaded; you’re about to fall into the abyss of pleasure and wooyoung is more than happy to receive your warm, dripping juices. 

“oh fuck, youngie. ’m gonna cum. you’re gonna make me cum. please let me... fuck... please, i—” you give up on the rambling begging and let yourself just helplessly whine and mewl.

“i know, my love. go on, cum for your youngie. make me proud, angel.” he encourages you, his fingers keeping a steady pace on your bud as well as his thrusts. three or four more are more than enough to melt you under his divine touch as your throat lets out the very last shriek of the night. “ah you’re so good, so fucking tight for your youngie, aren’t you? ugh” he shakes above you as he lets out a moan that sounded more like a cry. he quickly, but carefully pulls out, your body shuddering at the sudden emptiness, releasing hot shots of cum over your belly, painting your navel’s surroundings with pearl-like spurts.

he finally lets his body surrender to the overwhelming tiredness, collapsing above you.

“wooyoung. love. get off of me, i can’t breathe.” you speak, receiving a drowned and unbothered ‘mm’ as a response. you chuckle with the little strength you have left, “at least get off of my arm?” you try to negotiate with him the dumbest thing ever. but he finally does as told and moves a little to the side, releasing your right arm from his weight, “there you go. see? it wasn’t that hard.”

“hush. i’m sleepy. and tired” he mentions separately in a grumpy tone. of course, how could you forget the grumpiness that wraps your boyfriend when he runs out of energy?

“fine, babygirl.”

“don’t call me that!”

| masterlist

[itaipava]

— lando norris falling in love with you

he is actually timid about liking you and tries to treat you like just another friend because he doesn’t want to be too obvious; but the more he tries to hide that feeling, the more he feels.

he gazes at you a lot; he looks at you with his eyes shining because for him you are the most beautiful artwork ever. he never tires of admiring you. and he also likes to learn your little quirks and habits, and he finds them so, so cute and unique. but he quickly looks away when you look back at him.

he loves making you laugh; making silly faces from across the room, or making comments in your ear about something he noticed. he laughs along with you or stares at you with major heart-eyes while you laugh until your cheeks hurt. he also always laughs at your jokes — whether they’re good or bad.

he becomes more talkative and tends to ask a lot of questions about you. he tries not to overdo it but he’s just genuinely curious and interested about you; and he genuinely loves to hear you talk, it could be about anything, he puts his chin in his hand and looks at you fondly, encouraging you to say more and more.

he also hangs on your words. one day, you casually complimented him by telling him that he looks good in blue and you were pleasantly surprised to see he wore different shades of blue for the next whole week. even when you make a passing comment that you want to go to a certain artist’s concert, he goes online to check and secretly buys two tickets in advance so that he can surprise you.

he becomes more physically affectionate. there’s a sense of innocence in the way he touches you, whether it be something small like; touching your hand when you walk side by side, or knees touching under the table or a playful, casual pet on your head

he also tries to find excuses to hold your hand; subtly holding your hand a little longer after a high-five or asking for your hand so he can “read your palm” or compare the size of the hands for the hundredth time, or also to draw a small heart on the palm of your hand - letting you do the same to him later, so you guys have the same ‘tatoos’

he likes to look at what you’re listening to on spotify or what you’re saving on pinterest; because that way he learns a little more about your favorite things. and whenever he gets the opportunity, he starts talking to you about it, and he’s completely in love with the face you make when he asks you about your favorite band or something.

he also tries to like the same things as you, to understand you a little more and so that you have more to talk about; he always gives another chance for that movie or song he hated but you said you loved.

he constantly includes you in his future plans. he wants to hang out with you more and in hopes of you sticking around, he makes plans in advance, sometimes a few days in advance, sometimes a week, sometimes a month, sometimes even a whole year as he talks about about how he’ll help you decorate the christmas tree next december. and he’s always so conscious about whether you’re having fun to the point it seems he might be trying a little too hard and when you bring it up and reassures him, he sheepishly says, “i don’t want to bore you i guess, i want you to keep me around,“

he starts wanting you to stay the night. and he starts holding your hand more because although words may not leave his mouth, he really wishes for you to stay — to stay the night, to stay with him, beside him. and he holds your hand a little tighter each night and starts developing a habit of squeezing your hand before every goodbye.

[barcaatthemoon]

sunny || alexia putellas x reader ||

alexia thinks it's going to be a bad game until she spots you.

alexia's fists were balled up at her sides as she stood in the tunnel. she was desperately trying not to become overwhelmed with frustration. she had spoken with jona at great length about this being her first full 90 back. she felt good all week at practice, but during the warm ups, things took a bad turn.

nothing connected for alexia. her passes felt sloppy, and all the confirmation she needed was the look on her training partner's face. every move that alexia made felt awkward and uncomfortable. a part of her questioned whether she should start at all, but she had to. even if your work meeting ran over, you'd want to tune into the game and see her play. alexia wanted to do this for you.

the two of you had gotten together just after the world cup. you had seen alexia play before, but not really as her girlfriend. alexia wanted the chance to impress you, even if she thought that you couldn't actually come to today's game. she knew that you'd be watching her no matter what, so she absolutely had to play well for you.

"hey ale, isn't that your girl?" sandra teased as she pointed towards the stands. alexia's eyes followed the direction of sandra's finger until she saw you sitting next to her mother. alba sat on your other side, looking bored as the two of you chatted.

"that's her." alexia smiled as she watched the interaction. alba nudged you, interrupting your conversation to point out that alexia was staring. you looked over at her and waved excitedly, just like you always did. alexia waved back at you, hopeful that the heat she felt coming up to her cheeks wasn't visible.

it was silly, but alexia swore that she felt immediately better after you had smiled at her. she had been fully prepared to go into the game feeling awkward and a little uncomfortable, but now she didn't have to. alexia's movements were much more fluid, allowing for her to get a brace within the first half of the game.

barcelona was always a dominant team, and you had always seen alexia as their best player. today, she was proving everybody who had doubted her because of the injury wrong. you were standing and screaming in the stands cheering her on. by the end of the 90 minute game, you were absolutely exhausted as if you had played alongside your girlfriend.

"i think it is safe to say that la reina is back," patri teased as she slung her arm around alexia's shoulders. she glanced over at the stands where you were following alexia's mother as you and alba spoke to each other. alexia tried to shove patri away, but claudia and jana were right there to replace her.

"hmm, i seem to remember somebody very grumpy about today's game earlier." jana tapped her chin as she pretended to think about something. "i wonder what could have changed?"

"guys," alexia warned. her warning fell on deaf ears, but alexia couldn't bring herself to be genuinely mad with them. they were like her children, and you never did let alexia get too hard on them.

"i thought i saw a certain artist in the stands chatting with the better putellas," claudia teased. alexia did swat at the girl for the joke about alba being better. claudia winced and made a show of rubbing her arm, knowing that you were looking at her.

"stop being such a baby, it didn't hurt that badly," alexia grumbled. still, claudia held the pout until the group reached the barrier. alexia realized a second too late when she saw you dart towards claudia instead of her what had happened.

"ale, you can't just hit her. babe, i know you think you're being playful, but you are a lot stronger than you know," you scolded her lightly. alexia rolled her eyes as she shoved claudia away before she could get a hug from you. alexia put herself directly into your arms, squeezing you tight and lifting you into the air as she hugged you. "good game today, i've missed seeing you on the field."

"my little good luck charm," alexia mumbled. behind her, you caught claudia and patri mocking the two of you.

"behave, children," you warned. this time, they both jumped apart and stood still. alexia didn't understand how you could do that, but she was glad that you were around to do so. "go shower and get changed, i was thinking that we could go out to eat?"

"that sounds perfect," alexia hummed. you gave her a moment with her family as you gathered up your things. you waited inside for alexia, not wanting to risk getting a sunburn or heat sickness any more than you already had.

"does it hurt?" mapi asked as she slung her arm around alexia's shoulder. for a moment, alexia was genuinely touched that her friend was concerned about the wellbeing of her knee, but that only lasted a couple of seconds. "is the whip that (y/n) uses gentle?"

"shut up," alexia grumbled.

"no, come on. i saw you staring at her all game. i'm surprised you managed to get a touch on the ball with such a big distraction. you stare at her like an idiot stares at the sun." as if alexia needed an example, mapi turned and stared up at the lights with her mouth wide open.

"i was not staring like that, nor was i saring at all. if anything, i took brief pauses to admire (y/n) after i scored or got an assist. if she's willing to take time out of her busy schedue to support me, the least i can do is score for her," alexia reasoned. mapi thought it was all bullshit; sweet, sappy, romantic bullshit.

"whatever, just make sure she keeps coming if you're gonna play like that when she's here."

"trust me, i will," alexia promised. she wanted you at every single one of her games, club and international. if she made it to another world cup, she wanted you to be waiting for a kiss after they won it.

[exlibrisseverus]

The torn bond of friendship

The silence between us every time we meet makes my heart ache.

You avert your gaze just so you don't have to look me in the eye. I know that you don't hate me. But to be honest, I'd rather have your hate than your pity.

You wish things had gone differently. But I can't change for you the way you would like me to. Nevertheless, you are important to me.

(You always will be.)

[I tried to put myself in his shoes and that's how these few lines came about. The background in the illustration is a photo I took, it's the view from my window.]

The artist's commentary – psychological aspect/my two cents…

->

Nobody is perfect, no human being is.

Especially not adolescent teenagers who literally have almost no idea about life. Who lack empathy, compassion, maturity, experience and so many other things. All of us have certainly lost a friend at some point in our childhood or adolescence. Close friendships at a young age and the experiences associated with them can have a strong influence on our behavior later in life. All of a person's first intensive relationships with family, friends, etc., whether positive or negative, shape their world view and character immensely.

We can't expect a young person to be flawless and perfect. Maturity comes with years and experience. It is not uncommon for children and youth to be self-centered and egocentric, but that does not make them bad people. To a certain extent, selfishness is even important. As we grow up, we learn to act autonomously, make decisions and form our own opinions. It is clear that we can make mistakes during this process and possibly hurt others. We all make mistakes on our journey through life, that is part of growing up. That is a part of this life.

I have to remind myself each time that they were practically still children as at that time.

Sorry for my poor English, it’s not my native language. I do my best though. Thanks for reading 🖤

(Additional edit 10.02.2024 Tumblr confuses me a little bit, i was wondering why my previous image lost it’s quality after uploading. It took me too long to draw and i need to show the details. Anyways for better detailed view -> I’ve split the artwork. 😌)

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

K follow me Astarion just sees tav like loving on children wherever they go and hes like?????

And tavs like ive always wanted my own child but i didn't wabt to ask you with every

This sends poor starion into a crisis does he was children how many

I think I have followed you. Let's see!

So for this one we got a lil time jump, ambiguous and vague setting and timelines with game spoilers present. M/F pairing because that is my go to and pregnancy is mentioned. Vampiric pregnancy also so there is some weirdness there (i made it up no idea if it's dnd accurate). Vague Tav backstory of a wonderful mother and going off to become a cleric.

~

Astarion was well used to your antics by this point. You had a severe lack of instincts linked to self-preservation, which led to a consistent pattern of doing, frankly, stupid shit. Stupid, but kind. Nothing that Astarion hadn't adapted to, after nearly two years of being attached at the hip you became pretty attuned to your lover's personality.

He could even go as far as to say that he had grown to love your annoying predilection for pious morality. Perhaps he loved talking you out of certain virtuous dangers more, but still. He appreciated who you were, he adored who you were. But Astarion was no saint, despite his insistence on attaching himself to one.

Which is exactly why he was far from amused when you signed him up to babysit a couple of brats. All for acquittances he barely cared about.

But you at least had the good grace to look guilty, "I didn't mean to! But she looked so tired and she said their anniversary was coming up and it's not like we got anything for their wedding-"

That was a nice try, one that Astarion wasn't falling for, "We didn't know of their existence when they got married darling. Just because I can't remember their names doesn't mean you can trick me."

"I'm not trying to trick you!" You whined, arms crossed as you pouted. It sure felt like a trick, especially when Astarion knew that you were well-aware how easily he fell for your sulking. Adorable little monster that you were, "It's only three kids and a baby for one night, it won't be that bad! You don't even have to help-"

Astarion rolled his eyes as he sat next to you on the bed, "I didn't say I wouldn't help."

That seemed to do the trick to get the pout off of your face. You perked up immediately, looking at him like you couldn't quite believe it, "Really?"

"Yes, really," Astarion sighed as you tugged you closer. Sure he liked to bitch, but he really would do anything for you. Even extremely annoying things like this, "I'm not going to sit back and feed you to the wolves."

"They're not wolves! The oldest is barely five," You laughed as you let him manhandle you, settling you into his lap, "And I am sorry, I really wasn't thinking. I promise it won't happen again."

Astarion doubted that, not when he was well-versed of your weak spot for children. No matter where you went you couldn't help but fawn over them, not to mention the insane lengths you would go to keep any child safe. It was a complete and utter blind spot, your kindness extending to them all, even the little scam artists and hellions.

It was sweet, if not extremely worrying at first. Astarion had been terrified of you finding out his past. The things that he had been forced to do, the innocents whose lives he had destroyed. But not only did you find out, you were forced to see it. Both of you were, and it had been worse than anything Astarion could have imagined. He had always found a slight comfort knowing that those he captured would at least die quickly, that at the very least they wouldn't suffer the same agonizing fate as he, just an agonizing death. But no, even that small comfort had been a lie. The horror of finding them all down there has yet to be matched. He had never felt more self-loathing, more pure disgust than the moment he had found those children, tortured and pale, all because of him.

How you didn't see him for the wretched thing he was after all that, Astarion wasn't sure. But he was grateful. You were too good for him. A fact that he was devastatingly aware of, but that wasn't going to stop him from keeping you.

He still thinks about it on occasion, despite the fact that he had done all he could to right his wrongs. They all at least had a chance now to have a life worth living, Astarion could only hope that it would be used. Their future was out of his hands now, a small comfort.

But despite his complicated feelings towards children, he was more than capable of handling them for one evening. And in all honesty, he truly didn't have to do much. He was on self-mandated baby duty, because of course you had to help out the infant that would scream bloody murder unless it was being held. Keeping her tucked against him was a move of self-preservation, if he ever wanted to retain his hearing.

Most of the night was spent amused as he watched you entertain a gaggle of toddlers. You were so... creative with the ways you could defuse their antics. It came to you so naturally, nearly like you were a born mother yourself. It wasn't exactly surprising that you were fantastic with children, he had seen it time and time again. Arabella, Mol, Yenna, all of which still wrote you letters, visited occasionally. Staying forever attached, even from a distance.

Now that Astarion thought about it, it was odd that you weren't a mother. Odder still that you hadn't never even brought up the possibility of having children together. You were usually so open with your wants and always encouraging the same from him. Just one more thing he loved about you. But... why hadn't it been mentioned? Astarion had always assumed it was because you didn't truly want any of your own, that you enjoyed their fun innocence while avoiding the more laborious responsibility of raising them.

Though watching you take care of them all, changing diapers and negotiating silly arguments with a soft smile of your face had him rethinking his assumption.

"You're good with them," Astarion said eventually after you had successfully set the older three down for the night, the baby still stubbornly clinging to him, "I don't think there's a child we've met that doesn't adore you."

You laughed quietly, walking over to kiss him softly on the cheek. Your eyes wandered to the sleeping infant in his arms, still holding a piece of his shirt in it's little fist, "You don't seem to be too bad with them either."

"Newborns don't know any better," Astarion dismissed as he tried to put her down in their borrowed crib. Tried and failed, considering how the thing immediately started to whine the second he attempted to pry it's little hand away.

Oh for fuck's sake. Astarion wasn't even going to try and argue. Instead he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall into the crib with her, seemingly doing the trick of stopping her from waking completely.

When he turned back you were staring at him with soft eyes, looking lovestruck at the simple act of him laying a child down, "Looks like she has pretty good taste to me."

"I don't think your judgment should be trusted," Astarion huffed as he walked over to you, grabbing your hand to drag you to the bedroom. He glanced back at you, his heart nearly skipping a beat from the sweet way you kept looking at him. It had his mind wandering again, those questions still nagging him.

Questions that he didn't have the courage to ask until dead of night, when he had you half asleep against his bare chest, "Have you ever thought of having children?"

He hadn't meant to blurt that out in the middle of the night, but Astarion apparently had a knack for starting important conversations at inconvenient times. Not that you minded.

You just cuddled into him closer, nodding against him with a sigh, "I've always wanted my own children. My own mother, Gods bless her soul, made it all sound so magical. Pregnancy, the early years, puberty, all of it. She loved it all. And I guess it rubbed off on me. It used to be all I could think about, before real life got in the way."

Astarion listened, a little annoyed at himself for not putting the pieces together sooner. You had talked so lovingly about your late parents, how you always wanted to be like your mother. Of course you would want children. How had he not connected the dots?

"But then I went off to the temple," You continued, "I completed my training, went off into the world to do good, blah, blah, blah. You know the story."

"So you grew out of the idea?" Astarion asked.

"Not exactly," You admitted, sounding a little guilty, "But I would never ask that of you love, it's not something you have to worry about."

That-what?

Astarion stared down at you, brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"I mean I know that the topic of children is... difficult for you. Considering everything you've been through-"

"I think you mean to say everything I've inflicted on others," Astarion interrupted, unwilling to allow himself grace. Especially when it came to the children of the Gur, "It was much worse for them than me."

You nodded, knowing better than to try and fight him on that particular topic, "I understand, but my point is that I can live without them. You're all I need."

It was comforting to hear, an immediate balm to a brand new set of insecurities that Astarion hadn't been prepared for. But even so... he hated the idea of you sacrificing even more for him. It felt wrong, "But-"

"But nothing," You interrupted softly, setting a quick kiss to his mouth, I'm serious Astarion, you don't need to worry. I'm happy, I love you, and everything is fine."

"I love you too," Astarion murmured, at a loss to say anything else. But the conversation didn't end there.

Astarion couldn't stop thinking about it, even long after the temporary children were sent back home. ou seemed so... sure that he didn't want children, and a week ago he probably would have agreed. But that was back before he knew that he was actively keeping you away from something you wanted. Something you had dreamed about since you were a child. And it felt wrong to be the reason for that, so, so wrong.

He didn't even know if his true feelings on the matter were real. He didn't want children for many of the same reasons he never wanted a partner. The attachment to another was dangerous, he was beyond unequipped to deal with others, let alone care for them, and the entire ideology behind love was ripe for manipulation and heart break. But then he met you and everything changed. Suddenly, caring for another didn't feel like a weakness, it felt like the strongest aspect of his entire self. Taking care of you wasn't an unwanted duty, it was intimacy. Something that he now craved. If all of those steadfast ideals could fall apart simply through meeting you, whose to say he could even trust himself when it came the thoughts around having a child?

Would having one truly be so bad? A little piece of the two of you, alive in the world? And perhaps children were annoying but... Astarion would be lying if he said he didn't have a soft spot for them. He had kept his distance before, but now he was fully confident that he wasn't a danger, no with Cazador burned to nothing bus ash and his own bloodlust well controlled. And it's not as if he was incapable of being a father, worse men than him did it everyday.

It was a confusing place to be, this tightwire of indecisiveness. Confusing enough for him to start a bit of research. He was vaguely aware that it was possible for his kind to breed, but finding out the details was disheartening, to say the least. First he had to parse out the different horror stories of babes eating their way out of their mother's wombs with actual facts, which wasn't exactly pleasant. But the truth was that it was more than possible for the two of you to have child together. It had the potential to either be as noneventful as any pregnancy, with the cavate that the babe coming out looking slightly... dead wouldn't be a permanent state of being. Or it could be as risky as carrying a child could be, with pains and complications galore, even legitimate worries of internal bleeding from the wretched thing prematurely growing claws. Not to mention the occasional, intense blood lust that could occur, an experience that Astarion would prefer you didn't have to go to.

Looking into the reality of the choice didn't help as much as he had assumed it would. If anything it just made the whole situation more real. Even if he wasn't a vampiric spawn, childbirth was risky. Maybe not as risky for you considering how Astarion would move the heavens and hells to get you the best care possible, but still. The thought of you passing, leaving him alone with the child you wanted and would never see, would destroy him. Completely and utterly.

But then again... there was the magical alternative of everything working out just fine. The two of you were both beyond lucky in that regard, considering how you'd overcome mind flayer parasites and fought and won against a near god. It was more than possible that everything would be fine, that you would have a beautiful pregnancy that would end in an even more amazing child. Then two would become three, a family of his very own.

That... didn't sound too bad. Astarion was torn. On one hand, he was almost certain that he was willing to go through with it. Not just because he loved you and wanted you to be happy, though it was the main reason. But also because... he could be a part in making something good. A child that would never suffer the way he did, the way countless others had. One who would be loved, who would have the help they needed for their inevitable unholy hungers. Someone precious for the two of you to fret over, to adore and care for. He... wanted that. Or at least he would if you still did. Now if he could just figure out how to bring it up, maybe something could actually happen.

But luckily enough for him, you did the job for him. He had been pouring over another book dedicated to recording the births of Dhampirs in the area, only to be distracted by you loudly sighing behind him.

"What's wrong love?" Astarion asked, his eyes still scanning the page in front of him.

"Oh I don't know," You sighed, rounding the corner to sit on the edge of his desk, "I just can't help but wonder when you're going to explain why you've suddenly become obsessed with parenting books. And..."

You trailed off, ignoring his surprised expression to read the cover of what was in front of him, "'Vampiric and Mortal Love & The Spawn They Create'. It's not exactly your usual reading material."

Part of Astarion wanted to be surprised that you had already figured him out. He had at least been trying to hide things from you slightly, not that it mattered when you could read him like a book. And he supposed that blatantly reading things like this in front of you would eventually have an effect, even if he tried to obscure the titles.

But that didn't stop him from stuttering through a response, "Well-I, okay. I've just been thinking about options lately. Which you can't really do if you don't understand what they are. Hence the books."

You frowned at him, one leg crossed over the other, "Star, I already told you that you don't need to worry-"

"But I want to worry," Astarion interrupted, deciding that ripping the band-aid off would be the best course of action, "And if there is something I can be doing to make you happier than I should at least consider it."

"I'm not going to force you into this for that," You said softly, reaching out to twine his fingers against yours, "This isn't the kind of thing you do just for someone else."

Astarion was aware of that, there was an important truth to your words. But... "What if it wasn't just for you?"

You paused, your brow furrowed as you stared at him, "What do you mean?"

"I mean what if, and consider this purely hypothetical, what if I wanted one as well. What then?" It was as far from hypothetical as Astarion could get, but by the look on your face it didn't seemed like that needed to be clarified.

You swallowed, looking just shy of hopeful as you played with his hand, "I... well. I guess in that case we would have a lot to talk about."

That wasn't quite the answer he was looking for. He pressed on, "So if in theory, I did want one. Would... you still be interested in having one?"

With me?

He left that part unsaid as he waited for an answer, uncharacteristically nervous as you mulled it over. But you were smiling, bright and wide, giving his hand a little squeeze as you spoke, "I think that would be the only scenario where I would want it. If that's something you wanted."

"I think it is," Astarion answered honestly, done with being coy, "I don't know how, I... I'm not quite sure how I feel about you carrying something that could be dangerous. But... in general yes. I think I want this. I do want this. With you and only you. Whenever your ready."

The next part Astarion did see coming, his arms already open by the time you launched yourself at him. You straddled his lap, kissing every part of his face as you babbled, "We can wait! It doesn't need to be now but-I just-yes! Adoption, childbirth, I don't care. All I need is to have them with you. That's all I want."

"And that I can give," Astarion laughed, delighted at your reaction. He still had concerns, plenty of them in fact, but they were hard to consider when the woman he adored was so ecstatic.

He gripped your chin, chuckling at the whine you let out for him interrupting your onslaught of affection. You didn't have to wait long, not when he directed your mouth against his, kissing you deeply as a new wave of exciting, and slightly nauseating feelings worked through him.

He didn't know exactly what was going to happen in the future. He had no idea if he would be a good father, but he knew that he would try his damndest. He didn't know how the two of you would even procure a child, but he did no one thing.

With you by his side, it would work out. All of it, no matter how hard the road turned out to be. And that was all that mattered.

[heartofwritiing]

We could make such a pretty picture

Paring: musicianbur x photographer!reader

Summary: you are lovejoy’s tour photographer and wilbur likes to tease you.

authors note: this is so rushed and unedited mostly just my stream of consciousness that popped into my head while i finish up the zombur fic! its almost done!!

warnings: fluff, short, flirting, a little suggestive maybe, i use a cringey (?) line idk take it as you will lmao, unedited!

“Make sure you get my good side darling.”

Before every show backstage, Wilbur would always tell you to quote: “get my good side” whatever that meant. It was impossible to get his bad side. Every angle Wilbur Soot always looked ethereal, and that had nothing to do with your photography skills.

You would gaze up at him from the pits, readily pointing your camera to capture any shot of him playing his heart out to the screaming fans behind you. Rightfully so, you couldn’t deny how good he looked up on that stage.

Skin glistened with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, and the light eyeliner slightly smudged in the corners of his eyes. His lips pulled up in a smirk as he flipped his hair in a certain way when a beat dropped. It was undeniable now, that he was doing this on purpose. He was goddamn attractive and he knew it.

After the show you would always sit in one of the green room chairs, keeping to yourself and letting the excitement of the after-show buzz from the band fill the room. You were scrolling through the photos, admiring your work on a picture of Ash with the lightning just right when you felt a presence creep up behind you.

“That ones quiet good,” Wilbur’s voice made you jump out of your skin, and he laughed at your startled state.

“Thanks,” you replied, returning to scrolling through your pictures but Wilbur stayed right by your shoulder. Sounds of his bandmates laughter filled the space, he couldn’t care to jump into their conversation. Too entranced by your photography. Wilbur had never truly seen your work before. Of course there was pictures the band used for the instagram account, but those were taken by their previous photographer.

You were new, and Wilbur had briefly seen your work before. Only two shows into the tour, you didn’t have the time to sit with the lead singer and exhibit your entire portfolio to hkm. But seeing how you captured his presence on stage so well, with the white strobe light hitting him at just the right angle, caused his interest to be peaked even further. It made him want to get to know you better.

“you know, we make such a pretty picture,” you can hear the deviousness in his voice and the underlying meaning behind his own lyrics he was using towards you. It warms your cheeks and you avoid his eyes that are burning into the side of your face.

You cleared your throat and repositioned yourself in your seat. “whatever you say, its all you up there on that stage,”

The next night, standing once more in the pits, camera ready as the first chords of 'Portrait of a Blank Slate' blasted through the venue speakers, and screams exploded around you. As the color lights switch from dark blue to deep red, Wilbur saunters to the microphone and begins singing the first lyrics.

You lift your camera up to your face and look through the viewfinder to be met with an up-close Wilbur, who is pressing his lips right into the microphone. A smirk pulled the corner of his mouth when he peeked open his eye to catch you pointing your camera at him. Cheeky bastard.

As he sang the next few lyrics, his hands lift up to the top part of his shirt where it was unbuttoned. Running his index finger from from his collar down to his chest, he sang; ‘shes an artist, paints across my chest,’ while sending you a quick wink.

Your mouth parted in utter shock and felt your heart beating in your ears. How does this man do this to you? You hadn’t even known him that long, but he was making you feel dizzy with the slightest little actions. You quickly shook away any thoughts popping into your mind and took a couple more photos of him. The last one was of him leaning back while strumming the next chords, then you moved on to capture more of the other band members. You just had to force yourself away from him before you got carried away.

That same night later on the tour bus, you were going through your photos again. One in particular caught your eye, it was of Wilbur with the red lights behind him casting him in a dark glow, and his guitar lifted into the air while he threw his head back. Infamous rockstar pose, you decide to call it. You chose a couple more to post to your professional instagram account, tagging the band members each in their respective photos.

About an hour later a notification came up on your phone that a mutual had commented on your photo. You checked it and immediately felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the words on your screen.

@/WilburSoot: Told you we make such a pretty picture ;)

taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @scenefaez @highstonedcat

if you want to be added or removed from the taglist let me know!

[meo-eiru]

I'm thinking a bit about Silas and a more artistic reader, and how he'd try keeping us entertained in the house.

Obviously, babies need some form of toys and play. But even in his worst babifying of us it's a touch difficult to ignore that we're past colorful letter blocks.

And it's increasingly obvious the lack of things to do is straight up bad for us, even excluding the increasing deranged fervor towards escape attempts.

(Did you know, that ripping your own hair out is a real action liable to be taken in stress, even if it's accidental tugging too hard? Silas may well find out, depending on our temper throughout. Boredom in the extreme is objectively stressful)

But there's only so much at the market that he isn't worried can be pointed at him, certain locks in the house, or even our-self. In increasing order of priority to not have happen.

Still, he's bringing things home. Trinkets mostly, some do-dads that can at least make interesting ticking noises or other responses. This is better than nothing, he reasons.

Recently there's a set of charcoals for drawing, and some loose paper. It wasn't for you though. Locked in a drawer behind one of the locks you're not supposed to get behind, to be fished out when a friend of a friends friend (provided the first 'friend' could be considered one) finally started seeing people after the baby.

There's some actual baby stuff in that drawer for it too, because goodness knows he's been so busy since you. Something that young, and small... No time for the parents, and he knows the parents are pretty artsy as hobbies.

He was really trying. Don't be envious (don't... don't... don't.), be nice, get something for the parents to be kind.

But they're keeping it close friends only for much longer, they'd decided.

Perfectly reasonable, there's a whole list of reasons they were ready to spew at him.

But being told "Go away" wasn't new, so the preparation to make him leave was deeply unnecessary. Even as he eyed who was being let though, people arguably less acquainted with them than he, it just wasn't new.

it was tempting to toss the whole lot through the kitchen window into the garden and deal with it the evening after, but you'd started up again and after a hasty slam on the kitchen counter it was forgotten.

The morning after there was no garden mess to clean, and he'd had plans for the weeks food shopping. it just wasn't important to think about and remove.

It's a nice day out, but as always its best to be fast to get back.

And then you're in the kitchen with the box contents strewn out.

A moment of processing. You got into the box, not for you. Does he punish? Such things do need to happen in raising children, but...

Well, it's not like the box was for anyone now, so worthless he'd' have tossed it through the window if not for a quirk in events. So no, you didn't ruin others things.

And you're quiet, you're relaxed. You haven't seen him yet as you're trying to get the lines down on a morning glory.

It's another moment before he backs up some and pretends he only just got in. Whatever your reaction is, he knows some paints are probably on the lookout list now... do you even like paints? Well, he'll find out. Eventually.

I loved it! Silas' struggles with motherhood are always a joy to read🥹🥹

[jolalibrary]

10. cranberry cocktail

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3k chapter warnings: SMUT. 18+. jo's bad use and knowledge of DIY. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is called jo made herself horny. see author note at the end.

prev chapter | series masterlist

It’s difficult not to smile as you approach.

His voice, mid-singing—almost competing with the radio that lingers under his voice—had been travelling out as you walked up to the building. Louder when you pulled open the door, sliding the sunglasses from your face.

A few blinks and your eyes capture his, singing dying out, leaving the original artist blaring around in the background.

Still, you're unable to stifle the smile. Not as you walk closer or as he puts down the tool in hand; least of all when you realise he's looking only half as abashed as you would be if he caught you mid-rendition, watching him dial down the volume on the radio as the door closes behind you.

Frankie had shown you this place once before. Your voice, light, teasing, hand in his: “You’re showing me where the magic happens?”

“I’ve shown you where that happens.”

“Not that magic—or, well, I hope you’re not about to tell me there are even more videos on a different site I need to watch. I’ve been forced to rewatch things lately.”

He’d explained, with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye, how he’d turned the garage into a workshop. The hours, the pieces he’d started with and the things he’s managed to build, find or bargain for along the way. Even lingered his thumb over the height chart for Luca, the one he told you he began when he first bought the run-down house he made a home.

It was impressive then, but you hadn’t appreciated it as much as you do stepping in today.

You'd been too busy then, watching, studying him. Spotting the way he trailed his thumb across his bottom lip, eyes widening as they tried to smile before his lips as he pointed out highlights he knew you’d have seen from certain videos you’d mentioned.

Now, it's all lit by soft, mid-morning sunlight, looking homely, loved, worn in and appreciated—everything you’d expect from him.

Even if things are out, such as plasterboard and wood leaning against odd edges, everything else has a place. Just like the scent that wanders around and flows as if there’s a constant candle burning, one which includes notes of freshly applied paint, the essence of sawdust and leather. A blended aroma that subtlety clings to his clothes—and then lingers inside your own. A thing which brings comfort, until it seeps in sadness upon the realisation that it's faded from a sweater, bedsheets or your throw after a few days of not seeing him in person.

"Hi, handsome."

He grins, a hello escaping out as his knuckle tips your chin up, your smile back presses to his mouth. Tasting his lips, how they’re tinged with coffee. Frankie planting it more intently as your hands find their way around his waist, heightening it, fingers grasping your cheek.

You swear you could kiss him forever. A thought you know you have continuously, almost every time his mouth finds yours. But you mean it.

Completely. Utterly.

Your palms sliding around, fingers brushing over dry, hard paint specks buried into the soft, beloved cotton of his tee.

“So,” you say when you pull away, teeth biting your lip—finding yourself staring at him, as though his face alone answers everything.

In some ways, you're adamant it does. In others, you know it will.

A feeling that thrums more and more intensely as weeks rack up into months, as your heart flutters in your chest when his eyes hold yours for a second longer than normal.

“What has prompted this little requested visit?”

Grinning, he traces his thumb along your jaw. “Thought you could drill some holes—for your cupboards?”

Smirking, dragging your tongue in a sweeping motion across your lip, you tap your fingers on his waist. “Drill, ay? I didn’t… exactly come dressed to be in your workshop.”

“Wait,” he says, eyes widening, mouth pulled into a line as he brushes his fingers down the fabric of your summer dress that rests along your collarbone. “This isn’t an everyday DIY outfit?”

Grinning, you nudge into him, head shaking—hand grasping a handful of his tee. “No.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice dropping, charm encasing each letter as his hands find a home on your hips, “I’ll make sure you don’t get messy.”

A soft laugh escapes you, feeling the way his thumb continues its gentle circling on your cheekbone.

“You on cleanup duty, then?” you reply, the words muffled against his lips. He hums in response, a sound of agreement that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Without pulling away, he gently guides you towards the bench—hands on your side as his chin rests on your shoulder.

One glance at him, and he offers you a comforting smile. Before it comes over him, that voice—the one from the videos. All lightly, but sternly instructing you. Talking you through the steps, before he tells you to pick up the black and orange drill from in front of you.

A lick of warmth slides up your spine, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you press closer to him, your body beginning to buzz from the way he’s pressed against you—his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist.

“We’re going to begin with drilling the holes for the handles.”

Rolling your lips, you rest your head against his. “Okay.”

“What you’re gonna do is lightly ease the drill in.”

“Is that so?”

Clearing his throat, you swear you hear your name, it followed quickly by a “Stop.”

“Stop what, Frankie?”

It’s a grunt. A thing buried in his throat before he takes a measured sigh. His hand rises, gripping the top of the power tool before lining the drill bit with the marked wood.

“Being a tease—now, lightly pull the trigger.”

Blanking your face, staring at him with confusion. “So, push it in and out?”

You watch it hit him—slowly. It washes over him in a few blinks, your hips wiggling against his before he groans again. “You’re killing me.”

“I’m very innocent, Morales.”

“Mierda. You’re the opposite of innocent. And no, it’s straight down. Not in and out—we’re not… we’re not fucking it.”

Giggling, you bite the inside of your cheek, adjusting your stance as you swear his groin pushes into your ass on purpose. Finding a way to mumble an okay, you shift your shoulders in preparation. Asking, finger hovering over the trigger of the drill, if you squeeze it lightly as you feel him nod.

Swallowing, you give it a test. A little click. Hearing it, before you see thin crinkles of wood coming away from the pressure.

“Like that?”

Somehow, all beyond you, you manage to keep your voice steady. It all unwilling to tremble—even though his breath is dancing over your neck. Even though his hold on your hip is tightening.

Then there’s the heat pulsating through your dress—the warmth settling into your bones, skin and muscle from his touch. Your body remembering, recalling—able to know just from his presence what he can do, what he has done, how he can unravel you and make you become a mess all from his fingers, mouth and—

“Bit more pressure this time, baby.”

“You can’t say that.”

Snorting, the air dances over your skin as you swear you feel him smirk. “Oh, Rainy. I can.”

You swear his voice drops an octave.

Sweeping the words over you, making your body tense, muscles twisting in on themselves as you try to focus on the drill in your hand. Stare down at the piece of wood he’s set up for you until it’s a blur. Nodding. Finger over the button, knowing you just need to squeeze—

Perfect, he whispers.

And fuck it makes your thighs press together. Makes something rumble inside of you at the same time as the drill fires to life.

The noise is all loud, alarming—deafening. A hole deepening in the wood.

“That's it, just like that. Perfecto, hermosa.”

Even with how loud it is, you can only hear him.

How he layers so much emphasis on the P, the letter is still skating over your skin by the time the rest that follows it has left his tongue.

You can only swallow. Remaining aware, and yet focused in, on how his hand slides down, fingers teasing the end of your dress—a quickly thrown-on thing, an easy option that meant you could arrive here sooner.

“You’re perfect,” he says, kissing it against your neck as his hand slides under your dress, palm flat to your thigh, dragging it up, and up.

Some part of you, all distant, feels him take the drill, hears a click, before it’s out of sight, out of fucking mind.

Then it’s just thick fingers you focus on, how they slide, rub, torture over your underwear—feeling like minutes, hours, days before he manoeuvres. Before he’s forcing elastic to cut into your skin, before you feel him trace along the places you need him desperately.

“Frankie…”

He drags his nose against the side of your face, feeling the exhale flutter against your jaw before he makes you gasp before it grows into a shameless whine.

“This not what you wanted?”

Swallowing, your eyelids quiver. Some part of you, a present part of you that isn’t lost in the way he’s stroking up and down your slick folds, occasionally catching your clit, that he isn’t going to let you come like this.

Even if he's told you he likes the way you sound, has confessed that he likes watching you unravel; his favourite pastime, his favourite movie and soundtrack.

“Need to hear you, Rainy?”

“Want you,” you pant, breathless.

He fans hot breath on your skin. “Want me to fuck you here, baby? On my bench. Hmm?”

You’re fluttering, desperately to squeeze him—fingers or cock, you’re not in a frame of mind to be fussy.

Mind changing, singing, practically bellowing: please, please, fucking, please. Body thrumming, vibrating, legs desperate to shake—if not for the fact they’re keeping you upright. Your fingers find a place on his bench, digging, barely making a mark against the rest on his workbench. But it’s stable, rigid.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, softer, dripping it into your ear like honey—all encased in air that seeps inside of you and makes you forced to chase his lips.

It’s against them you say please. Kissing a y, an e and a s against his mouth, licking past his teeth, hips rocking into his fingers as he circles and circles and circles—

Then, nothing.

Retraction, emptiness. A desperate whine emerges, rising from the back of your throat until it fuses with the air.

An explanation almost demanded, but his belt buckle undoing silences you. His clothed cock presses against you, feeling how hard he is, the size of him making you clench your thighs as cool air kisses the back of your legs when he grabs a fist full of your dress.

“Gonna get rid of these.”

It’s deft, his finger—hooking in the band of your panties as he drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, letting it fall the rest of the way as the fabric finds a home around your ankles. For a moment they just remain there, not entirely confident you can step out of them until he holds you steady, talks you through it:

One foot, then the other. That's it, baby.

Because your body is on auto-pilot, doing things for you, for him. Like parting your thighs as his hand rests on your back as he softly urges you down. Your forearms find the bench, hingeing at the waist, lying your chest flat on his bench, sawdust filling your nose and stitching itself into the upper part of your dress as you turn your head, flakes sticking to your cheek.

And for a moment, an expanse of time, you forget how to breathe, how to be, where you are as you stare at him.

This man, this person who one day you didn’t know and the next you did—is now yours, all yours. Mine, he’d said in bedsheets after the conversation in the kitchen. Like that you’re mine, Rainy. A man you trust, like, lov—

Frankie, who is all handsome, broad and fucking kind, is now looking at you as if you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to devour in his life. Do it, you silently plead, beg, metaphorically getting on your knees as he washes you in almond-brown eyes.

He’s a sight you couldn’t have ever made up, least of all this one. Fingers, thick—one wrapped in a bandaid—pulling down on the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes, casting half of him in a shadow that makes you almost moan. There’s just the tip of his nose, just his mouth on show, lips spread and curled into a smirk as he lines his cock at your entrance.

You sure? He asks, fingers brushing over your hip, keeping the fabric back, as you smile, nod, and whisper for him to make you feel good before he eases the head of his cock in. It's then your mouth parts around a silent cry of his name, pussy welcoming each inch of him, opening, as you let him slide all he wants to give.

“Know you can take me,” he hushes, “I’m good at measurements, calculations—“

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, you like that.”

Whining his name, he smirks. Because both the feel of him and the act is something you couldn’t have ever concocted. Fuck, a year ago you wouldn’t believe the person you are either. Not this confident being almost laid down on his workbench, feeling this good, this attractive, all bold—asking for this, for what you want. No flicker of shyness or nervousness.

Then there’s him. A sight your mind is struggling to process. Frankie with his teeth glistening with spit as he stares down at you, as he sweeps that burning gaze over you and grunts at the feel of you. One hand, large, slightly calloused, finding meaning on your waist, the other holding your dress up your spine, pressing down, light, but firm—don’t move, baby, stay still.

As if you ever would.

The stretch is welcomed, a dull ache answered, all buried to the hilt. Remaining there, still.

“Move, please—fuck, Frankie, I beg of you.”

He chuckles. A low laugh.

But he does, pulling out before driving back in, making your vision swim, blur. It all overwhelming. Both the sensation and everything else—scents, sounds and touch. His hips slowly moving, his belt buckle clanging and it’s easier to find yourself draped over the bench, cheeks on the wood, inhaling it—the scent that lives in his clothes, in his fingers and aura.

Frankie, just Frankie. Your Frankie—

“So g—fuck—good for me.”

Your fingers dig, grasp—his cock kissing that spot inside of you that forces your toes to curl in your shoes, your mouth managing half of his name before it fades to a moan. All breathy, doused in whimpers and yes’s falling in a verse that leads to a chorus.

“Feel so—oh, good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

“Perfect. Feel perfect.”

He moans—low, tinged in a grunt, a hiss, your name etched somewhere in the sound—as he pulls almost all the way out, drawn out, an emptiness beginning to register before he thrusts in. Somehow deeper, somehow filling you more perfectly as you squeeze your grip on the bench.

And you’re close, all light and boneless—but heavy and alive, so alive you feel like fire courses in your veins and you could become more flame than a person.

“Come for me, baby. Right on my bench—fuck, you feel good, so tight—need y’to come. Right here.”

And it crashes against you, all of it. Suddenly unable to smell a thing, hear a thing—you just feel. Feel the sensation of just him and the tip of him hitting that spot which makes you arch as pleasure, all blinding and molten lava rushes through your blood, and flows into your muscles.

All numb and yet tingly.

It takes a moment, but your senses come back one by one, panting, breathless—muscles tired and depleted—as you feel his hips stuttering, the strained noises from behind forcing your eyes open.

He’s a picture, a work of art—a statue that should be carved by someone with talent. Sun streaks in and basks him in a golden hue, illuminating that heart patch on his jaw—the way his tongue is pinned between pearly white teeth, and the vein in his neck throbs angrily as he reaches his own climax.

You clench, aware of it, ogling and admiring pushing him over the edge as he curses, tensing, rigid, pace lost as he spills inside of you, happily taking it all, wishing to wring him dry and ensure he’s empty. Greedy, desperate and fucking needy.

Before his body finds refuge on top of yours, heart hammering against your spine—hat falling, tumbling off onto the floor as the two of you catch your breaths. His hand finds your cheek, stroking his thumb against it.

“Never… I’ve never done that before.”

Smiling, you gaze at him as best as you can. “I like how you drill,” you say, playfully, feeling his laugh rumble through him before he kisses your hairline.

It’s light—perfect.

Feeling the laugh bounce from bone to bone inside of you before he turns and eases you up, chest to chest, murmuring against your lips about a shower, about cleaning you up. And you keep smiling, even more so when he checks your chin and cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing over and over.

“You promised me I wouldn’t get messy.”

Thumb pausing on your cheek, he smirks. “I can clean you up, baby?”

Smirking, you shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “How are you planning on doing that?”

He tilts his head, before slowly grasping the bench, descending to his knees. Your mouth unable to stop itself from falling open, all wide, surprised as he presses a kiss to your knee.

“Might want to hold onto something, baby,” he says, writing it against your inner thigh. “Might take me a minute to make sure you’re all cleaned up.”

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while we still have some more chapters of these two, I've been experimenting with a few things and while it won't have any bearing on the main series, there will be some smutty-one-shots that can be read as and when, and if so people wish. they won't require reading of the series, but rather allow anyone to enjoy two people who are becoming comfortable with one another, exploring a few different things. i'm not sure on when the first will be out, but it won't replace normal uploads for them. but rather just be small little things i'd love to include but would feel shoe-horned into my plan. also if there's anything you'd love a bit more of, whether it's a bit more on rainy/frankie or their relationship, my inbox is always open. thank you for letting these pair into your heart.

[blacklunardice]

Request: I really loved the artist darling headcannons for Wade Wilson. Could you maybe do headcannons for Wade were he kidnaps his s/o and they constantly try to escape and tell him they hate him when he asks why? Like would he punish them or something and how?

✦Constantly Escaping✦

Warning(s): Post Kidnapping, Mentions of Punishment

Escaping Wade is 50/50 in terms of success, but the majority of the time he manages to catch you before you get too far. He finds it...fun seeing what plans you come up with. Of course, he doesn't treat your attempts as seriously as other yanderes would. He laughs it off, poking fun at you for how silly you are before taking you back inside the safe house. "Let's get back inside now, pookie." He would probably say while princess carrying you.

The man is a trained mercenary, so it's not that difficult to hunt you back down. So he takes everything in stride to your annoyance (probably, depending on you). If that wasn't bad enough, he skips over to your body lying on the floor after he just tripped you up with whatever (after another attempt). He'd sit right next to you, ask how was your time this attempt, and literally point out the mistakes you made during your escape. He won't really do anything drastic as punishment. He's pretty lenient when it comes to you, but he just doesn't want to hurt you. That's a line he wouldn't cross because he'd hate himself if you ever got hurt. By someone else's hands or his own.

Punishments with Wade are pretty simple; like disciplining a child. He'd either keep you in the room for you (until the time was up or when he got impatient/lonely and wanted your presence again) or take away any 'privileges' you have in this situation. He doesn't seem angry. Maybe a little annoyed in a playful sense, but not mad. However, despite his casual and jokester demeanor, he takes your attempts into consideration. Just in case.

I don't think he'd ask why you're trying to escape right away. It takes a while and certain buttons are being pushed to actually hit a nerve/get him to act serious. In this scenario, you'd probably just say you hate him in a moment of frustration or to get under his skin. Or in another, he'd just throw the question in the air without much weight to it and you'd answer with that. Either way, after hearing your words, he pauses for a moment. It's the first time where he's... at a loss for words. For a moment, it scares you a little.

That is until he goes back to talking and making jokes; brushing off your words. Despite that, a part of him was hurt by your words. Did you really mean that? Even with the way he presents himself to the world, Wade still has insecurities and fears. He tries to push the questions, doubts, and thoughts away. He couldn't think like that. Still, he needs to put them to rest in some way. Which is where his next actions will go.

He brings things from your old home. Even the bed you used to sleep in. You couldn't even begin wondering how in the world he was able to pull this off, especially with the vague answers he gave. This is his attempt to make things more comfortable for you. "You have such a comfy bed, you know. Gave it a test run; I couldn't resist. Like jumping on one of those beds at the mall." Wade already knew where you lived way before he kidnapped you. He smacks himself on the head for not considering bringing any of your belongings. "Of course! It was obvious from the start!"

This is essentially Wade's way of keeping you happy. Your happiness is his happiness. He'd hate to see you all depressed since your personality and smile are what he fell for. You becoming a husk of yourself would break his heart. So he's doing this for compensation.

[loquora]

I'd like to take a couple of minutes to talk about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writers Month) and their terrible, very bad, no good stance on genAI (generative artificial intelligence) and why I won't be writing anything for this challenge again.

I'm very aware that I am an active and vocal genAI hater. But I am willing and open to hear about positive and useful things LLMs (large language models) can do. There are valid scientific uses for the technology and some really fascinating medical and academic breakthroughs that come from LLMs. But the use of genAI in creative writing context is complete bullshit.

Come with me for the breakdown.

The first part of their statement:

NaNoWriMo has made it clear they are not just tolerating genAI in their month long writing challenge, but that those of us who don't are 'classist' and 'ableist' because we don't.

The post was later amended with a list of reasons why they make each of those claims. We'll start from the top.

GenAI uses the technology in a way that is morally, ethically and environmentally bankrupt. See, all LLMs have to train on something. When you're using it to, say, detect cancers you can feed it images of cancer scans so that it builds up a dataset of what those look like to predict future scans. But when you want to generate text, images and video you have to feed it text, images and video. Those things came from people, actual people and actual artists who overwhelmingly did not agree to train anything with their work and can no longer wrest their work from the machine now that it's been stolen from them.

It also isn't 'intelligent' at all, considering it has that word in the name. Think of genAI like an alien learning our language with absolutely no frame of reference for what it's learning. It can predict that the letters "w-e" and "c-a-n" often come after the letters "y-e-s" because the phrase "yes we can" will come up often in training data, it's a common phrase. But it doesn't actually understand what any of those words MEAN. Just that they often follow one another so that when prompted it will, statistically, try put those letters and words together again.

So when it comes to actually writing or responding to prompts what you're getting is the most likely outcome based on a massive amount of data input. It is not actually giving you feedback on what your writing looks like, it's giving you the most statistically possible response based on input. It's fake feedback, a thousand other feedbacks crammed together and extruded into a goo that looks and sounds like feedback but is actually meaningless. ChatGPT doesn't understand your writing sample anymore than a phone tree understands your anger and desperation when you continue to say "OPERATOR" as clearly as you can to try to get through to a real human. Both understand you input a word and will output based on that, but context, emotions, cultural mores etc. are all beyond it.

This is why AI is so absurdly shitty at things like math, counting letters in words and identifying words that start with the same letter. It's mashing together a million math problem answers betting on the likelihood that statistically someone has already answered that question enough times in the training data that it can spit the correct answer out at you.

TLDR: If you're using genAI to get feedback on your writing you're not actually getting feedback on your writing at all, but the most statistically probable set of words that relate to feedback. So right off the bat the idea that genAI is going to help you be a better writer is just flat wrong. It doesn't know how to write, it doesn't even know how many Rs are in the word 'strawberry'.

Second point has the same issues as the first:

I actually agree with them on the point that if your brain doesn't handle certain writer activities well it's perfectly okay to use an outside source for help with it. GenAI isn't actually helping you be a better writer, though; it can't. It doesn't understand anything you write nor can it provide meaningful feedback when it's just spitting out statistically probably words to you based on your input. So while the point here is actually good on the surface, the solution of using genAI to help people who have trouble with certain aspects of writing is still not correct.

The final point:

Again, this is a very good point... if it wasn't being made in conjunction with a defense of generative AI WHICH DOES NOT HELP OR SOLVE THIS ISSUE. In fact, because of the known issues of bias in how genAI LLMs are built they can make issues for marginalized writers worse.

I genuinely have no idea how this very true paragraph about people who are routinely pushed out of traditional writing spaces is helped by genAI. Their entire point thus far seems to be that genAI is a 'cheap' alternative to some traditional writing aids but considering genAI doesn't work like that it's all dead in the water as far as I'm concerned.

If NaNoWriMo was actually concerned with solving these access issues to things they consider critical to writing in general, why not offer a place for real people to read and critique one another on their platform? There are myriad other technological solutions that don't cost huge amounts of water AND actually help aspiring writers!

All of this to say that you should write for yourself, write what you enjoy and get better the same way generations of people before you have: by reading other people's work, talking to and exchanging time with other authors and writing and rewriting in your own words until you're satisfied.

Wasting water asking genAI to do things for you that would make you a better writer to do yourself or with trusted allies is just that, a waste.

[lyvhie]

after last night | dong sicheng

actor!sicheng x actress!reader (+18 mdni)

summary: acting alongside your rival was supposed to be just another one of the competitions you play out in your mind, but after a brief heated moment between the two of you, you began to question your true feelings toward him.

a/n: @winwintea..... i'm finally here, pookie.... im like, so so so so so sorry it took sooooo long for me to finally finish this. but i put a lot of love care blood sweat and tears on it, i hope you like it, if you dont, then ill disappear from earth and no one will ever see me again 😫

cw: smut, fluff, more of one-sided rivals to situationship, alcohol mention and consumption, fingering, edging, unprotected sex.

with a frustrated huff, you sank into the chair, allowing the makeup artist to work their magic. the studio was filled with an almost tangible tension, as everyone seemed to expect a blow-out fight between you and sicheng at any moment.

it’s been a constant issue since the start of filming this drama. working on the same project as your long-time rival sicheng has made every day stressful, the constant tension and friction have made filming the drama a more difficult and uncomfortable experience for everyone involved.

the undeniable chemistry between you and sicheng on camera despite the constant tension backstage has led to the difficulty of finding another pair to match your on-screen chemistry. as the main characters of the drama, the romantic aspect of the show requires a certain level of connection and synchronization that only you two seem to possess, as ironic as it may sound.

but today, the prolonged shoot further strained everyone on the set, not only due to the physical exhaustion, but also the weight of the tense atmosphere that loomed over everyone. the frustration and fatigue were palpable, and the constant back and forth between you and sicheng only added to the mounting pressure.

the problem was the dreaded kissing scene. despite everyone’s expectations, you and sicheng can’t do it — and unfortunately, you’re the only one to blame. every time the distance between your faces closes, you instinctively pull away, much to everyone’s frustration.

“um, excuse me,” the staff member poked her head into the dressing room and announced, "the director said it's getting late, and it would be best to continue tomorrow, so… everyone is dismissed for today,” she gave a small, apologetic smile before closing the door gently.

"of course this would happen," you mutter under your breath, trying to contain your frustration. you dismiss the makeup artist with a polite nod, then tilt your head back in irritation as you let out a heavy sigh.

“can you please calm down a little, boss?” your assistant, haneul, places a cup of hot chocolate in front of you and steps into your view, her voice gentle as she pleads with you.

you glare at her and snap, "don't ask me to calm down when i’m perfectly calm, haneul,” grabbing the drink, you take a big sip before continuing. "dong sicheng is such an idiot.”

haneul lets out a deep sigh, rolling her eyes at your response. "he might be an idiot, but you're not much better when you act like this all the time," she says, crossing her arms. "just suck it up, get the scene done, and then you can go back to hating each other."

her firm words cause you to flinch, and you allow your shoulders to drop, acknowledging her point. you're aware that you've been more irritating than usual lately, and her straightforward approach hits home.

you sigh, slumping into the chair and admit, "i know, i know. i'm sorry. i'm just in a really bad mood today. everything is going wrong, and sicheng... i just want to punch that annoying face of his so bad.”

haneul couldn't help but chuckle, her eyes crinkling in amusement as they watched you scrunch your face like you had just tasted something sour.

"you two should get a room," her tone was playful, yet there was an underlying suggestion in her voice that betrayed her mischievous thoughts.

"what?!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with disbelief and shock, you were offended even. the mere thought of having something like that with sicheng gave you the creeps.

haneul continued with a sly smile on her face, her tone now tinged with a hint of amusement, "i’m just saying," she began, "that we can all see the tension between you two. it's like you're just waiting for the moment to pounce on each other."

"is that your way of asking to be fired, huh?" your eyebrows raising slightly out of disbelief. "cut the nonsense – where the hell did you even get that idea?" you shook your head, dismissing the absurd thought, clearly annoyed by your friend's outlandish assumption.

haneul just laughed even more, enjoying the reaction from you. she had always assumed that deep down, you were only pretending to hate sicheng, because she could sense that there was secretly something more than just dislike. the imaginary game you played in your mind, of trying to outshine each other, was something she thought had made the actual attraction to him more intense.

"yeah, you can keep telling yourself that, boss," she placed her hands on your shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. "but your bad mood would improve a lot if you just let him hit it.”

haneul was caught off guard as you suddenly grabbed the pillow from your lap, not having enough time to react. she grunted as the pillow hit her face with a soft thud. she stumbled back, rubbing her face where the pillow made contact, failing to hide her giggle and act offended.

she was about to continue with her tease when the sound of the door opening interrupted her, as if a greater force was saving her from provoking your wrath even further.

"sorry to interrupt," sicheng's deep voice reached your ears, his gaze fixing on you with a small raise of his eyebrows. he was the last person you wanted to see. "are you free right now?"

“for you?”

“mhm.”

“then no.”

sicheng let out a deep sigh in response, already expecting this reply from you. your name came out of his lips with a different, pleading tone compared to the annoyed one he had used for you all day.

"i’m serious," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of sincerity. "we need to talk, please?"

you were usually a stubborn person, but perhaps today you were simply too drained and the memory of haneul's words from before suddenly echoed in your mind, reminding you that maybe making things difficult wasn't always the right way to go, you knew you had already caused enough trouble.

so with a reluctant sigh, you relented, “fine,” your tone slightly annoyed. “what is it?” you gestured for haneul to give you some space alone with him and she immediately made her way to the door, despite her curiosity about what you would talk.

sicheng moved closer, taking a seat in front of you. you expected him to bring up the topic of the messed-up records and give you his usual sweet and annoying words of reassurance, mentally prepared to roll your eyes and respond with snark.

"i've noticed how stressful it was for you today," he started, his tone sympathetic. "and since this is your first romantic role, i've been thinking about what i could do to make this process easier for you. then, i realized the solution was right in front of us.”

you raised an eyebrow skeptically, not liking where this was going.

“we just need to practice,” he smiled.

"you're saying we should practice... kissing?"

“exactly!”

“absolutely not.”

his smile faded away instantly.

he let out a slight whine, trying to persuade you to comply. "oh, come on," he pleaded, "don't be like that now.”

“i said no. this is so stupid, sicheng,” you crossed your arms, looking away from him.

“why are you making such a big deal out of this?" even though he already knew that acting like this was part of your nature, he still asked.

you felt overwhelmed at the thought of having to kiss him on set even more, let alone practicing it multiple times. it was already a challenge for you, and you were unsure if you could handle it.

you responded with a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay it. "i’m not making a big deal out of it," you said dismissively. "i just think this idea is stupid. that’s all."

"have you thought about something better then?" he asked, his tone tinged with a slight annoyance. “there's no way we can keep going with the show if you don't overcome this problem." his eyebrows furrowed as he continued, "you know we'll have to perform even more 'spicy' scenes in the future, right?”

ugh... of course you know. you were already starting to regret your stupid decision to accept a show for a mature audience just to compete with sicheng.

“and i fear they might replace you for this scene," he continued, his tone serious. "not that it's a problem per se, but i know you don't like stunts.”

his words made you flinch a little. it’s not that you dislike stunts themselves, you actually think they are pretty cool and that their work is impressive. you just don't like the idea of not seeming capable of doing your own work, and feeling inadequate when you know you're so skilled in it. it leaves you feeling disconcerting.

overwhelmed? unsure if you could handle it? regretting your role choice? replaced by a stunt double? bullshit! you were a top-notch actress, and a simple kiss wouldn't change that. you had the skills and confidence to tackle any role thrown your way.

sicheng knew he had struck a chord as he observed your expression. he knew well that bringing out your competitive side would effectively motivate you. the slight frown that appeared on your face, coupled with the defeated sigh and the rolled eyes, only confirmed his assumption that he had achieved his goal.

“okay, let's do that.”

hah.

he got you.

haneul couldn't resist making suggestive remarks toward you upon hearing that she could leave first because you had things to do with sicheng. it wasn't until you played the "threaten-her-paycheck" card that she finally decided it was time to head home.

now it was just you and sicheng in the studio. as you stood leaning against the table set for the scene, your eyes briefly skimmed over the script once more. you knew that it wasn't to ensure you did it right, but rather to prolong the inevitable moment of kissing him.

“are you done?” sicheng's voice cut through your thoughts, prompting you to lift your head and meet his gaze. he stood a short distance away, his arms crossed in a manner that signaled his patient but slightly impatient attitude.

as you cleared your throat, a subtle attempt to buy a little more time, you glanced back down at the script. "almost," you replied, keeping your gaze fixed on the paper. "i just need to read through it one more time."

but contrary to what you insisted on saying, sicheng wasn’t an idiot.

a flicker of surprise crossed your face as sicheng abruptly grabbed the papers from your hands and tossed them aside. the unexpected move caught you off guard, and before you could react, he had placed his hands on either side of the table, effectively cornering you.

“what are you doing?” your frown deepened as he leaned closer, his body nearly touching yours. the proximity making it difficult to ignore the rapid thuds of your heart and keep your feigned annoyance.

“you needed time," he said, "and i think i've given you enough."

"don't be an idiot," you scoffed. “we need to re—”

“we're not here to rehearse the lines," he interrupted you quickly. "we both know you can recite this backward by now."

you couldn't argue with sicheng's words, he was right; there wasn't a need to play the entire scene when you could easily jump straight to the main part.

you had been attempting to buy time, and sicheng had allowed you some grace in doing so. but he had finally reached a point where enough was enough. there was no escape now.

"alright," you responded with a confident gaze, your expression indicating a readiness to proceed. sicheng's brow twitched slightly at your response, a subtle sign that he was either surprised or intrigued by your sudden change.

his agreement followed swiftly:

"great."

“great.”

with those simple lines, the stage was set.

you were in the correct position, just as the script dictated. in this moment, the male lead had devised a plan to kiss the girl, saying that her wishes would only come true if she kissed him, and he had locked her in the exact position where sicheng was holding you now.

all it needed was the pivotal moment — the kiss.

sicheng's hand cupped your face once more, replicating the same intimate gesture as before. the familiar sensation of his thumb on your cheek triggered the erratic beating of your heart.

you reassured yourself, attributing the sudden rush to the invested nature of your role. easy now, easy, you thought, repeating the mantra in your mind. it was only natural for your heart to race in this moment due to the intimacy required by the character you were portraying — that’s all.

as he leaned even closer, your instinct to push him away resurfaced once more. yet, you resisted the urge, your hands tightly grasping the edge of the table instead.

sicheng's eyes roamed over your lips, and you caught yourself replicating the action unknowingly. those plump lips of his were undeniably inviting, and it was challenging to deny the magnetic attraction you felt.

his lips caressed yours gently and softly, their subtle touch sending a shiver down your spine. the script called for a quick, chaste kiss, and that's precisely what you received as his lips pressed against yours. it was a brief moment, but it was enough to make your legs tremble in response.

ok, first part done. now comes the rest.

with a swift, fluid motion, sicheng leaned in for a second kiss, his hands cupping your face as his thumb subtly guided your chin downwards. you felt your lips part instinctively, granting him access to explore the depths of your mouth with his warm, skilled tongue.

you know, there's no such thing as a "technical kiss" in acting.

you either kiss, or you kiss.

it has to be real.

that's why you were so reluctant before because, right now, only god knows how much you are enjoying this. and no matter how much you triy to deny it, the way your tongue move against his is proof enough.

you found your hands reaching out to grasp his shirt, pulling him closer as you responded to the kiss with a new sense of eagerness.

sicheng was surprised. this wasn't in the script at all. now it seemed like you were just... making out.

not that he's complaining. he likes it.

he very, very much likes it.

as if they had a life of their own, his hands found the hem of your shirt, playing with the cloth for a few moments before sliding them under your clothes. his fingers came into contact with your skin, caressing it gently and making you shiver slightly.

and then, walking a little further, his hand trailed down to the waistband of your pants, sneaking into your panties. the gasp that escaped your lips served as a jolt to your consciousness. quickly, you broke the kiss and grasped his wrist, preventing any further advancements from him.

you locked eyes with sicheng, both of you panting. his hooded eyes, slightly flushed face, and his swollen, reddened lips were a sight to behold.

sicheng's voice, soft and low, echoed softly, asking, "what?" just as he leaned in for another kiss. you almost, almost gave in, your lips yearning to meet his, but you fought the urge, tilting your head back to avoid it.

you pushed him away quickly, fixing your slightly disheveled clothing while attempting to regain composure. your voice trembled a little as you speak.

"i think we did pretty good already. it's getting late too." you hastily handed him the studio keys before adding, "um, thank you for the practice. you can close up. see you tomorrow!" with those words, you hurriedly made your way towards the exit.

things happened so fast that sicheng barely seemed to process what was going on.

"hold on, wait!" his voice rushed after you, trying to catch up. "calm down," he called out, his words coming out quickly. "you didn't come by car today, did you? let me drive you home, i just need to—”

"no! it's fine,” you shook your head adamantly, cutting him off. "i can catch a taxi. thanks anyway.”

and just like that, you left, running away like a cat while closing the door in sicheng's face. the man let his shoulders fall and sighed loudly as he looked at the closed door in front of him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“cute”.

you haven't slept a wink all night.

the scene from the previous night replaying in your mind along with haenul's damned words like a broken record.

no. you do not want to fuck dong sicheng.

this is what you've been repeating in your mind since the moment you got up from your bed until the entire drive to the studio.

he's a bad kisser.

he's terrible.

that was the worst kiss you've ever had.

learning how to kiss with an orange would be better than this.

that's what you repeated in your mind as he kissed you again, but this time in front of the cameras. and you still had to tell yourself that it was your character who was enjoying it, not you. you definitely don't want to take him to a secluded place and make out until your mouth are sore. no.

"and... cut!" the director's voice rang out, followed by a chorus of applause. everyone on set was thrilled with how effortlessly the scene had come together, a stark contrast to the tension-filled atmosphere that had enveloped it lately. the air was charged with positivity, making it clear that this was the best mood the set had experienced since the project's inception.

despite the apparent positive change in the atmosphere, it was clear that there was something... different going on, for lack of a better word, between you and sicheng.

suddenly, you weren't bickering anymore and were even being uncharacteristically polite, thanking and apologizing for the smallest minor matters, which wasn't like your usual self at all.

everyone noticed this, but decided to just accept it as a positive development in the co-workers' feelings between you. at least, it was better than all that tension from before.

as haenul handed you a bottle of water, her words echoed with admiration. "wow," she exclaimed, "that was like, the best kiss scene i’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“oh, really?” you laughed a little awkwardly, your eyes briefly darted towards sicheng, who stood on the opposite side of the room. as your gaze met his, you hastily averted your eyes, taking a sip of water.

"of course! this episode will be an absolute banger; everyone has been waiting for this!" she nodded fiercely and continued. "i've been checking the social media, and..." her words were met with your inattentiveness, as if your mind was preoccupied elsewhere. "and you're not listening to me!" she furrowed.

"oh, sorry about that," you shook your head, snapping back to attention. "i got distracted for a moment. you were saying…?”

haenul's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized you momentarily, following your gaze to where sicheng stood on the other side of the room.

"did you and sicheng finally hook up last night?"

you nearly choked on your water, coughing as you fumbled with the bottle in your hand. your assistant quickly patted your back, trying to help you recover.

once you were fine again, you glanced around nervously to check if anyone had overheard, then turned back to haenul with a sharp glare.

“can you stop blurting stuff like that?!” you hissed at her.

haenul gasped dramatically. “oh my god! you totally did it!”

“i did not!” you snapped, lightly smacking her arm.

“but something happened between you two!” she insisted, her voice dropping to a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear after the scolding. “you’re acting all weird around him. if it wasn’t sex, then what was it?”

“is that seriously the only reason you can think of?” you replied, your tone edged with disbelief. “when did you turn into such a pervert?”

“i mean, you were obviously kissing for real earlier, and now we’re finishing the day without your usual sulking. after spending the night alone with him, what else am i supposed to think?”

you frowned at her explanation. “well, maybe that we’ve become, i don’t know… friends?” haneul looked at you as if you’d just told her the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “pff. yeah, right. friends. sure,” she said, shaking her head.

before you could even attempt to explain that she was partially wrong, everyone’s attention shifted to the director as she clapped her hands to speak.

“since we’ve successfully wrapped up the first part of our series — thanks to everyone here in the studio who made it happen, especially our two stars,” she gestured toward you and sicheng, “doesn’t this call for a celebration? drinks on me for everyone!”

her words were met with cheers from the crew, and even you felt a sense of relief. a good dose of alcohol might help clear your mind, especially since you knew sicheng wasn’t exactly a fan of these kinds of social gatherings.

“we’re going, right, boss?” haneul asked, clasping her hands together in mock prayer. “please, please, it’s the weekend!”

“yes, haneul, we are,” you said, rolling your eyes with a chuckle. “but don’t overdo it, okay? i’m not in the mood to hear you sobbing your heart out while singing sad songs on karaoke again.”

“yes, boss! I’ll treat it like a work meeting,” she replied with a playful salute. “i’ll grab your things so we can head out!” she added enthusiastically before dashing out of sight.

you took a deep breath, relishing the brief moment of solitude. sometimes, it felt hard to breathe with haneul’s constant energy. she could be... intense. but the peace didn’t last long.

“i didn’t know you drink,” sicheng’s voice came from behind, making you turn to face him. “you used to hate the taste of alcohol.”

honestly, you were tired of seeing his face and hearing his voice more than usual. you didn’t like the way it made you feel, not after what happened. it was as if you were suddenly too aware of the strange, tangled emotions brewing inside you.

“well, a lot has changed since our younger days,” you shrugged, your voice casual. you didn’t feel like diving into it any further. “now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to socialize,” you said, turning on your heels, eager to escape the uncomfortable moment.

“i agree. let’s not keep them waiting,” he replied, his footsteps closing in behind you. you froze in your tracks, his sudden presence unsettling.

“you’re coming too?” you asked, confused.

“of course,” he said with a soft chuckle. “you heard the director, can't have the stars missing out."

“but… you don’t like social events,” you said, your tone almost questioning, as if you were trying to figure him out.

“well,” he said with a small smile, “a lot has changed since our younger days.”

it was awful.

you had been hoping for some space from sicheng, but it seemed like life had other plans. you tried to find a seat as far away from him as possible, but he followed, completely at ease, as if he had no intention of leaving your side. and of course, the table quickly filled up, leaving you both sitting side by side, while you anxiously awaited the drinks.

the mood at the table was light, everyone chatting away. haneul took a seat on the other side, eager to be closer to the staff she was interested in, which meant you wouldn’t be on her radar for a while.

you turned your attention to sicheng as he exchanged a few words with the director, and suddenly, it hit you: why were you freaking out about him? it was just a kiss. a brief, heated moment between two adults that didn’t mean a thing. there was no reason for you to keep acting so weird about it all day. after all, he was still sicheng, your rival. you just happened to kiss him.

sure, a few other things almost happened, too, but... it didn’t mean anything. you were just practicing, after all. yeah. you weren’t affected by it. not even a little. mhm.

you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you made these sharp observations, feeling a bit more at ease.

“why are you looking at me like that?” sicheng raised an eyebrow, noticing the way you were smiling at him, as if you were staring at someone who’d just failed a basic math test.

“nothing, it’s just too much for your mind to handle,” you waved your hand dismissively, taking a sip of your drink that had just arrived. your words, along with the casual shrug, made him smile and shake his head.

“oh, i’m actually curious about something,” one of the co-actors began, snapping his fingers at you and the man beside you. “do you two really know each other from high school?"

sicheng’s face lit up at the question, clearly happy. then he looked at you, who wasn’t exactly sharing his enthusiasm, and his smile grew even wider. “yes! yes, we do. we were inseparable back then.”

you furrowed your brows at his words. “you mean you followed me around.”

“isn’t that basically the same thing?”

“it’s not."

“anyways,” he shrugged, “it was because of her that I started to get into theater.”

“and i’ve been regretting that ever since,” you added with a smirk.

a few giggles spread through the table at your playful banter, the lighthearted atmosphere catching everyone off guard. it was clear they were starting to see you both in a new light.

“so, all this time you were actually friends? and here we thought you didn’t get along when it’s just your way of showing friendship,” one colleague commented, raising a curious eyebrow.

“no, that’s not—”

“right? that explains why they have such great chemistry!” another colleague cut you off. “i mean, the kiss scene? that must’ve been awkward with a friend, but it probably makes it easier too, doesn’t it?”

“oh, it’s not that,” sicheng began. “it’s because last night we—”

a loud thud echoed as sicheng’s knee slammed into the table, his words cut off mid-sentence. he turned to you, confused, after you had stomped on his foot under the table.

“oops, how clumsy of me,” you said with a saccharine smile, your voice light but your eyes burning into his. “sorry about that.”

he blinked, clearly perplexed, but nodded slowly and turned back to the group. “anyway, as i was saying, we had a—”

this time, you pressed your heel down on his foot with deliberate force. he hissed in pain, snapping his head back toward you. but you didn’t even flinch, your gaze fixed ahead as if you were entirely innocent.

he narrowed his eyes slightly, then leaned closer, sliding a hand onto your thigh. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you from trying anything else. the sudden contact made you tense, and your head snapped toward him, your wide, confused eyes locking with his.

“we just had a little talk and came to an agreement,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and convincing.

“oh, that makes sense,” one of your colleagues hummed, nodding as if it all clicked. “that’s why everything worked out so well in the end. you should have done it since the beginning tho!”

sicheng’s words were deliberate, as if he’d sensed your discomfort from the start and had chosen his lie to protect the fragile truth you wanted to hide. but you couldn’t even focus on what he was saying anymore.

your mind was too preoccupied with his hand placement. his thumb was now tracing slow, deliberate circles on your thigh, hidden under the table. your stomach tightened at the warmth spreading through you, that annoying, fluttery feeling you wished you could suppress.

without a word, you picked up your drink and took a long, steady sip, as if the alcohol could somehow cool the heat in your chest.

god, this was going to be a long night.

oh, you were right.

after managing to wrangle sicheng into the passenger seat of your car, you slammed the door shut and made your way to the driver’s side.

sliding into your seat, you shot him an annoyed look, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

driving a drunk sicheng home was definitely not part of your plans for the night. but somehow, the crew had unanimously decided to throw him at you because, apparently, the two of you were now best friends. all because you shared some ancient history, and probably because he’d grown unusually clingy after a few too many drinks.

you tried to refuse, insisted that you didn’t want to be responsible for him, but they’d waved you off with the ultimate argument: you were the only one who knew his address.

fantastic.

“you stupid idiot,” you hissed, leaning over to fasten his seatbelt. “if you can’t handle alcohol, why did you even come?”

his eyes, half-closed and heavy with sleep, fluttered open as he turned his head toward you. “because you were coming too,” he slurred, his voice barely above a whisper. “i wanted to be with you.”

you froze, his words catching you completely off guard. your surprised gaze met his drunken one, and you hated how fast your heart was racing. this was absurd.

a small, lazy smile tugged at his lips as he murmured your name, so soft it almost sounded tender.

“you’re so pretty,” he mumbled, his head lolling slightly as he leaned closer. “i want to kiss you.”

to say you were malfunctioning from all this sudden talk was an understatement. the way he said it — soft, unguarded — made it far too tempting to close the small gap between you. for a split second, you almost gave in again. almost.

but with a sharp shake of your head, you snapped yourself out of it. instead of letting your lips meet his, you shoved your hand against his mouth and pushed him back firmly.

“as if i’d do something like that,” you scoffed, leaning back into your seat and starting the car.

from the corner of your eye, you caught the way he pouted, looking like a sulky child.

“you’re always so mean to me,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but unmistakably petulant.

“it’s your fault for being like that,” you shot back, your eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. “now shut up. i can’t focus on driving with your annoying voice in my head.”

“yes, ma’am,” he murmured softly, his tone almost obedient. he didn’t even try to argue, instead leaning back against the seat and drifting off to sleep. the car fell into silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the erratic pounding of your heart.

“god, i must be crazy,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as if it could steady your own thoughts.

the peaceful silence during the drive to his house was doing wonders to calm your racing thoughts and your heart. you kept repeating to yourself that he was just drunk, that his words didn’t mean anything. even you, who hadn’t had much to drink, were clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol.

that was the only explanation you could cling to, the only thing that brought you any comfort in the moment.

a relieved sigh escaped your lips as you parked in front of his apartment. the street was quiet, the dim glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows over the building. turning to him, you called out in a firm, loud voice.

“we’re here. wake up.”

no reaction. not even a flinch.

“sicheng,” you tried again, leaning over to tap his shoulder. still nothing.

“come on,” you grumbled, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a light shake. “wake up!”

absolutely no response.

with a growing sense of irritation, you grabbed both of his shoulders and shook him with all the frustration of someone at the end of their rope. “WAKE UP!”

but it was pointless. he remained blissfully asleep, the alcohol rendering him completely oblivious. you let out a defeated sigh, releasing him as he slumped back into his seat, and pinched the bridge of your nose.

this night just kept getting better.

you couldn’t just leave him passed out on the street — though you seriously considered the idea for a good few seconds. but, in the end, you had no choice but to do something you absolutely didn’t want to do.

“dong sicheng, you better be ready for your death sentence tomorrow,” you muttered through gritted teeth, adjusting his limp body onto your back. he was surprisingly heavy, and you were giving it everything you had to carry him while he, of course, enjoyed the sleep of his life, his soft breaths tickling the back of your neck.

staggering inside the building as quickly as you could, you headed straight for the elevator. you only knew exactly where he lived because, back when you were hunting for a new apartment, you’d toured this building. of course, you’d had the misfortune of running into him that day. sicheng had happily joined your tour, turning it into his personal showcase of his apartment. at least it made it easy to cross this building off your list.

reaching the elevator, you pressed the button, only to stop cold when you noticed the maintenance notice taped to the door.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, staring at the sign like it might change its mind.

sicheng lived on the 11th floor.

this was going to be a nightmare.

to sum up the nigh, believe it or not, you actually climbed the stairs to the 11th floor with sicheng slumped over your back. every step felt like a herculean effort, but you kept telling yourself this was the fastest way to be rid of him.

when you finally reached his door, breathless and drenched in sweat, life decided to have one last laugh at your expense. a keypad lock blinked back at you mockingly.

you stared at it, utterly defeated.

after a moment of recovery, you tried every password you could think of: his birthday, his acting debut date, his mom’s birthday, even your birthday. nothing worked. each failed attempt pushed you closer to a breakdown.

which is how you ended up here: sicheng sprawled out comfortably on your bed, snoring softly, while you stood there, glaring at him with the fury of someone who had well and truly hit their limit.

getting mad wouldn’t do you any good right now. it wasn’t like you could argue with someone who was completely knocked out. all you could do was accept the situation and leave it for the morning, when he’d hopefully be conscious enough to face the consequences.

taking a deep, calming breath, you laid down beside him. there was no way you were sleeping on the couch. too uncomfortable. and besides, the only reason he was in your bed to begin with was because the living room felt like it was miles away, and you absolutely refused to carry him any farther than you already had.

so here you were, stuck sharing a bed with dong sicheng.

“unbelievable,” you muttered, turning your back to him as if that would help you ignore the fact that he was there at all.

but it didn't take long for you to turn to look him, letting your eyes linger on his sleeping face. his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and his hair fell messily across his forehead, brushing against his soft features. you had to admit, he was ridiculously handsome. there was a princely air about him, something in the elegance of his delicate features that always seemed to catch your attention no matter how hard you tried to look away.

your gaze wandered, tracing the curve of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint lashes resting against his cheek. and then your eyes stopped on his lips, plump, rosy, and slightly parted.

you swallowed hard.

okay. maybe you wanted to kiss him again.

and maybe, just maybe, you could finally admit that the kiss had affected you far more than you’d been willing to let yourself believe.

your gaze drifted lower, trailing down the curve of his neck. the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, teasing you with a glimpse of his collarbone and the faint rise and fall of his chest. your eyes wandered further, catching on his hands, broad and elegant, resting lazily by his side.

your brows furrowed slightly as your mind betrayed you, flashing back to the feeling of those hands on your skin.

okay. maybe you wanted to fuck him too.

you quickly looked away, dragging a hand over your face before resting your arm across your eyes, as if that would block out the whirlwind of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

“god,” you muttered under your breath, “i must really be losing it.”

the shrill sound of your phone alarm jolted you awake, your face twisting in irritation as you blindly slapped around the bed. after a few failed attempts, your hand finally found the device buried under your pillow, and you silenced it with a hiss.

groaning, you kept your eyes shut and your head buried in the mattress, hoping to reclaim the comfort of sleep, but it was useless. letting out a defeated sigh, you blinked your eyes open and... froze.

the bed was empty.

you shot upright, the sudden absence snapping you fully awake. your eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of life. nothing. quickly, you got up and began pacing through your house.

sicheng was gone.

“you stupid bastard,” you hissed, gritting your teeth as a wave of disbelief hit you. “i even carried his dead weight all night for him to leave without so much as a thank you?!” your fists clenched as you let out an incredulous scoff. “dong sicheng, you are so damned.”

a small, frustrated scream left your lips as you stomped toward the bathroom. a nice, scalding shower, it was the only thing that could save both your sanity and sicheng's life at this point.

but, contrary to what you imagined, the bath only cleared your mind enough to make you even more irritated with the situation. it was an affront, an insult! you were going to make sicheng pay for this humiliation! a great outrage! you could already see your hands wrapped around his neck and—

a knock on the door cut through your murderous thoughts. taking a deep breath, you walked over to open it, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of the man you’d been cursing standing there with that infuriating smile.

freshly dressed and looking nothing like the disaster he’d been before, sicheng radiated ease. but you couldn’t care less about his annoyingly perfect face right now.

“i’m gonna kill you with my own two hands, so get ready,” you growled, stalking closer with your fingers curled as if ready to strangle him.

“hey, hey, calm down,” he said, laughing softly as he caught your wrists in his hands, his touch warm and steady. his smile grew wider, completely unfazed by your murderous intent.

"are you seriously asking me to calm down?" you snapped, attempting to push forward again, but he held your wrists tighter, his grip firm yet gentle.

"i know you're mad," he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your wrist. the warmth of his lips brushing your skin sent a jolt through you, your resolve faltering. disoriented, you found yourself staring at him, momentarily forgetting why you were even angry. "and i'm here to apologize, of course," he added, his tone dripping with sincerity, though that playful glint in his eyes made you suspicious.

"i climbed up and down eleven floors with you on my back," you managed to say, your voice carrying a hint of annoyance despite your disoriented state. his surprised expression told you everything: he didn’t remember half of what happened last night. "an 'i'm sorry' isn't enough to save your ass."

"i know," he nodded, resisting the urge to ask for a full recap. "which is why i already reserved a table for us at your favorite restaurant."

"what?" you blinked, confused. "how do you even know what my favorite restaurant is?"

"because i’m interested in you," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "any other reason would just be an excuse, don’t you think?"

your jaw nearly dropped. this was exactly what you liked and hated about him: he was always unapologetically sincere.

you stood there, at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond. but he, of course, didn't miss a beat and took your silence as an answer.

“then it’s settled!” he said with that all-too-confident smile. “let’s go.”

and once again, your silly heart betrayed you, too caught up in the moment to resist.

the place was near your house. it wasn’t anything extravagant, but it had its own charm. cozy, inviting, warm, it felt almost like a safe haven for you. a perfect find for your new place, tucked away from prying eyes.

“and that’s everything you put me through,” you finished recounting the events of last night to him, carefully omitting a few details, like the part where he said he wanted to kiss you or when you accidentally knocked his head on the door frame while trying to get him into your bedroom.

sicheng’s face turned a deep shade of red as he fanned himself with one hand, the other clutching his glass of water. he avoided your gaze for a moment, clearly embarrassed, before stealing a quick sip.

he only remembered bits and pieces of last night, but from what you described, it was worse than he had imagined. guilt settled heavily on his shoulders as he listened.

“i’m really so sorry,” he said, his voice soft and genuine, his wide, puppy-like eyes locking onto yours. “i’m not usually like this. i overdid it yesterday, and i caused you so much trouble. i’m sorry.”

you finished your meal, casually listening to his concerned words. honestly, seeing that guilty, almost childlike expression on his face was oddly satisfying. if you were being fair, dealing with him drunk wasn’t that bad, he was mostly well-behaved. but it was part of your nature to make a big deal out of things, especially when it came to him. besides, a free lunch at your favorite spot had done wonders to smooth over your irritation.

“you’re lucky i’m a very nice person,” you said, shrugging with a mock air of superiority. “i’ll accept all that and forgive you… this time.”

his shoulders relaxed, the tension visibly draining from his body. since the moment he woke up and found you sleeping soundly against his chest, he knew he had messed up. the guilt had weighed heavily on him, and he’d spent the entire morning running through a million different ways to make it up to you. seeing you willing to forgive him so easily was a relief he hadn’t expected.

“thank you,” he said softly, his gaze warm and sincere. “i promise i’ll be more careful next time.”

you raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing. “next time? you think there’s gonna be a next time?”

he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “okay, bad choice of words.”

you chuckled at his words, resting your chin on your palm as you leaned closer, a curious glint in your eyes.

“by the way,” you began casually, “you said a couple of funny things last night too.”

“hmm, really?” he raised his brows slightly, feigning ignorance while signaling the waiter for a dessert. “like what?”

“like going to the meeting just because i was going,” you replied, narrowing your eyes slightly, testing if his drunk words held any truth.

“oh, yeah,” he nodded nonchalantly, turning his attention back to you. “i heard you mention it, so i thought it’d be fun to tag along.”

“saying you're interested in me all of a sudden, still following me around like a lost puppy…” you trailed off, lips curling into a faint smirk. “do you have a crush on me or something?”

“what do you think?” he shot back, mimicking your posture as he leaned in, resting his chin on his palm, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“you know it’s stupid to answer a question with another question, right?” you gave him a bored look, but your tone was far from serious. “but if you do like me, i can only assume you’re a masochist.”

his laughter bubbled up before he could stop it, bright and genuine “what? i’m not a masochist! where is that coming from?”

“well, I’m not exactly nice to you,” you shrugged, feigning indifference. “like, I kinda hate you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“you do not hate me.”

“yes, i do?”

“no, you don’t.”

“yes, i do.”

“do you kiss everyone you hate?”

your smugness evaporated in an instant, replaced by embarrassment. “shut up,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair, refusing to meet his eyes as he grinned victoriously.

“now that this came up,” he tilted his head, studying you intently, “we never really talked about that, did we? you’ve been avoiding it all day, then i had that little… drunken incident, and we just never addressed it.”

“well, that’s because there’s nothing to talk about,” you shrugged, doing your best to sound casual and unaffected, even as your grip tightened slightly on your glass.

“hmm, is that so?” he clicked his tongue, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his tone turned teasing. “going through all that trouble to get me home safe, kissing me, sleeping all cuddled up on me… you know, i’m starting to think you’re the one who likes me.”

your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “excuse me?”

“oh, don’t look so shocked,” he chuckled, leaning forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand again. “i mean, actions speak louder than words, don’t they? and your actions…” he trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air as his grin widened.

“first of all, and most importantly, i did not sleep cuddling you,” you said, your tone sharp as if he’d just told you the worst joke of the century.

“oh? but you did,” he replied smoothly, nodding with absolute confidence. “when i woke up, you were hugging me like i was your favorite teddy bear or something.”

“i would never—”

“oh, our dessert, finally!” he interrupted, his face lighting up as the waiter placed the sweet tart on the table. “it looks delicious,” he added, completely shifting gears, as if your denial wasn’t the least bit convincing.

“are you seriously gonna end things like that?” you asked, disbelief heavy in your voice.

“here, say ‘aah,’” he said, raising a spoonful of pie toward your mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“i'm not doing it.”

“say aah.”

“i said i'm not.”

he didn’t budge, just kept looking at you with that infuriatingly cute and bright smile that you couldn’t seem to resist. with an exasperated sigh, you crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, turning your head away. but, of course, you leaned in slightly, opening your mouth just enough for him to slide the spoon past your lips.

your frown quickly softened into an expression of pure delight as the flavors burst on your tongue. the bittersweet tang of the strawberry, the velvety richness of the custard, and the flaky crust of the tart all mingled perfectly. you couldn’t help but sigh and hum in satisfaction. it was that good.

“now that’s a great reaction,” sicheng said, amusement dancing in his voice.

you raised a brow at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“besides the faces you make when you’re acting, this has to be one of the most charming expressions i’ve ever seen you make. and those little sounds you’re making? delightful,” he added with a teasing grin.

you nearly choked. “what is wrong with you?”

“i’m just being honest,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. “i want to see it again,” he said, holding out the spoon toward you. “open your mouth for me.”

“…no.”

“oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “do you really not want to?”

you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were the one with something wrong, because before you even realized it, you silently opened your mouth again, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

“hmm, so greedy.”

“by the way,” you glanced at him, who was walking beside you as you both made your way to your place. “why did you go home so early?”

“why? were you upset that my face wasn’t the first thing you saw in the morning?”

“forget i ever asked anything and just die for all i care.”

sicheng laughed at your annoyed expression. “it’s nothing much,” he shrugged. “i just couldn’t take you on a date smelling like alcohol, right? i wanted to apologize in nice clothes, at least.”

“this was not a date,” you said quickly, hoping to shut him down.

“yes, it was.”

“don’t even start,” you lifted a hand to stop him from going any further, making him laugh once again.

“here we are, safe and sound,” he said as you both stopped in front of your door.

you cursed yourself when you suddenly felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of the moment with him coming to an end. you wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with him, to be honest…

“finally, this infernal time beside you is over,” your words were at odds with your feelings as you looked at him.

“whatever you say, sweetie,” he responded with a fond smile.

it should be illegal for someone to look at you like that, your chest tightening at the soft, affectionate smile he gave you. you hated it. hated how his gaze made everything inside you stir, how it made your heart skip a beat against your will. you wanted to be angry, to push him away, but all you could do was stand there, feeling something you didn’t want to feel.

“you’ll burn a hole into me if you keep staring like that,” he teased, tilting his chin slightly as if silently telling you to come inside, and only then would he head home.

you couldn’t quite understand what had gotten into you when you cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. you just wanted to feel his lips again, even if just for a moment, just one more time, that would be enough.

sicheng was caught off guard, but didn’t pull away, letting you lead. you froze, eyes wide, your gaze meeting his.

“i-i’m sorry,” you muttered, suddenly feeling foolish. why had you kissed him just like that?

as you tried to step back, his hands locked around you, holding you steady. he gripped your waist, his eyes burning with desire.

“if you cling to me like this, all i can do is kiss you,” his voice was low, soft. “and that’s fine… if all you want is kisses,” he gave you a meaningful look.

if only kisses were enough to throw your mind and body into disarray… maybe you were greedy, as he’d said, but you weren’t satisfied.

“i want more…” you whispered, barely audible.

that was all he needed to hear before pulling you into another kiss, his tongue urgently invading your mouth as you responded with equal intensity.

you fumbled with the door handle, trying to opem it, while sicheng pushed you inside, never breaking the kiss. he closed the door behind you, his hands guiding you toward your room without hesitation, already knowing the way.

you both nearly stumbled as you hurriedly kicked off your shoes, chuckling against each other's lips. With a quick movement, sicheng laid you down on your bed, his lips trailing kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. his hands slipped under your shirt, gently caressing your skin.

"i can't believe we're doing this," you murmured, a soft whimper escaping you.

“i told you," he mumbled back, his lips sucking lightly on your skin, peppering the area with soft kisses to soothe you. “you like me.”

well, it's not like you're in any position to argue right now.

he wasted no time in pulling your shirt over your head, exposing your bare torso. “fuck, you're so hot,” he hissed, sucking on his bottom lip as he couldn't help but admire the sight of your hardened nipples, feeling his cock twitch inside his pants.

“stop staring and do something,” your needy voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he was quick to obey your words.

sicheng leaned down to wrap his lips around your breast, his warm, wet tongue swirling around your nipples and sucking hard. your toes curled at the sensation and you moaned softly as you closed your eyes, your fingers tangling in his hair.

as he continued his ministrations on your breasts, his hands found the waistband of your pants. you lifted your hips a little to help him pull them down along your lacy panties, kicking them to somewhere else.

you opened your eyes to look at him, feeling even wetter as you watched him sucking on your tits like he was having a feast. you held his face and made him release your breast, a soft 'pop' sound was heard as he pulled away, looking at you with half lidded eyes.

you shiver slightly as you feel the cool breeze hit your wet breasts, already missing the feeling of his warm tongue on you, but you really wanted to kiss him even more and that's exactly what you did as you pulled him up to attack his lips.

“you taste so good,” he groaned into your mouth, his hand caressing your inner thigh and squeezing it lightly to emphasize his words. his fingers moved up to find yoyr dripping pussy, sliding along your slit and coating his fingers with your juices. “so wet already, you were really waiting for this, huh?” he buried his face in your neck, smoothing your skin with kisses.

it was too embarrassing to admit it and it wasn't like you needed to since your body had been betraying you enough for quite some time now, so all you could do was move your hips down, trying to get his fingers inside you.

“oh, eager, aren’t we?” he teased, lifting his head to meet your gaze, his smirk growing as he noticed the way you bit your lip, your brows furrowed, and your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“please, don’t start teasing now,” you murmured, your voice soft but edged with a hint of urgency. you held back from saying anything too daring, not wanting to give him more fuel to prolong his playful torment.

he only chuckled softly, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek before capturing your lips again. this time, he didn’t hold back, finally giving you what you wanted.

a sharp intake of breath escaped your lips as he slid two fingers inside you, thrusting them steadily. he could feel your tight, warm heat clasping around his digits, letting him even more anxious to bury his cock deep inside you.

he began to rub soft circles on your clit with his thumb as he took your breast into his mouth again, the combined actions making you squirm beneath him and moan louder.

he curled and scissored his fingers inside you, soon feeling the way you clenched around them. "close already?" he asked as he raised his eyebrows, and your response was just a fierce nod followed by soft whimpers.

your confirmation made him withdraw his fingers and you whined almost in despair, feeling empty and unsatisfied as he wouldn't let you finish.

"calm down, princess," he lightly slapped your thigh. "i want you to cum on my cock, hm?" he kissed the tip of your nose as he finally got rid of his own clothes and quickly positioned himself between your legs. he collected some of your fluids to spread along his shaft, hard as a rock, twitching with need. "i'm gonna fill this pussy up so good,” he was as impatient as you, so he only teased your entrace with his tip and entered you slowly, grinding against your sensitive clit.

your hands gripped the sheets tightly as you felt him stretching you, filling up any remaining space in your pussy, while he groaned and closed his eyes, enjoying the way your pussy gripped him tightly as if it never wanted to let him go.

"god, you feel so good," he began to thrust his hips against your pelvis slowly, he could feel your tight heat enveloping him, pulling him deeper. one of his hands gripped your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you. "that's it, taking me so well," he encouraged, his pace slow and steady, letting you feel every inch of him.

he’s played with you a lot already, so it didn’t take long for you to feel your climax building again, and he seemed to notice it as he picked up the pace, leaning down to bury his face in your neck.

“cum for me, baby,” he bites you gently and pull away from your neck to watch your face, using his fingers to pinch your clit and bring you to the edge. wrapping your legs around his waist, your breath hitched in your throat as you clenched around him, feeling the knot in your stomach unravel as you creamed his cock.

he wasn’t that far behind you, the whole intense moment was enough to bring him to the edge too, he kept pounding into you and pulled out just in time to empty himself, covering your stomach with his release.

you looked so hot like that that he had to hold back the urge to bury himself inside you again immediately. he let a bit more of his weight press against you, his lips finding yours once more in a lingering kiss.

"okay," you murmured against his lips, slightly breathless, making him chuckle softly. "maybe I like you... just a little bit now."

"just a little?" he teased, nibbling your lower lip with a playful smirk. "didn't seem like 'just a little' to me."

you tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "i think we need to try it all over again so i can decide for sure.”