#so this scene tickled my brain in such a delightful way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frannyzooey · 1 year ago

Text

Apologies in advance, but the opening of this chapter made me lose my fucking mind.

I cannot tell you how many times I have read the opening of this - the words have a specific sort of cadence that has been etched into my brain and I can't stop thinking about it. It is infused with intimacy, but also with all these rich, delicious details: "thin reed of sun streaming" "rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core" (are you kidding me with these) but also, I am the worlds biggest sucker for long, winding, gorgeous sentences followed by blunt ones and you are such a master of it, I am sick.

Every single thing about this, I love:

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin. And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

Details like this have me frothing at both him and your talent, which makes me feel like I am truly living this scene:

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

Annnnnnd then you ended me with possibly the hottest blow job I have ever read in my life. What the FUCK.

Their relaxed day spent together reads like the perfect daydream and I am so in love with how much they are slowing opening up to each other. You write it all so...realistically, this one step forward, couple steps back, a sort of hesitancy to bare yourself until you can't help it anymore. Gorgeous. This was such a striking section:

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

This was so emotional and gentle and soft and then - AND THEN - we have the RETURN OF THE JOEL FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER, WITH THAT FUCKING BALCONY SCENE.

I do not have the words to describe how much your smut affects me. It's so raw and hot and sensory, but then you give this man the dialogue you do and I want to COMBUST.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

When he texted "show me" I literally squealed and slid down deeper under my covers to get comfortable, but the rest of it....jfc. It reminded me so heavily of the way they fucked when they didn't know each other yet, which only had me salivating at the idea of him fucking other people like this and I -- I'm pretty sure my soul ascended while reading that scene.

I feel like this reblog makes no sense whatsoever, but just know: I would sell my soul to the devil to even write a fraction as well as you, and I want to grip your face in my hands and tell you in PERSON how much I am obsessed with this story and with you.

Good CHRIST thank you for writing and sharing. ❤

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Another page turns.

You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.”

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

“Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye.

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name.

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.”

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock.

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm.

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder.

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home. Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.”

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists.

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you.

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching.

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?”

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much.

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?”

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.”

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you.

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader

2K notes · View notes

venenatd · 4 years ago

Text

last meal; jean kirstein x reader

summary: you and jean are in a relationship, and finally get some private time for a cute picnic date the day before he goes on the mission to marley. it’s v cute but also ur both horny!

content: smut / nsfw 18+. minors dni. (public/outdoors sex, dracylphilya, size kink, fingering, thigh riding, use of “good girl/baby”, praise kink, female bodied reader, unprotected sex, creampie) some fluff for good measure.

i am new to this pls let me know if i should add anything!!

word count: 3.3k words of unedited content

a/n: i saw a cottage core inspired jean post and this idea immediately popped into my head. i also kept thinking back to the sunset blush scene and it felt destined lmao. i thought it was gonna be shorter but i guess i get carried away lol. pls feel free to send me requests or ideas or give any advice on what you liked!! thanku!<3

Everything is painted with gold. The sun hanging low in the sky, despite the late hour, still warms your skin. You and Jean walk away from the Scout Headquarters, warmth of the evening allowing you to roam without coats.

He’s in a tight cream shirt, braces holding up darker toned pants. A simple hat sits on his head, shading his eyes from the setting sun. You, a simple sage dress, loose and flowing around your legs. The long grass tickles your flesh, and the two of you laugh as you try running through the field, lifting your limbs stupidly high to jump over the pasture.

Jean snorts at you, watching you flap around. The orange hue of dusk makes your hair shine, your skin glow beautifully. And as you look up at him, a wide and goofy smile spreading across your face, he can see all the flecks and details of varying colours in your eyes. And it takes his breath away.

It was the last night before the end. He’s not sure of what, but it feels like the next chapter is to be finished when he closes his eyes tonight. Tomorrow he goes to Marley. Hange ordered all of their team to go relax for the final day at home. “We’ve gone over the plans enough, we know every angle! Go! Shoo!”

Hange was right. Going in and getting Eren home. It was engrained in Jeans brain. The scouts knew everything they were going to before they arrived. So tonight, it’s all about you.

You, with your skirt floating around you as you weave between trees, making your way to the clearing the two of you know so well. It’s where he first admitted feelings, where you first kissed. The others don’t know (or so you both think), and until he’s safe from his last mission, you’re not sure the two of you will ever reveal your affiliation.

Pulling a blanket from the picnic basket you’ve brought with you, Jean lays it down on the ground. There’s a wide pond in front of you both, some ducks still paddling about. A thin haze floats over the water, the last of the summer heat still encouraging dragonflies and water skippers out.

The light snacks you’d managed to sneak out from your job in the kitchen were delicious. You’d whipped up some light pastries and desserts from leftover ingredients. Even some strawberries and grapes. Whilst everything was miniscule from lack of provisions, it tasted good enough.

Dipping the sweet red fruit from the cream and sugar and between your lips, Jean is in heaven. Your hair being pushed by the wind away from your face, the rosiness on your cheeks. The world may end tomorrow, but tonight he’s got all he needs.

His hands reach over, noticing the drip of cream collecting on the corner of your lips. Swiping his thumb along your cheek, he notes “you’ve got a lil..”

Jean looks at you, his eyes locking on yours, still gently cupping your face in his hands. Warm pupils flick down. His brows scrunch together for a moment, before he moves forward. His other hand comes up to your face, and he is so gentle when he kisses you. It’s as if he may break you if he goes too far.

The soft plush of his lips on yours, slowly pulling you in is intoxicating. He leans back on his forearms, pulling you over him, not letting you leave his mouth. You knock into his hat, it flopping off behind him as you lower your chest over his.

A hand reaches to his chestnut hair. It’s grown long over the last few years. You play with tendrils, the two of you lazily kissing. It’s soft and easy. You’re breathing into one another your chest resting on his as you move a leg to intertwine with his.

Shifting yourself slightly, you rest directly above his thigh. Jeans hand comes to the back of your neck, making sure you don’t split the contact he so desperately needs. Your nails slide softly against his scalp, twisting into his hair with more want.

The man, your man, underneath you curls forward, leg lifting and chest pushing up into you. Your crotch bumps against his thigh. A delightful little gasp erupts from you. If Jean wasn’t tongue deep in your mouth he could have even missed it. But he is, and he didn’t.

He’s tempted to see how far he can take this, maybe make another first here. You’ve had sex, and plenty of it. Although for the most part it’s been rushed, the nature of your jobs only allowing for quickies. You both lived in shared rooms, and the lack of privacy was definitely a roadblock in his attempts to please you.

This clearing, in the outside meadows by headquarters, is maybe an ironic place for the privacy you both so need. Putting any doubt out of his mind, Jean lifts his muscular thigh, achieving another gasp into his mouth from you. You grind against it slowly, tentatively.

“No need to be shy, baby girl” he smiles into the kiss.

Cheeks rosy, you roll your hips along his leg. Jeans body rises further, leaning back casually on one hand, the other gripping the flesh between your waist and hip. He breaks the kiss that has been going on so long, wanting to take in all the ways your face displays pleasure.

Your eyebrows knit together slightly. Your lips are wet with saliva, slightly parted as you give off little mewls each time your clothed cunt is brushed along his cotton pants.

There’s a sweet and tender feeling building in your lower stomach. You can feel how wet you’re getting, the slow and methodical undulations generating a heat between your thighs.

“Jean, plea-”

“You want more?” he’s quick to answer. Your head jumps and up and down, past the point of playing shy.

His long fingers meet with your jaw once more, lightly skimming your features. He’s noting it all down in his head. Maybe he’ll even make a drawing of you. You pause in your ministrations, and a low tutting comes from the man. “No, no. Keep riding. Get yourself ready.”

A delicious smile emerges on your face, and you bear down on his thigh. You take your hands on each leg, gripping onto the thickly built muscle underneath the cloth. A couple of fingers miss their mark, and you can feel how hard Jean is getting. Eyes flash between his crotch and his face, and he can sense how eager you are to please him.

His touch moves from your jaw down, one finger slowly running along the centre of your throat. Jeans hand dips, slowly dragging his fingernails across each collar bone, down to the valley of your chest. Your breath hitches, and he moves away again. You shift your hand in response, moving it towards the joint between his thigh and pelvis, allowing your fingers to brush his clothed balls.

Wherever his fingers move leaves a tingling in their wake. They push towards your shoulder, teasing the fabric from each one. Your dress pools a little, allowing him to make his way back, this time taking your breast in his hand. Thumb brushes against your puffy buds, and a finger meets it to squeeze lightly.

Jean fully lifts off the blanket, sat up straight. He makes quick work of your dress, pulling it down and pushing it up. He grabs at your legs, going between light caresses and tight grasps, not knowing which to settle with. Finally he finds purchase in your ass, guiding you back and forth over his thigh.

You moan into his mouth, fully succumbing to the wetness surely dampening through your panties, the feeling of his fingers twisting and teasing your pert nipples. He raises his fingers from your chest, using his thumb on your lower lip to apply gentle pressure.

Breaking the trail of saliva that connects you both, he pushes an index finger between your lips. You’re all too eager to suck on it, eyes looking dutifully at him. He inhales sharply between his teeth. His cock is so hard, so desperate to fuck into you. Jean wants it to be slow and beautiful, but he simply needs to have you. He wants you close to him before he leaves and doesn’t know if he’ll come back. And close means being inside you, hearing you in your purest form.

The dusky pink settling on his cheeks could be the sun, low in the sky, filling the meadow with rich hues.

Your moans could not be interpreted so wholesomely.

Fingers wet with your spit, he moves his hand between your legs, under the skirt. Pushing your panties to the side he lets you ride his palm for a moment. Teasing yourself, teasing your clit on his strong hand. He goes deeper, fingers sliding through your folds. He slips through your folds, resting at your entrance, before allowing your hips to rise and him to push knuckle deep inside you.

You reddened lips form a perfect ‘o’, and the bliss on your face is one he will remember forever. His thumb moves to your clit. Still on top of him, Jean watches you fuck yourself on his fingers. He kisses your neck, your chest. Taking your nipples and sucking, biting, nibbling.

Your walls are closing in on him, before gently relaxing and he can tell you’re close.

“Don’t be shy” Jean reissues his earlier statement. But now it’s far huskier, far more commanding. “I want to hear you, y/n. I want to hear you cum.”

You’re watching his face, the words - orders - tumble from his lips. They make you flutter around his fingers. You murmur out tiny please’s.

“What did I say? Louder, y/n.”

You moan against his neck, “please.”

Jean pulls your hair, making you extend your neck, forcing you to look up to the hues of pink and orange. “Louder.”

You’re so close. “Jean, p- please!”

“Good girl.”

With that he’s flicking his thumb over your clit, fucking his fingers up into your cunt. The sounds of liquid and wetness only add to the noises of you cumming. Pussy clenching around his fingers, hips giving way and as your legs start to burn and shake. Jean holds you up, working you through your orgasm. He wants nothing more than to watch you fall apart, moaning his name. And then whining curses as you become oversensitive. Yet your gummy walls still suck him in, begging for more.

Leaving your tight walls, he brings the fingers to his lips. You taste tarte and sweet. Better than strawberries any day.

Your breaths are heavy as he twists the two of you, resting you with your back on the blanket. You are radiant. A green halo of grass above you, the dusting of pink on your cheeks, your lips kiss-swollen.

Jean pushes your skirt up, eyes trained on yours as you rest on your elbows. Your eyes follow his movements. How his tongue wets his lips before he drags them on your inner thigh. How his fingers dig in to pull you closer towards him.

He pulls off your sodden panties, kissing into your hips, your belly. Jean is slow and deliberate. As much as he wants to be deep within you, he’s never had the chance to enjoy you this slowly before.

He rises, kissing your breasts as they spill from the top of your dress. His tongue paints saliva on your lips before slipping between them. The kiss is intense. It’s deep and sloppy and so needy.

Your hand reaches to his shoulders, thumb slipping underneath his braces pulling them off. Hands slip under his shirt, and he quickly helps you pull it off. His muscles are firm and taught, the amount of work his body has been through over the years evident underneath your fingers. You trail fingertips over stripes of knotted flesh, kissing each mark and scar after your hands move onto the next one.

“You’re beautiful, Jean”

Jeans cheeks go rosy and he smiles so bashfully that it breaks you apart. The lopsided grin makes you pull him back into you, teeth bumping together as you giggle into the kiss.

He unbuttons his pants, pushing them far enough down his thighs to allow more friction as he grinds into you. Jean is noticeably straining his underwear, his member long and hard. You move your hand down to cup him, squeezing gently through the cotton. You tug on his cock, leaving him stuttering into your mouth. Holding him just tightly enough, he ruts his hips into your hand, little sighs escaping his mouth into your hair.

Tucking your hand under the fabric, you pull out his dick. It makes your hand look smaller, Jean’s member long and hard. The pink tip is slick with precum, and your thumb brushes his head slightly, earning a little hiss.

You go from light little touches to harsher ones. Fingers brushing against the veins on his length, before you wrap around him again. He’s whining in your ear, “you like playing with my cock? Seeing what you do to me?”

With hooded eyelids you look at his contorting face and whisper “yes, yes. I want to please you, I want to make you feel good.”

“Such a good girl for me.”

Taking his member, you push the tip against the heat between your legs. Teasing your clit with his head, he looks down to watch you work. Precum lightly sheens over your folds, and fuck, Jean can’t wait to add to it.

“I w-want you so bad Jean.”

“You have all of me.”

You hold him against your entrance, the tip of him just resting at your little hole. Pulling him in a little, he pushes against the first tight ring. It’s always intense letting Jean fuck you, making you so full. You rock your hips up, letting him slip out a little, before grinding back down. It pulls him into you so sensually. He moans unashamedly as you control the pleasure you both receive.

Repeating the action, you lift again, pushing him out, and again tightening your stomach muscles to curl and bring him deeper inside you. His golden eyes are trained on where you’re conjoined.

He’s halfway inside you, stretching your tight walls so much already. Jean sits back, moving his tongue around inside his mouth before letting a ball of spit fall where his cock rests inside of you. Spreading it on his length, he helps you the rest of the way. Letting your eyes widen and gasp of surprise (how are you always surprised by the feeling?) as he fully sheaths himself inside you.

“God, you’re so tight,” he holds himself above you, head falling back as he inhales slowly.

Jean allows you a moment to breath, before he pulls back out, quickly snapping his hips back to yours. Moans tumble out of your mouth as he fucks into you. Lashes fluttering and your tits bouncing in rhythm, you are a sight for the sorest of eyes.

“You’re so pretty for me, all splayed out on my cock.”

He pushes your legs apart, watching his length disappear inside you. Watching how one hand twists your own nipple, the other feebly trying to grab onto his wrist. He’s splitting you apart on his dick, the feeling of being so fucking full taking over. You were already sensitive from your last orgasm, but he builds another, the tightening in your core unmistakable.

“J- Jean,” you hiccup, so overwhelmed by him. “You’re s- so big”

“You’re taking me so well, y/n.”

He lowers himself against your chest, bringing his knees upwards and closer to your ass. You curl up around him, holding your legs further up. Jean quickly renegotiates the position, pulling your legs around him whilst you hold under your knees. You can feel him so deep inside you this way, pulled into a ball underneath him. Jean wants to be impossibly close, and this new angle is punishing on your pussy. He can feel how wet you are between you, how much you enjoy the intensity of his cock working in and out.

His forehead presses against yours, his hand snaking between you two. From his new angle, he can hit that sweet spot inside you so easily. His length sweeps against it, and hits into your furthest wall. He lets out curses as he feels your cunt tighten each time, mixing with the moans and mewls from you. You lock eyes with him, big doe eyes pricking.

“Pl- please, I’m so close, Jean.”

Fat tears roll over your cheek, trailing to your temple. Everything feels too much. Him inside of you, the wet squelching between you. His strong fingers rubbing over your clit again and again. You let out a sob, followed by a moan. It’s a combination of knowing this is the last night, feeling how fucking intense his cock is inside you, hearing how much Jean needs you. He kisses your cheeks, tasting the salt, not faltering as he continues to pummel into you.

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

His balls slap against your skin.

“You can do it.”

His teeth bite at the flesh of your breast, pull at your nipples.

“I want to hear you.”

His fingers play and roll with your clit, feeling the way you tighten around his cock.

“Please cum for me, y/n.”

Your back arches off the blanket, the night sky soaking up the moans. The lewd noises in between you both are all consuming, the slap of slick and wetness only adding to your full body sensation.

His fingers keep moving on your clit, and Jean grunts each time your pussy spasms around his cock. He keeps pace, fucking you raw and with need. He loves to see your delicate face scrunched up, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close.

And with the tightening of your walls around him, Jean’s close. “Where do you want me?”

“I want,” you inhale sharply, as his cock drives back into you, “you inside me- I- I need you Jean. Please.”

“You’re so good, baby, you’re so good.” He’s getting quicker, making you writhe beneath him in your overstimulated state. “I’ll give you what you want, okay? I’m going to cum inside your pretty pussy.”

Jeans fingers are going to bruise you. He's holding onto you so tight, never wanting to let you go. It’ll be something to remember him by. Movements are starting to stammer, the sweat evident by the sheen forming across his shoulders and face. You tuck a tendril of his honey hair behind his ear. “I love you”, you whisper amongst the moans. And with that he pushes deep enough to make you cry out, feeling the hot ropes of cum painting your walls.

Your man rests inside you for a moment, gathering his breath as he leaves languid kisses against your breasts, your jaw, your lips. He pulls out, seeing his cum drip from your pussy. Using his fingers he pushes the white around your folds, earning a sharp his when he brushes past your clit. Finally, he brings his fingers to your lips, and you put out a delicate tongue.

Cleaning him with your mouth, he sits back, sighing softly. How can you be this good? And you like him? Jean thinks he is the luckiest man on earth. He adjusts your dress for comfortability, before dipping next to you. Your heads are lightly touching, your hair intertwined with his. Staring up at the sky as the last colour leaves it in its inkiness, he holds you close. He presses his final kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too.”

#jean kirsten x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirsten smut #jean kirschtien #jean kirschtein smut #aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #jean smut #snk x reader #snk smut

1K notes · View notes

belmottetower · 3 years ago

Note

Can I just say you're my favourite writer for the Ted Lasso fandom?? 😊🥰 Every time I see your name pop up in my email it's a delight!

I have a headcanon I wanna run by you if you'll indulge me for a moment, I'm very interested in your perspective on it 👀👀.

The reason Jamie gives for not getting a secret Santa gift doesn't make sense to me, like I could see an initial confusion if he'd never heard of it before but he should have known that he was expected to do SOMETHING, and season 2 Jamie would've asked someone if he didn't know what he was supposed to do (I love that season 2 Jamie actually asks for help, insert "y'know what that is? Growth" meme here 😭❤️). BUT I think the reason he gives is probably what he thinks other people would accept as a reason that makes sense for him, and he's just using it as a smoke screen! My personal headcanon is that he thought Santa would STAY SECRET and he didn't realize they would be giving their gifts all publicly and he's embarrassed for people to know what gift he brought. Not sure what gift it would've been, but with everyone else gifting booze I could see him being embarrassed about literally anything that wasn't booze 🤔. No one else is really talking about this but that scene just doesn't settle right in my brain. Do you have any thoughts on what gift he may have purchased in this version of events? Or do you have a different idea of what was happening there?

Sorry for the monster ask lol but I love how you write Jamie's thought process! (I know this isn't in the form of a prompt, but if you answered in mini fic format I would be positively tickled!!)

Jamie knows what Secret Santa is, of course he does. It’s just, well. He hadn’t realised they’d be giving the gifts out publicly, and now his feels way too personal. Nearly everyone else so far has handed over a bottle of booze. Moe had knitted a scarf, sure, and Colin had seemed pleased by it, but there had still been a moment of “is this weird” before he’d hugged Moe and Jamie doesn’t want that for him.

The day after the Dubai Air protest all the main papers had carried photos of their protest, mostly in the Sports section, but the Guardian had actually had it on their front page. Jamie had seen it while out buying a coffee the next day and he’d bought a copy. It had seemed important, a reminder of him doing the right thing, supporting his teammate in something that meant a lot to him.

And then he’d gotten Sam in the Secret Santa and it had seemed perfect. He’d had the front page properly framed - after checking that the Guardian was the kind of paper Sam might agree with politically - and wrapped it nicely.

But now, well, it feels too personal to give out in front of the rest of the team. What if they think it’s weird or cheap of him? So it’s a relief when Ted finds him a bottle of whisky and they all help him wrap it. He knows they think he’s an idiot for not knowing what Secret Santa is, but better than any awkwardness in front of the team.

Sam seems chuffed by the alcohol anyway, and he sticks the bow that Keeley had added at the end to the top of his head, so Jamie makes it through without any embarrassment. At the end he hangs back and waits for the room to empty out before digging his original gift out of his cubby and tucking it into Sam’s. He doesn’t want it to go to waste, and he’s pretty sure Sam won’t guess it’s from Jamie. That done he heads out to his car ready for the drive up to Manchester and Christmas with his mum. He’s definitely gone overboard with her gifts, but she’s used to that by now, barely puts up a token protest or anything.

#THANK YOU FOR THE NICE WORDS #I definitely hadn't thought of this as a headcanon before #I just took it as a classlic little comic realif bit lol #but this was a cute idea #and I hope you like my attempt at a prompt fill for it #fandom: ted lasso #jamie tartt #ted lasso fic #sam obisanya

54 notes · View notes

sometimesanalice · 3 days ago

Text

Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold.

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in.

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own. “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it. But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#thank you for reading and reblogging!#I’m just so happy you liked it!! 🫶🏻#the babe with the big move

1K notes · View notes

vaguely-concerned · 3 years ago

Note

PLEASE talk about the Lupin-Jigen sunset motif more when you have the time/motivation!

Haha oh boy I probably will at considerable length once I've got a handle on it, if I know myself right! XD To be honest I feel like I've only just started to pick up on just how often and consistently it pops up, though, so I'm not sure I know how to analyze it yet -- here are the examples I've noticed in what I've watched so far, everyone please chime in if you can think of any more! These are pretty much all intimate private scenes between just the two of them rather than like group shots/scenes, I haven't really been tracking those the same way

- I haven't watched part 1 yet, but I know there's a scene with the two of them and a sunset in it. Maybe this was where it got started? If so I guess the seed of it was there from the very beginning lol

- Episode 0: First Contact: They literally drive off into the sunset together as newly minted partners at the end ffshdjakfs just completely normal heterosexual life-long partnership things

- The Gravestone of Daisuke Jigen: The two of them yet again in a car looking out over a sunset while lighting each other's cigarettes in another very normal heterosexual move while having a Moment of mutual delight in themselves lol

- Part 6, episode 0 'The Times': The last shot of the episode is Lupin alone next to the Fiat looking out over a glorious sunset while waiting for Jigen to show up so they can have the drink they talked about earlier. Lupin's voice over about it is exceedingly tender. As I believe I said at the time, "I hope I one day find something I can be as passionate about as Lupin is about thinking sappy shit about Jigen while gazing at beautiful sunsets" lmao

- The Part 5, episode 19 'Mirage': The final part of the episode is a quiet scene with just the two of them at sunset. I personally didn't get any romantic vibe between Jigen and Mirage in the backstory at all, but if you read it that way there's literally no way to misconstrue the way Lupin echoes that scene word for word with him here. Actual 'what do you mean subtext???' territory. Man I love part 5 haha

- The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, Episode 8: While they're eating together for the first time (feat. Lupin's dubious-looking home cooking but Jigen's no coward, he eats it anyway haha), they're sitting in front of a painted wall that looks very much like a sunset scene

(like so!)

- The Castle of Cagliostro: Parts of what I affectionately call the wistful gay roadtrip AMV during the opening credits are clearly set at sunset, and we also see them gazing out at it together at one point. (Incidentally the last scene of it where they're smoking together seems to be right before dawn instead, which tickles my brain somehow, especially since Miyazaki has said he imagined this movie as further down the timeline, with an older gang)

#lupin iii #jigen x lupin #daisuke jigen #arsene lupin iii #I'm sure there must be more I've seen that've slipped my mind but these are the ones that I could recall off the top of my head #:') this makes me so happy to think about tho. riding off into the sunset together again and again. my god

69 notes · View notes

direwombat · 2 years ago

Note

1, 23, 69, and 71 for the fanfic writing asks? :)

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

oh god yes. there's so much daydreaming that happens, usually as a way of playing with ideas before committing them to paper/word doc. once i have daydreamed enough to produce an outline then i'm usually able to jump right into writing, but i need to play with my dolls in my brain sandbox first.

23. Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

middles are usually the easiest for me. once i get into the action or really hit that flow/rhythm it's usually really easy for me to just go which is always a really good feeling. it's the reward for setting up the dominoes. the second they start to fall is such a delightful part of the writing process for me.

and as for the hardest? endssssss. my god ending a story is always a struggle. mostly because i get lazy and i know i get lazy so i have to show some sort of self discipline, either while writing or while editing to make sure that the end of a fic/chapter/scene remains consistent with the rest of the fic.

69. What are your favorite fics at the moment?

god i haven't been reading much fic recently afdljasfl;ajdf, but souvenirs from better times by different_approach dug its claws in me back in like 2019 (i think i found it right before it went on haitus) but i finished, oh gosh probably last year at this point and i haven't stopped thinking about it. and it was lowtides' come a little closer that hooked me on Jacob/Deputy and i haven't crawled out of that hole yet.

but as far as ongoing fic goes, i need to catch up on pretty much all of @socially-awkward-skeleton 's works. i love me some werewolf aus, and everything i've read of american beasts sounds so good i've just not had brain for reading recently) also @adelaidedrubman‘s wildfire. i’m only a few chapters in but jestiny is such a fun protagonist i love her and i want to study her.

71. Do you spend more time reading or writing?

adlfkjafd piggybacking off the end of the previous question: writing. i've been trying to get back into reading and have recently figured out what kind of reading tickles my brain rn, but normally i only have the energy for one or the other after work, and usually i choose writing.

#whining wombat

6 notes · View notes

squeaky-n-blushy · 16 days ago

Text

KANENE. DO US BOTH A FAVOR AND SAY MY NAME THREE TIMES IN FRONT OF A MIRROR. I'LL JUMP OUT OF THE MIRROR LIKE AN APPARITION TO GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG EVER BECAUSE WHAT IS THIS???!!!!! WHAT IS THIS ❓❓❓‼️‼️‼️

Everyone, gather round. People, you don't understand how incredible this is. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. And I'm not saying this because I'm biased. This is deadass one of the greatest tfics I've ever read. It's hard to get me blushing while reading a fic, but this- Wow- Jesus Christ- Goodness gracious- I had to leave the room because I was audibly squealing. The teasing in this, y'all- It killed me several times over.

It was not only the teasing that kept me up until three a.m jumping around my house like a giggly kangaroo full of energy, but the CHARACTERIZATION- THE SETTING THE CHARACTERS WERE IN- Kanene, anyone who's ever had the pleasure of reading any of your works could truthfully tell you how spectacular your writing is. But it's not just well-written, like the way a dissertation would be well-written, but it's truly special. The characters are completely in-character, of course, I feel like at this point we're all very aware that "out-of-character" doesn't exist in your writing. But more than that, the characters feel real. The whole experience is so immersive it invites us to step into the characters' shoes and feel first-hand what they feel. Deadass. That's the only thing that could explain the love and fondness swelling in me everytime these two characters got lovey dovey and soft together, AND HOW FUCKING FLUSTERED I FELT WITH EACH TEASE AS IF JIN GUANGYAO HIMSELF WAS STANDING IN MY ROOM RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND MAKING DIRECT EYE CONTACT WITH ME.

As always, spoilers under the cut

First and foremost, THE HIDING FROM THE WENS ARC 💕💖💕💖💕 MY FRIEND YOU KNOW HOW TO TUG AT MY HEARTSTRINGS EXPERTLY. There's so much potential in that arc, and you wrote it like a a PRO. The slowly getting to know and trust (and yearn for) one another to the point where Meng Yao (Meng Yao, the most anxious and paranoid character of the whole show) is willing to BE COMPLETELY PHYSICALLY VULNERABLE AND TI LET GO OF CONTROL BECAUSE HE IS SO FUCKING SMITTEN. The hair brushing scene and scalp massage by the way???? Sweet fuck. Concentrated gay juice. It was incredible to read, I could straight up feel the yearning. I've said this before but I ADORE how you write Meng Yao/Jin Guangyao. The perfect mix of ambition, paranoia and longing <3

[Meng Yao closed his eyes and held his body together to not crumble, scream nor do anything at the new information acquired.] ME READING THIS FIC.

And with the fast-forwading in time it was so cool to see how Jin Guangyao handled being in Koi Tower as neither the Sect Leader nor as his father's puppet. He was still slightly stressed out and freaked out, of course, he's still Jin Guangyao, but him realizing his brother wasn't a threat <3 HIM AND JIANG YANLI <3 <3 HE DESERVES HAVING HER AS HIS JIE

[continued to call him closer to hold and distract his nephew (small and gurgling and so, so fragile in his arms, learning how to babble shushu when he saw him and unmercifully keeping a tight grip on his heart)] SOBBING IN JOY IN LOVE IN DELIGHT. A-LINGGGGGGGGG <3 <3 A-LING AND HIS XIAO SHUSHU <3 THANK YOU KANENE FOR KILLING OFF JIN GUANGSHAN SO JIGGY CAN PEACEFULLY HOLD HIS BABY NEPHEW <3

Him growing to actually consider Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli as his family oh my god 💕💖💕💖 little him, freshly kicked down the stairs of Koi Tower, would have never imagined this

THE INTIMACY BETWEEN JIN GUANGYAO AND LAN XICHEN, KANENE- THEM CALLING EACH OTHER "MY HEART/MY LOVE" ALWAYS HOLDING HANDS AND LEAVING LITTLE KISSES- That bit later on about JGY kissing LXC's biceps and forearms when Xichen was trying so hard not to bring his arms down was burnt into my brain.

The transition between massage and tiny tickles TEEEEHEEEEEEEEE JUST IMAGINING IT HAS ME ALL GIGGLY!! [“Later, please, A-Yao.” His voice tilted into a giggly tune, but Xichen was able to stop it, hands flying to hold those smaller, playful ones in (a bit warning) squeeze. “Let me finish this, then you may…” The color spread even more on his cheeks, and he coughed politely.] Someone just consented to be wrecked with the gentlest and most delightful and tormenting of tickles <3

[“Has Xichen-ge never been tickled before?”

“Ah, not much, not much.” His eyes turned away from him and Meng Yao could see the half-truth for what it was.] Kanene 👁️👁️ What's that half-truth? Explain pls 👁️👁️

[but suddenly Meng Yao could see it perfectly: Lan Xichen under him, answering to his every touch, smiling uncontrollably, laughing completely unashamed, loud and bright, capturing the entire light of the sky in his smile, making all kind of sounds that he would have to repeat over and over again until Meng Yao could engrave them fully in his mind, squirming, trashing around and pleading amidst his laughter, face red and teary, wrinkling eyes staring him full of joy and mirth, glimpse of hidden, velvety skin appearing here and there, showing more delightful spots to explore.]

GOD

okay ahem moving on nothing happened here

Meng Yao's fingers twitching to Get Xichen <3 <3 congrats, Lan Xichen, you brought a tickle monster into the world. JGY being so concerned about it that it brought on the rare occurrence where his mouth is faster than his brain and him ASKING TO BE TICKLED FIRST EHEHEEEEE THAT EASTER EGG ABOUT "THE COLLECTION" WAS SO GOOD!!!! I was wondering, after reading The Collection, how the two of them got into that situation AND NOW I KNOW :DDD

Lan Xichen lowkey stalling on finishing his work because he'd be tickled as soon as he did ahdkshsk what a terrible, horrible situation to be in, truly <3 I'm definitely not giggly thinking about it <3 (I FELT IT AS IF I WERE HIM FR)

[“You’re so very skilled, so reliable and responsible, but for now, please allow me to take care of everything.”] + [“May I?”] + [“Let me look after you.”] GOD THIS KIND OF DIALOGUE FUCKING GETS ME EVERY TIME- SHOWING THAT, IN THE END, WHAT THE EXPERIENCE IS ALL ABOUT IS CARING FOR THE OTHER PERSON. IM GONNA DIE.

[Trust me, Jin Guangyao wanted to say, words almost spilling along his desire in front of the who mattered the most, let me show you how much I know your every weakness, every reaction, every sensitive part of yours, let me show how good I can take care of all of them. Let me bring you everything you are looking for, all the joy, all the happiness, all the delight, let me pry each one of them from you and lay it all in your hands. Lay all of yourself in my hands. Let me, let me, let me. ] I AM INSANE ABOUT THIS PARAGRAPH???? I AM ACTUALLY INSANE ABOUT IT. KANENE WHAT DID YOU PUT IN IT. SWEET FUCK, MY FRIEND. WHAT IN THE WORLD. IT'S GONNA LIVE RENT FREE IN MY MIND FOR WEEKS.

ALSO, ALL THE FOCUS ON THE BACK AND SIDES AND NECK- TUMBLR USER KANENE-YAAAY YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, TARGETING ME LIKE THIS. SO MEAN TO ME </3 DOES OUR FRIENDSHIP MEAN NOTHING TO YOU </3

[“Huan-gege’s laughter is truly a blessing.” Lan Xichen shook his head, and he nibbled that spot behind his ear in reply, pulling a squeal, giggling and giggling non-stop. “Even if he keeps running from my care. There is no worry, however, I will keep bringing him back as much as we need to, again and again.”] Again, I've already said this, but the way you use "care" in your writing is actually spectacular and so flustering in case you weren't aware.

[He grinned and controlled the urge to attack him again, to turn Xichen around, hold his arms away and once more find his way to the most delicious spots and torment him, pulling joyous laughter again and again and-] YET ANOTHER SENTENCE THAT WAS BURNT INTO MY BRAIN. AARRRRRGGGGHHH FOR REASONS I AM NOT ALLOWED TO ELABORATE BUT KNOW THAT IM JUMPING UP THE WALLS AND BARKING

[“Why don’t you come back up, hm?”

Xichen’s eyes followed to his open arms, fingers wiggling slightly, not even pretending to hide what would come of his fate would he choose to come back to his embrace.] KANENE OH MY GOD. I KEEP SAYING IT, I KEEP SAYING THAT HAVING YOUR LER INVITE YOU INTO THEIR ARMS AND THEN WILLINGLY WALKING INTO THEM, KNOWING EXACTLY WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU DID, WOULD BE THE MOST DELIGHTFUL AND FLUSTERING EXPERIENCE EVER. THANK YOU FOR PROVING ME RIGHT BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS OH MY GOD.

[Jin Guangyao clicked his tongue and cooed in exaggerated empathy, as if his hands were tied and there was nothing he could do to save him from his current predicament.] Unbelievable how every paragraph has me thinking "yup. If this character was canonically interested in tickling, this is exactly how they'd act." Tell me Kanene, was it hard to get into MXTX's head?

[“I would be so happy to find, tease and tickle any and every spot that my Huan-gege would be kind enough to guide me. Anywhere he wants, any spot that would leave him relaxed, content and laughing his heart out and I would stay there, tickling and tickling again and again for as long as you want. Doesn't this sound like a nice offer?”]

CHRIST KANENE YOU'RE OUT FOR MURDER WITH THIS FIC

I WAS ALREADY DEAD AND SQUEALING ON THE FLOOR, AND THEN THE "Doesn't this sound like a nice offer?" FUCKING OBLITERATED MY SOUL AND ALL THAT REMAINED OF MY SANITY.

[“So kind of my Huan-ge to let this one be deserving of his laughter, for returning so wingilly to my hug and following so perfectly my instructions, for trusting me like this.” He nuzzled him, pulling a higher joyous squeal before finally giving Lan Xichen his well deserved prize.

He took a deep breath and burrowed his face in his neck with a giant raspberry.] THE CONTRAST BETWEEN THESE TWO PARAGRAPHS. YES. YES. THAT IS JIN GUANGYAO. SWEET, DISARMING WORDS AND RUTHLESSNESS. HIM <3 YOUR PORTRAYAL OF HIM <3

[His voice got even more gentle. “I wish you would let those you love-” (me, me, me) “take care and carry your burdens along with you as well. We would be so happy to do so, as much as you need, for as long as you need.”] foaming at the mouth

ALL THE PARAGRAPHS LEADING UP TO JIN GUANGYAO'S SECOND RASPBERRY ATTACK ON XICHEN'S NECK- THE ANTICIPATION JESUS FUCKING CHRISTTTTTT

[“There is no bigger honor in the world than to be allowed to have you in my arms, er-ge. to be granted the opportunity to take care of you, to pick each one of your reactions and vulnerabilities and then pick you carefully apart so I can give each little piece the attention it deserves and rearrange them all together.”] Os gays mana os gays

THAT ENTIRE PARAGRAPH THAT TRANSLATED INTO "I LOVE YOU" BECAUSE JIN GUANGYAO COULDN'T SAY IT PLAINLY OUT LOUD- AND LAN XICHEN KNOWING THAT WHAT JIN GUANGYAO MEANT TO SAY WITH IT WAS "I LOVE YOU"- I CAN'T WITH THESE TWO GOODNESS GRACIOUS

KANENE, YOU'VE TRULY OUTDONE YOURSELF THIS TIME. I MEAN IT. I HOPE YOU'RE INSANELY PROUD OF THIS FIC, BECAUSE MY GOD, YOU DESERVE THAT PRIDE. Thank you thank you thank you for this incredible, marvelous gift. This was truly incredible to read, there wasn't a single moment where I wasn't grinning with joy reading it for the first time and re-reading it now. You made my day genuinely remarkable and I'm going to carry this gist in my heart forever and ever <3 Obrigada 💕💖

(Also, some tiny details I loved, because tiny details deserve attention too!

• Meng Yao perfuming LXC's hair so he'd have another reason to keep brushing teehee

• "finally giving him something worth of keeping, adorning, marking the First Jade of Gusu Lan." that "marking"... 👁️👁️

• The hint of animosity between JGY and Nie Mingjue ahdkrhskdh

• JGY ditching the banquet the second it became socially acceptable to, to go after LXC. Man's whipped and concerned.

• WEN QING BECOMING A SECT LEADER!!!!!!!!!

• JGY brooding about LXC bringing work to his room

• "Reasoning #5 was right after all, who would say." Meng Yao you are a certified Creature

• That paragraph where Jin Guangyao removed Lan Xichen's forehead ribbon- Kanene- Kanene you knew exactly what you were doing

• JGY BEING SOOO DRAMATIC WHEN LXC TOOK A WHILE TO GET BACK INTO HIS ARMS 💕💕

• JGY going to town on LXC'S armpits whenever LXC tried to interrupt JGY's lovely speech <3

• JGY OH SO TENDERLY WIPING AWAY LXC'S TEARS OF LAUGH OOAAAUUGGHHHHH)

Let Me Take Care Of You

Or: How To Say I'm In Love Without Words

Kanene's Notes: FEBRUARY, 13TH, YA KNOW WHAT A SPECIAL DAY IT IS? IT'S @squeaky-n-blushy's BIRTHDAY!!!!! <3 <3 <3 I made this special gift for her and I do hope all of you enjoy this just as much, as well ^v^)s2 It was a delight to write this story

Also, all the most and dearest thanks to @a-fluffer-nutter for being such an incredible Beta-Reader!! Thank so so much! :D :DD <3

Warnings: Mentions and suggestive themes here and there, nothing too explicit but still. Lots of antecipation, soft, rough and mouth tickles (raspberries, nibbles etc). Romatic Pairing. Around 16.000 words

[~*~]

It was as soft as it looked.

That was Meng Yao’s first thought as the simple, wooden comb carded through those lustrous, dark black hair, fingers holding each patch next to his roots firmly to lessen the discomfort as he undid another knot, twisting the unworthy comb here and there and purposely not thinking too much about how Lan Xichen was quiet, letting out sparse and tiny sounds of relaxation, which made each one of his fingertips tremble.

A firm brush and the last knot gave in, leaving Meng Yao to add a little more of perfuming oil to help the dehydrated strands and pretend he had more reasons to keep brushing.

If he didn’t know better than to lie so bluntly to himself, he would say that all of his lasting touch and everlasting care was nothing but a necessity, since keeping himself on Lan Xichen’s good side was important, no, essential for his future. He could pretend that there was no actual, true contentment in seeing his hair begin little by little to gain back its smoothness and softness it once held. He could say that buying that fancy oil that lasted through several hours was simply a necessary sacrifice. He would never take the risk of using his simple, cheap one and having the other’s hair react badly after years of receiving nothing but the best treatment, after all, not with someone so important as the very heir, now leader, of the Gusu Lan Sect. He could even argue that helping him this moment was nothing more than a part of his carefully sewn together plan, only so that after this war Lan Xichen, or better, the leader of the righteous, just and grand Lan Sect, would pull him so higher than ever on the social hierarchy much quickly than the years he would have to wait otherwise, finally being able to start the plan of climbing much further way, so that his father would have no right or opportunity to throw him down and look away again.

(For a moment he imagined it, being draped in the Jin Sect’s bright and fancy robes, using a gold comb that he would be able to decorate Xichen’s hair with it, letting it shine bright amidst that sea of black, finally giving him something worth of keeping, adorning, marking the First Jade of Gusu Lan.)

The oil had an unpleasant sensation, much better than the ones he used but still too cold and lasting all the same. Meng Yao knew that even washing it off wouldn’t be enough to take the smell and slippery touch away. Even so, the irritation was light, going as quickly as it came as he carded his hands through every strand, being careful to coat each one of them equally.

Unfortunately, Meng Yao knew himself better than this. The very moment he kneeled on his bed and Xichen easily fell on the floor in front of him, showing him his back so easily and closing his eyes at the first movements of his comb, Meng Yao felt his entire soul falter unstably. When he parted his hair in half and got the full view (and not only the small glimpse when they trained together and his mind would unfortunately focus on futile and useless non-combat information) of the back of his neck and his mouth parted instinctively. When he experimentally (“accidentally”) scratched his scalp and got a muffled pleased sound, so tiny and vulnerable that it made his mind hone in, instinctively in attention, his fingers moved on their own, combing, scratching and mapping which places left Xichen melting and leaning more and more on him. He engraved every bit of information in the fiber of his muscles, so they could continue as his mind wandered in senseless daydreams.

The moment Meng Yao finally looked up to his window, watched the moon set much higher than he thought in the sky, when he realized he had no idea how much time had passed, that was the moment he knew that there was no turning back for him.

He continued his ministrations, burrowing his hand carefully under the hair until his fingers could scrape at his scalp, seeing the shiver that ran down his shoulders, skin prickling with goosebumps. Slowly, he straightened his hair once more, scooting closer to the edge of his mattress and tipping slightly forward so Xichen could lay comfortably on his torso, feeling as the taller one practically let all his weight fall on him. Looking down, he saw the Lan stare back at him with a comfortable and open smile on his face, eyelids closing and opening slowly enough for Meng Yao to be absorbed, smothered, and surrounded by the sheer adoration and trust clear on his gaze. It took everything from the Jin to survive as the other sighed and became completely lax on his chest, head fitting the crook of his neck as if it was always meant to be there.

Later, Meng Yao decided, he would throw himself in the coldest bath he could arrange and then organize his thoughts. For now, all he could do was to take a (non-shuddering) deep breath and not snuggle closer to the warmth. It’s was an awkward position, but worth the slight uncomfortable bending of his arm, to gather all his hair in one hand (he was planning to make a loose braid for easy caring in the morning but unfortunately his plan had been thrown away due the circumstances, again) and combing the most stubborn strands together. As his touch neared the back of his ear, Lan Xichen twitched slightly on his hold.

The shorter man didn’t even bat an eye to the sudden desire in own chest to kiss the other’s temple in a soothing gesture so he could go back to sleep peacefully.

(And what a heresy that would be. Living so far away from Gusu Lan, his knowledge about their customs was still sparse, but, even in the eyes of an ignorant it would be clear how their forehead ribbons are important for the Lans, and Lan Xichen held an absolute care for his. Meng Yao could never try to taint the white fabric with his dirty self.)

Therefore, with a lighter touch, in apology, he spared only two fingers and his most careful touch and went back to the spot to straighten the rebelled, short strands. Once more, Xichen twisted the slightest bit away from his touch, snuggling and worming himself closer to his neck. Mumbled words hit his skin and set fire across his every nerve.

“Funny ich.” Xichen mumbled, clearly still lost in his sleep.

Meng Yao closed his eyes and held his body together to not crumble, scream nor do anything at the new information acquired. He now knew how it felt to hold Lan Xichen so close that he could feel each letter leaving his lips, he knew how his hair felt and how he curled in himself closer to any warmth when sleeping and his mind was still processing all of this. Locking his reaction in a far corner away in his mind, Meng Yao smiled and shook his shoulder lightly.

“Come to bed, ge, I am already finished.”

Xichen let out a confused displeased sound at the prospect of moving, turning around only enough to fall on the mattress then pull the rest of his body from the floor. Meng Yao huffed in amusement and carefully got out of the bed before he could get stuck on it (much to his own irrational and dangerous instinctive displeasure) and adjusted his torn but thick blanket over the other. With a quick turn and fast steps, he moved away to finish his daily chores and reflect about all the findings of this day.

[...]

Concentrating on the meeting was… difficult. Ever since his scum of father died just as he lived and Jin Zixuan assumed the title of Sect Leader together with Jin Yanli, Jin Guangyao found himself drifting away more often than not, senses not as high and body tensed as he turned every corner in Koi Tower. Somehow a part of himself slowly began to try to trust the peaceful life he has been living for years now.

The Jin Sect, and especially himself, held plenty of enemies, even more after the victory in the Sunshot Campaign due to the short period where the sect turned its back to all the other three Great Sects and formed an alliance with the Wen. The entire revolution against Jin Guangshan and the rise of Jin Zixuan over his father, ending their support to the tyrant sect had been a good move to improve the cultivation world’s opinion against them. Even so, years after the war, the palace was still full of dangerous enemies that were just looking for just the tiniest show of weakness to latch on and destroy everything Jin Guangyao had been so dutifully building all along.

All of this made him come to the conclusion and admit, even if begrudgingly, that his (extremely awkward and quite dumb) brother was not one of those enemies. His spouse, the oldest daughter from the very own Violet Spider herself, even if weak in cultivation, was still much attentive and plenty aware of his backgrounds, watching and taking care of the inwards work of the palace with almost as much influence of him himself.

Yet, even with the power she held, the possibility to throw him away if she ever decided he was a danger to her spouse’s throne, her kindness was warm and gentle as she kept greeting him with a sincere smile, continued to call him closer to hold and distract his nephew (small and gurgling and so, so fragile in his arms, learning how to babble shushu when he saw him and unmercifully keeping a tight grip on his heart), called him day after day to share meals with her (their) family and spend uncountable afternoons coaxing (although he pretended to not notice for politeness) Zixuan to expend more leisure time with his brother.

As time passed, the wish of showing them Lan Xichen grew stronger, to introduce him to them beyond his title in the Lan Sect, beyond his duty as a leader, beyond their political meetings and administrative trades. Jin Guangyao, on the slowest days, found himself planning how he would present their story together, and how he could explain (never completely, of course) the attachment they both shared and that only grew stronger with the years that went by. He hated the weakness, but would not lie to himself and pretend to not wish to show his family (beyond the tablet offerings he held in a beautiful constructed house and shrine on an isolated part of the family’s grounds), for the first time ever, who was his biggest weakness and the one he ever and most cared for.

Sometimes, Jin Guangyao would pretend that if this ever happened it would go well, that he would have no lasting, almost animal fear at them knowing, that he would not cave to despair in the last second and cancel all the plannings while hiding Lan Xichen away, that the little apprehension held would immediately dissipate when Jin Furen smiled and approached quickly to hold their hands together, true happiness shining clear across her face and Sect Leader Jin (his brother) would freeze in an amusing surprise, would stutter and clear his throat and then say that he was happy for them, then pass through all the phases of grief as he re-contextualized all the “meetings” he had found Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen together. In the end, he could imagine that they would not only accept, but also be content for him, for what he was able to find, for what they were all able to attain even through the darkest times of their lives.

It’s been years since the end of the war, years since his bruises healed and no one dared to lift a finger on him again in the Koi Tower, where he stood proud and confident on top of the stairs he was once thrown away, years since he proved his worth as a warrior and an advisor and guaranteed a place at the Sect Leader and Jin Furen’s side, since he became essential to the working of his sect. It had not been years (yet), still time passed as he began showing more real smiles and his body learned how to not live on the edge of danger every single day.

Nowadays, he no longer scrambled so fiercely for information, worried to quickly build a trustful enough chain of spies across every important sect. Now, he already knew personally every attendant in that meeting room, their every relationship with each other, all trade and internal discussion and danger to his sect. His notes were extensive about each leader, each advisor and important disciples in their sects and years of gathering all of this had paid off. There was not a single person in this room who Jin Guangyao didn’t know their every telling and strategy.

And even if he didn’t know any of them… he would be forever personally attuned to the only one who was currently haunting his mind and making it wander in worry like this. Sect Leader Lan: Lan Xichen. Lan Huan.

Something was happening to him.

It was clear with the tight corners of his polite smile, the way his gaze unfocused from time to time, how he kept pulling his posture straighter and straighter as if afraid it would fall otherwise, how his feather hadn't taken a single note for almost an hour. It was the way Lan Wangji looked at him from the tail of his eye, impassive expression setting into a (displeased? worried? annoyed? disapproving? Probably a mix of it all) restless press of lips and he took a more active role in the discussion. Even Da-ge kept frowning from his seat, not even disguising at whom those sharp eyes were directed to, the brute. The only reason Jin Guangyao wasn’t rolling his eyes (besides how he would never be foolish enough to show his feelings in a room full of strangers and possible enemies, different from other leaders as it seems) and calling his attention subtlety for himself was because the others were still ignorant and naive enough to think Mingjue’s expression could only mean irritation at the poor and important Sect Leader Lan. Which reasons and rumors would be spread afterwards to justify their own interpretations of reality was something that Guangyao would be careful to search about later and deal with, if necessary.

At the moment, however, he had a much more important task in mind.

Half a shichen after the end of the banquet was announced, when all the absolute necessary conversations had already been held, Jin Guangyao excused himself to go to his quarters, throwing a meaningful glance (and slight warning, if he was being honest) to his leader and then following swiftly to the room he had gifted the Lan a couple years ago, decorated and designed entirely in Gusu Lan style and Xichen’s own personal preferences. As he approached, he was relieved to notice Mingjue going away in the distance, knowing his calculations had been right and he would have some proper alone time for his task.

He waited a few moments outside the door, giving the other enough time to prepare more tea (they already knew each other so well) before rasping his knuckles on the threshold.

“Er-ge,” his words were low and soft on their own, greeting the taller one as soon as he opened the door and let him inside. “Your work in Cloud Recesses is being truly unforgiving, to hurt your sleep schedule like this.”

“A-Yao.” Xichen smiled tiredly, agreeing with him as he passed the tea. Jin Guangyao quickly took the opportunity to get their hands together in a warm, comforting hold, thumbs slowly and carefully grazing their back in a soft touch, receiving a tiny, pleased sigh in answer. Minutes passed in silence before a quiet, defeated voice filled the space. “Wangji is trying to adopt A-Yuan into the Lan Sect.”

Jin Guangyao blinked, momentarily stunned. The information Su She passed to him was right after all. Somehow, it made sense. “It is difficult to adapt an already formed boy to the Lan rules. Your elders must be displeased.”

“More than that. They call it a disrespect and dishonor to our father, to bring anyone who holds the Wen name into Gusu Lan after all the blood spilled, especially into the main family.” His voice got even more tired. “Besides, Sect Leader Jiang has already claimed a similar proposal. If he succeeds in adding A-Yuan to his sect, it’s no doubt that Wangji will follow and spend more visits to the Yunmeng Sect than he does already.”

“Can we expect the Lotus Pier to gain another disciple soon, then?” Jin Guangyao remarked with a playful voice, succeeding in pulling those downward golden gaze to his face. Lan Xichen, probably with the same mental image of Lan Wangji serious face amidst a crowd of unruly disciples causing a ruckus in purple robes, huffed a laugh.

“A-Yao.” He chided weakly, then pressed his lips in a light irritation. “Wei-gongzi hasn’t even replied to any of Wangji’s courting attempts in any way nor form, nevertheless. Besides, my brother is a very important part of Gusu Lan, in the case of any future proposal, his parting to Yunmeng Sect will not be possible, of course.”

“Of course.” He replied swiftly, glad that he would not be present in that wedding discussion, even if Yanli-Furen would for certain be. Even if Wei Wuxian still showed no interest in the courtship, there was no mistake in the way his expression brightened and his touches lingered anytime Hanguang Jun was close. There was no doubt they would be reciprocated in the future.

Similarly, there was no mistaking how both of them were absolutely wrapped around Wen Yuan’s little finger. Even if Xichen, and possibly Sect Leader Jiang, held a soft spot for him as well, to want an adoption into the main family of Great Sect is already a huge move that would undoubtedly result into a nightmare under any circumstance. Ever since the war, the Wen Sect had been falling into a steady decadence, even under the giants efforts of Wen Qing, now Sect Leader, due all the sanctions and repayments the other sects demanded to prevent their full extermination after their victory. It would still take plenty of years for it to be even considered a Great Sect once more, even so, the fact that it held amiably enough relations with the Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan Sect was a good thing.

A comfortable silence surrounded them as he thought carefully in his answer. Jin Guangyao squeezed Xichen’s hand firmly in his, waiting for them to squeeze back before going back to the soothing rubs. “Er-ge, sure Hanguang Jun is aware how his wishes would be received by your elders and is grateful for the support you’ve been showing him so far, just as he must be aware of your limitations even and especially because of your position as the leader of the sect. He can’t expect you to solve such a sensitive matter by yourself so quickly.”

Lan Xichen turned to the side, lips pressing down even harder. Jin Guangyao could see clearly the words he had just swallowed.

“It’s not fair for no one to expect this from you.”

Lan Xichen tensed and then exhaled, shoulders dropping, a clear invitation for him to get closer, which he did promptly.

“Even after his fair punishment, they continue to pressure him too much, some had been against his position as a teacher, saying he would teach our young generations wrong doings. I keep expecting to… find him gone.” His body tilted to his right and Jin Guangyao immediately crossed the table to press closer, supporting his weight. After a pause, he continued. “It’s foolish to think so, I know. There are still too many precious things in Gusu Lan for him. Who would remember all the 50 names he gave each bunny?” Jin Guangyao softly pulled his head to rest on his and he went easily. “It’s simply… Foundless fear, I know, and yet I keep finding myself too tired to push those frivolous thoughts away.”

“An excessive load of work, exhaustive conflicts and little sleep can do that, I’ve heard.” Lan Xichen sagged on him even more in protest, which made him curl lower, knowing he was right. Gracefully, Jin Guangyao simply pressed closer, one hand letting go of his hand to play with his hair.

The true, effective way to help this situation was on the tip of his tongue, and yet Jin Guangyao faltered for a moment. In another moment of his life his words would be different, but it’s been years ever since family was simply a memory of the past and the people he trusted could be counted on two fingers. Nowadays… It was different.

“I am sure he appreciates your effort, and er-ge couldn’t be more right to say he still has too many precious things in Gusu to walk away. He has you, your shufu, his students and an entire life in your sect. There are… extremely rare and few things that could ever be more important than that. Even if the problem that brought this is unfortunately something that only time will bring your solution, your feelings might have an easier route to be assured.” He didn’t even need to see Xichen’s face to visualize the doubt there, in himself, so he pushed. “Perhaps it would be beneficial to confront Wangji about your fears. I am afraid anyone else won’t be truly able to vanish your thoughts except your brother.”

The other got quiet. After a few moments, Lan Xichen turned around and burrowed his face on his hair, taking a deep breath.

“‘don’t want to,” he murmured, a hint of a whine in his words. The change from his usual collected, almost poetic way to talk not so different from an unhappy child made Jin Guangyao almost snort in surprise, a chuckle escaping him anyway.

“I am afraid you will have to.” He smiled adoringly and melancholically playing with his strands, taking the offered chance to lighten the subject. “Or perhaps er-ge would enjoy the privileges of living in this humble one’s room? I’ve known you make a good pillow.”

Lan Xichen smirked and giggled quietly. “So I’ve heard.”

Going back to his upright position, Lan Xichen looked at him with a hopeful, a bit sad still, light in those mesmerizing golden eyes. Jin Guangyao let go of him and straightened himself as well, hands resting on his lap where they could hide his twitching fingers, hungry for more. He answered with attentive and open attention the clear question in Xichen’s body and expression.

“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to accept your offer today. If A-Yao is willing, however, tomorrow I would be more than happy to spend the afternoon here.”

Finally.

Jin Guangyao smiled, eyes crinkling, dimples showing.

“Er-ge will be of course the most welcome.”

[...]

“I truly apologize, A-Yao.”

Jin Guangyao was sure that there was no flaw in his posture or expression, not a single hint that he was bothered as he prepared their tea and tried to not brood about how Xichen had brought his paperwork to his room. After so many years passed together, however, the Jin wasn’t really surprised that the Lan noticed nevertheless.

But Xichen sounded truly apologetic and the fact that he was unable to finish his necessary work only confirmed his suspicions of how much exhausted his beloved truly was. It would be no surprise when he confessed to having passed out on his desk later in the night, and yet, it bothered his heart imagining the scene all the same.

His plan must start immediately.

“It’s no matter, er-ge.” As he gave the tea to Xichen, he let his finger graze and almost rest on the other’s hand, pulling it slow enough for the touch to last and bring the attention to him. With a sweeter tune, soft enough to let Xichen imagine how it would sound if they were even closer, he continued, “Are you sure that there is no way that my help would be welcome?”

As expected, Xichen’s hand quickly took his, turning around and intertwining their fingers until Guangyao could feel each calluses born from years of being a musician and a fighter. Jin Guangyao was weak, so, so weak, so he moved closer.

“You’re always welcome, A-Yao.” He saw, however, the signs of refusal before the words began falling from his lips, and so he controlled his disappointment. Xichen’s hand squeezed his tighter and his eyelids twitched as if they wanted to press close. “But those letters need to hold my own handwriting and words, any less would be received as a careless act at best and an insult at worst. There are also permissions and revisions that only the Sect Leader can deal with.” He let out a tiny smile at the empathy coloring the other’s expression. “It will take less than half an incense stick, A-Yao, and then we can enjoy better this slow afternoon given to us. I won’t take long, I promise.”

Jin Guangyao was already expecting the answer, yet his heart still singing in realizing Lan Xichen hadn’t even doubted a second to bring such personal and important matters from his sect to his room, as if it wasn’t one of the biggest show of trust someone as important as him could show. Jin Guangyao lifted their hands and brought those long and skillful fingers to his lips, laying tiny, fleeting kisses in each one of his knuckles. Looking up and seeing the flustered state of the other, Guangyao let a small, mischievous grin grow, before letting it transform into a softer one, dimples showing.

“Let this lowly one still be of your assistance then.”

“A-Yao-” The protesting words were already low and weak enough that it didn’t take more than a nip at the tip of his finger to stop them. Before he even had the chance to recover from such an attack, Jin Guangyao quickly slipped behind him, hands resting on his shoulders and pressing them softly enough to let his intentions clear. “Ah, please, there is no need…” He took in a quick breath as Guangyao dug in and massaged the muscles soothingly, from his shoulders to his arms then going back to his shoulders and resting at the base of his neck, thumbs pressing firmly as they followed his spine to his nape, before descending and starting the cycle again. When the protest came back, it held a hint of a pleased groan on it. “You must have so much work as well, truly. I am fine.”

This reminded him of their fugitive days in the war, about how Lan Xichen would flinch away from his touch on those first days, waking up in jolts and nightmares, then tense and stay still as proud, hurt statue, protesting his care even after growing much more comfortable and trustful in him.

It’s been years since then and not only Xichen had grown much better at receiving back the love that he was so free to give, but also Jin Guangyao has also grown much better at coaxing his body and mind to relax, no longer holding back if it meant he would get the other to lighten. It was a pity that he couldn’t set all those papers on fire and command all his obligations to leave him alone, but at least he could make his moment of work much more bearable.

He only needed to convince the Lan to give him a permission that both of them desired so much.

“My heart,” he gathered his hair in one hand and pushed it to the side, just enough that one of his shoulders would be free for him to lay a single caring kiss at the base of his neck, giving him the perfect view of how he froze and swallowed at his actions. It was a blessing the other was wearing fewer layers of robes. “Please, wouldn’t you be so kind as to let me help? Ease the hurt I have in seeing you so stressed and exhausted like this.” Another kiss, he could feel the way Xichen shivered in reply. “The same way you tended and took care of my bruises during the years we’ve known each other, won’t you let me show my care for you in the same way as well?”

A warm hand found the way to his cheeks and Jin Guangyao batted his eyelashes slowly to the golden eye that watched him so fondly, prying a huff of laughter from Xichen, who already recognized such song and dance so well. The cool hand brushed a lovely path from the corner of his mouth to his eyebrows, tracing them and his eyelids with care, making him hum and widen even more his pleading gaze.

“My A-Yao, if I tended you for every moment of our lives until the end of mine, still it wouldn’t be enough to repay all the care you’ve shown me.”

Jin Guangyao softened. “What a sad scenario, er-ge. If that was so, then I would be nothing happy to find immortality, only if to take care of you through every single reincarnation.” The hand in his face faltered and A-Yao kept it in place with his own, turning around to kiss his palm, but not straying too long from his look. “But, please, er-ge, don’t torture me for so long and let me cherish you right now.”

Lan Xichen let out a shuddering sigh and his posture relaxed.

Perfect.

“I might now have such skilled hands as the honored Sect Leader Lan, but I would be happy to give you a humble massage.”

Xichen tittered in small puffs of laughter. “Please, A-Yao, you know the quality of my massages first hand.”

Jin Guangyao chuckled too, very much aware of how the widely known Lan arm strength has both its blessings and curses, and unfortunately the Lan couldn’t give a proper massage to save his life. Jin Guangyao patted his hand, voice and action completely full of condescending. “It was simply a matter of tasks. We both agree to have found enough uses for your strong hands posteriorly.”

It was very endearing how, after feeling how Xichen’s hand clamped forcefully on his waist in a “massage”, Jin Guangyao lost every last thread of control (in his defense, those days had been difficult in more ways than one can explain) and yet it was the Lan who kept blushing every time he mentioned that changing moment of their past. Absolutely endearing.

Jin Guangyao tried to not show too much smugness at it. For the way Xichen turned and by his contesting tune, he wasn’t very successful. “We found plenty of your hands’ abilities as well.”

There were some perks in growing up in a brothel, after all.

“A-Yao is perfectly skilled in plenty of the seven arts. There is no doubt of his ability handling a sword, reciting poems and declaiming beautiful stories to lucky ears,” the leader turned around, exaggerated a sigh leaving his lips and took his brush back, dipping it in ink. “How mean is to use such talent to tease his poor Huan.”

Jin Guangyao kissed his shoulder again in apology, a grin playing on his lips. They fell into a comfortable silence.

He did a quick work of putting Xichen’s hair into a long and loose braid, giving plenty of scratches on his nape that kept pulling tiny and happy muffled sounds all while, celebrating quietly the new gained free space for him to work with. After pushing delicately said braid aside and positioning his palms on each shoulder, thumbs meeting in the middle, he began.

Unlike most of the books he had found lying around the brothel, massages weren’t really a very sexy thing for him. Before, he barely was able to relax every time anyone except his mother got close to him, much less if they tried to touch him in any way. After meeting Lan Xichen, he found that even when giving it, his mind narrowed too much on the thoughts of finding each knot to press them until the muscle went lax again, exploring each little spot that would have the other groaning and then relaxing, then exchanging properly between rubbing, pressing and sliding until the tension was forced to go away and Xichen became become a pliant mess under his palms. Without the proper fragrant oil, Xichen wouldn’t appreciate much squeezing and digging anywhere that wasn’t his shoulders (always so tense) and, lately, his lower back (which was a possible result of spending much more time mending discussions and dealing with paperwork) so he would have to be attentive to give each part of his back a proper attention.

With that in mind, Jin Guangyao slides his thumbs on the sides of his spine, getting to his nape and massaging the lovely sensitive skin there, before sliding his thumbs to his shoulders, following the lines to his arms, going back and forth from the base of his neck to his biceps repeatedly, pressing firmly on the muscles and quickly using his palms as leverage so he could rub circles on the, coaxing the stress away. He mixed firm squeezes and lighter touches all around the muscles, quickly finding any stubborn knot and digging on it with his thumbs then (more lightly) his knuckles. After spending a good time on his shoulders, the Jin went down, palms descending next to his spine until they diverted on his lower back, fingers spreading and circling his waist, focusing there with more massaging circles and momentarily squeezes before letting a softer touch guide his hands, palms flat on the skin, the tip of his fingers brushing softly on the skin, back to his shoulders, repeating the cycle until the Jin could feel less and less tension the more he explored around.

A pleased grunt, a bit louder than Xichen would ever allow himself if his guards weren’t down, floated in the room and pulled Guangyao’s mind from his task. The Sect Leader let out a content, long sigh as he pulled himself back to his full height, not so tightly held like before, as he adjusted the papers in his hands. Thankfully, he was plenty aware of himself and the sheer force and determination that A-Yao is when focused on something to not even dare to try to write a single letter during his massage. It was a good thing he still had plenty of paperwork that only needed a superficial analysis and his signature.

Good.

Jin Guangyao watches the way Xichen rolls his shoulders and then turns around to smile, grateful at him. He huffs a laugh when Guangyao turns him right back around, since none of their work is done and, for as nice as it is to see the Lan soft and relaxed, it would be even better if he finished all his paperwork already so they could better enjoy their afternoon.

Putting his hands flat on his back, Guangyao began leaving soothing rubs on the skin, receiving a happy humming in turn. The light touch followed the line to his ribs, carefully tracing the spaces and bones there before going up to caress his shoulders and then run down until they could graze his sides. It was a very thin line in letting his touch firm enough to not tense Xichen by mistake and, at the same time, let it soft enough to not press uncomfortably on the fabric and skin, but not so difficult after so many years of practicing. Lan Xichen was always kind (or sensitive) enough to let him know where and how his touches would be better received. The more he continued his careful touch tracing the skin with the tip of his fingers or spreading his palms across the length of his back, the more tiny sounds were fished, the touch bearable enough that the other decided to pick up his brushes and letters again.

Lan Xichen began to blink slowly, falling back to the almost meditative state of writing (at least trades were repetitive enough that he only needed to consult his notes of previous conferences and letters to offer a middle ground with part of the interests of both sects) when he felt two single fingers beginning to circle his lower back, short nails sending a powerful shiver across his spine, making him freeze for a couple of moments before the touch fell into a safer ground. He frowned thoughtfully and finished his last line, movements slower and more attentive.

Just as he marked the symbol of Gusu Lan on the scroll, closing the correspondence and setting it aside to gather a new one, two pair fingers began walking on his ribs, lightly tracing and scratching their way up and down and-

“A-Yao!” He tittered, putting the new scroll of correspondence to the table quickly as he tumbled away from those playful fingers.

“Er-ge,” his answer was full of such a limpid innocence that it could be read as nothing but mischievousness. “Is my massage not to your liking? I’ve been practicing a new technique.”

Heat grazed Xichen’s face, and he squirmed, those dancing fingers now drawing soft, tiny spirals across his slides, pulling his lips into a flustered smile.

“Later, please, A-Yao.” His voice tilted into a giggly tune, but Xichen was able to stop it, hands flying to hold those smaller, playful ones in (a bit warning) squeeze. “Let me finish this, then you may…” The color spread even more on his cheeks, and he coughed politely. Jin Guangyao chuckled, then squeezed his hand back, in an agreement.

“I apologize, er-ge. I shall wait to give you your proper and well deserved reward, without any interruptions or worries.” He kissed his nape, letting the words graze his skin for a moment before moving away. Lan Xichen let out an excited breath he didn’t even realized he was holding.

The next words were sweeter, in a calm and sincere way. “May I keep touching you? No more teasing.”

Lan Xichen felt such a strong wave of fondness and love that it took his everything, every lesson and rule of discipline and self-control for him to calm down, to not throw those papers away and turn around, catching his A-Yao in his arms and kissing him to his hearts’s content. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and squeezed those lovely hands one more time, briefly basking in how they fit perfectly into his own, before letting it go, face still warm and a small smile laying in his lips.

“Please.” He answered.

Hands once more trailed across his back, running up until he could scratch at his nape and calmly undo the braid, combing the long, dark strand with his fingers and taking every single opportunity to pull more and more content sounds. Since they would still have to wait around a shichen, then Jin Guangyao was going to be sure he kept his beloved one happy and relaxed during that time.

[...]

Lan Xichen was expecting something from him.

The exact thing wasn’t yet clear for Meng Yao to be absolutely sure, but there were a few options already spinning in his mind, going from the naive possibility that Lan Xichen was simply suffering human necessity of being constantly touching someone (probably a result from the deprivation of his sect? For the few things the First Jade of Gusu Lan shared about his home and the plentiful rumors Meng Yao heard, the Lan Sect wasn’t painted in the most touch-feeling type) to the gruesome option that Meng Yao offended him somehow so now he was searching for the most vulnerable places on his body to rend him immobile or dead.

Both options were the far ends of a scale, which classified them as the less likely reasonings to explain the new found behavior, but created numerous options in between that could be more likely. Those last days had been spent in excluding all the wrong ones, which brought him to today.

Lan Xichen was someone who values his own routine and prefers to not bother someone else with most of his affairs, making him an extremely educated and therefore pleasant to talk to and live with, but an equally private one about his life without a proper and careful prying. The change had been happening for a couple of weeks now, which meant it was triggered by a recent event. Whether it was an external or internal one was something he needed to look into more.

Lately, he has been trying to conduct his little experiments as discreetly and secretly as possible. At first, Meng Yao had thought it was simply a new mannerism or tradition from his sect that he finally felt comfortable enough to fall back into, or perhaps a personal way to express gratitude, something he had become bolder to express as they grew inevitably closer and closer together. That was when his insistent, fleeting touches began, looking for relaxed and non-conspicuous moments to get more affectionate, appearing just as constantly as the brush of color on his face every time Meng Yao showed anything close to curiosity at his actions, searching eyes changing to bashful ones.

Therefore, there were two main possibilities to explain what was happening here. And today Meng Yao was going to rule one out.

Sitting in front of Lan Xichen, with his neck bare and curious hands going here and there to explore, he felt a tiny, hesitant line being traced on his head, a bit too close from his ear and yet much away to provoke anything more than a small shiver that he was already prepared for. Instead of reacting, he tilted his head to the side, being able to perfectly see when Lan Xichen quickly pulled his wandering touch away and went immediately back to combing his short hair, which had been receiving too much attention those last days.

“Xichen-ge,” he would rather use the most adequate ‘Lan-zongzhu’ at the moment, but Xichen always looked more subdued after it. Meng Yao continued to refer to him as this, of course, Xichen would need to get used to it soon and it was best to start now with a single person he trusted than to a doubting crowd later, but his objective, right now laid somewhere else. “Is there something bothering you? This one will do his best to fix it and make your stay much more enjoyable.”

Lan Xichen sighed, dropping his comb defeatedly on the desk and finishing his usual ponytail with ease.

“It’s nothing important, A-Yao. I apologize for worrying you.”

“There is truly no need to apologize,” he smiled, open and encouraging. “No matter what the problem or doubt is, I will be more than happy to help Xichen-ge with it.”

“It’s really a trivial matter.” Lan Xichen watched his face for a few seconds, all while Meng Yao kept it clear and comforting, keeping all the curiosity that was gnawing at his mind hidden.

Eventually, Lan Xichen’s own curiosity won.

“That night when you were brushing my hair, you did something and it made…” He stopped, not very sure of which words to choose, brown frowning slightly in a confused manner. “It was like an itch, somehow amusing. It sparked a different feeling and simply got me curious. I tried to replicate it but,” he chuckled lightly. “It seems like I failed in doing so.”

Sudden clarity hit Meng Yao and all the last pieces of the mystery fitted each other perfectly, creating a clear image in his mind. Reasoning #5 was right after all, who would say.

“I see.” His smile naturally morphed to something more genuine and slightly mischievous. “In that moment, I tickled you by mistake, ge.”

Lan Xichen brightened. “So that was tickling!” Seemingly catching up to his outburst of excitement, a light blush painted his nose, but he continued his joyful demeanor either way. Good. “I have seen so many descriptions of it before that it really got me confused for a while. It explains why I couldn’t do it myself and why I eventually tried it on you, a bit.” The blush increased and Meng Yao controlled the expression on his face to not stare fixedly at it. “I hope I haven’t caused too much trouble and made A-Yao uncomfortable with my approach.”

Meng Yao thought about all the soft touches that kept following him across the house, the tiny embarrassed grins and vehement requests to comb his hair every morning, the steady hold when he stumbled across a poorly performed sword form, a hand on his shoulder or forearm to bring his attention to some matter. His answer came a bit faster than he would’ve liked. “No. Of course there was no inconvenience for me. Even if I would’ve helped to answer your question sooner, this one is very happy to clear your confusion.” He made an educated pause, letting a bit of curiosity slip on his words. “Has Xichen-ge never been tickled before?”

“Ah, not much, not much.” His eyes turned away from him and Meng Yao could see the half-truth for what it was. “But I’ve always been a bit curious about it. There are plenty of books that had a few snippets, and it always seemed so fun to me!”

Lan Xichen smiled and Meng Yao could see it, how being so open and joyful but still too far away from the other cultivators that no one would dare to reach to him during their own sparks of playfulness. Hasn't his family ever got into a bit of a tickle fight? Of course, Meng Yao wasn’t in a position to wonder about it considering his own history, yet even his childhood had been graced by plenty of memories with his mother that he treasured more than gold. Reminding of happy moments in between dark days, his features softened.

“It can be quite overwhelming,” he explained, “like your body itself is jumping between a strong urge of laughing and running away and even the quickest or lightest touch can leave a residual feeling that will put a smile on your face. There are the ones who like the feeling of it and who don't, but even so there are some who only appreciate when it is done in a certain way or in a specific context.”

Lan Xichen smiled even more brightly at that. “My instincts haven’t failed me yet, then. You’re ticklish too, aren’t you, A-Yao?”

He chuckled at that, becoming more and more endeared by every passing moment. Who would say such a mundane and fleeting thing would be the one to make the First Jade of Gusu Lan so interested and earnest to learn? It was quite precious to have something to teach him as well.

“I am. Not that it is very easy to catch me off guard. There are plenty of techniques that are more effective than others.” Playfully, he lowered his head and looked at the other coyly. “Perhaps one day I will tell Xichen-ge which, when he decides to share with me his ones.”

“How knowledgeable is A-Yao. Wise and smart, he truly must carry plenty of experience that could help this ignorant one to understand, if he is kind enough to teach me.”

The tune and words were clearly teasing, with a bit of truth bathed in playfulness and excitement of having his discovery to happen and grow like that, but suddenly Meng Yao could see it perfectly: Lan Xichen under him, answering to his every touch, smiling uncontrollably, laughing completely unashamed, loud and bright, capturing the entire light of the sky in his smile, making all kind of sounds that he would have to repeat over and over again until Meng Yao could engrave them fully in his mind, squirming, trashing around and pleading amidst his laughter, face red and teary, wrinkling eyes staring him full of joy and mirth, glimpse of hidden, velvety skin appearing here and there, showing more delightful spots to explore.

What would his uncontrollable laughter sound like? Was Xichen more or less ticklish than him? There was some unexpected spot yet undiscovered that would pry a surprise reaction and a delicious surprised gaze at him? Was he a squirmer, someone who likes to playfully fight or be chased around, or maybe pliant, who would melt under his touches and make the desire to tickle him more increase? Until where could he make his blush go? How many kinds of reactions could Meng Yao pry from him?

Meng Yao felt his throat go dry and the tip of his fingers twitching uncontrollably for a second. Suddenly being under the other’s eager stare was too much and his mind, as always, quickly jumped to save him even before he processed his words thoroughly.

“You should try another experience first, one that is not so overwhelming and that can help you to grow accustomed to the feeling and reactions that tickling can bring, something that will give you more understanding and leverage before being tickled.” Lan Xichen’s gaze was intense and only years of learning to replace his every instinctive reaction to a more controlled façade could help him hide how that expression of utter interest and determination affected him, making color arise at his face.

“You should tickle me first.”

[...]

“Oh,” Lan Xichen thought as he realized that was the last page he was supposed to be reading, all the necessary letters written and documents approved or denied, which meant that after finishing the last corrections on this teaching plan, all his work would be finally finished.

Hm.

“I should’ve thought this better.”

He felt a single snicker bubble on his throat, ignoring it just as he ignored those brown eyes staring at each of his movements avidly, following the marks of his brush with rapid attention. Distractedly, Xichen tried to take a deep breath to regain his control, but had to stop another squirm when Jin Guangyao’s hands got too close from his side once more, making him shiver and straight his posture even more. Just like the few last documents, as soon as the barely there teasing touch got any reactions, it disappeared back to his hair, letting him concentrate once more on the matters at hand.

Jin Guangyao hasn’t gone against his word once during the entire time and, as Lan Xichen was too occupied with his sect’s matters, he kept a series of soothing touches, squeezes and rubs that would keep his muscles nice and relaxed. Unfortunately, the closer he got to the end of his work, the more his mind was haunted by the conversation they held in the beginning of the afternoon, making his thoughts swirl with what was about to happen. The closer he got to the end of the page, the more Jin Guangyao touched him and the more he could feel each one of his senses in fire.

It also didn’t help, as well, that Lan Xichen could feel A-Yao getting closer and closer to him, bodies almost touching, trails of warmth blooming everywhere those fingers grazed him, instincts shouting in alarm anytime those wandering hands did more than hint how easily they could divert their path to his most ticklish spots and at each breath Lan Xichen felt himself get more and more sensitive.

The anticipation was running wild across his meridians, pulling his mind out of the paper and creating a fruitless, and yet amusing, loop where he couldn’t finish his paperwork because if he did he would be tickled, which increased his anticipation because he hadn’t been tickled yet, making him more distracted at his paperwork, which would then bring him back to the beginning and only accomplished in leaving his mind and body restless and with a stubborn tilt upwards in the corner of his lips.

His focus was so out of place that he felt the exact moment those hands moved away from his hair, letting the braid go and disappearing away from his vision and touch. Warning signals exploded in his mind like fireworks, growing more agitated as more and more moments passed with not even the lowest movement happening. Where would the next place those teasing fingers would land? On his lower back, where only a few scribbling would leave him squirming and giggling non-stop? The back of his ribs, where, at any moment he could be turned into a crackling mess by a bit of prodding and drumming on them? The base of his neck, pulling uncontrollable snickers until he was unable to talk normally? Lan Xichen held his breath, body naturally tensing in preparation for the ambush.

He jolted when a firm touch rested on the middle of his back, going up and down into a coaxing rub.

“Is something the matter, er-ge? I may serve as a second opinion for your tribulation, if you wish.” His voice got closer and Lan Xichen knew he was looking above his shoulder, fully aware of how his writing had been stagnant for minutes and what was actually happening. “It must be really complicated, to have you so immersed in it as you’ve been.”

Lan Xichen huffed, answering the teases in kind. “Perhaps it would do me well to get another perspective of this problem. Wouldn’t you be so kind as to switch places with me, my A-Yao? Come sit at my side and let me take care of your hair as you did, as well.”

Jin Guangyao chuckled softly, a false contrite tune in his words. “I couldn’t possibly, er-ge. This one would never dare to imply he could do a better job than Lan-zhongzhu in the matters of Gusu Lan.”

“Then accompany me for a cup of tea?” He gestured to the vacant space at his side, voice persistent and polite. “You know how much I value your brilliant insights and smart remarks for my decisions.”

“Certainly, er-ge is the most kind.” He lowered his head lightly in agreement, “I will be more than happy to share some of our favorite blends as soon as you finish your work.”

It felt prohibited, how polite their words were and how Jin Guangyao’s fingers trailed across Xichen’s arms, leaving goosebumps wherever it passed. Yet, happiness filled his heart each passing moment, watching fondly as his touch continued until it stopped for a moment on his wrists, tracing the uncovered skin there before following to his hand and then his brush, carefully adjusting it before moving away.

“It would be improper, otherwise, to interrupt your responsibilities. After it all, however, I want nothing more than to honor your wishes, every single one.”

Lan Xichen felt once more the heat taking over his features, memories upon memories flourishing in his mind. It was a good thing Jin Guangyao couldn’t see his face anymore, otherwise he would witness the way it formed a flustered, tiny pout at his clear defeat. The Lan accepted it gracefully, however, willing his senses to calm themselves once more and focus completely on the last part of the document, finishing the last commentaries and writing his signature, going through the same steps of folding and sealing with the Gusu Lan seal fully automatically, before he put it on his completed pile, a sigh leaving his body at this.

The very first moment he let go of the document, his mind caught up and Lan Xichen froze in the same position, adrenaline running fast across his meridians.

Behind him there was complete silence, hands appeared, and he followed them with the corner of his eyes, struggling to not start chuckling simply by how excited he was, knowing that they could decide to attack any moment now. But they passed his back, torso and curled around his wrists, soft and kind, a taunting and momentarily illusion of peace. Lan Xichen let them pull his arms back to his lap, resting them there.

Slowly, he followed the path from his wrists to his forearms, only fingertips touching the skin in swirling patterns and drawn circles. They stopped by his inner elbow and lightly, so lightly that his nails were barely tracing the spot, tickled it.

“Er-ge did it all perfectly, of course. I didn’t doubt it a single second.” A-Yao’s voice made him jolt out of the almost hypnotic daze he got into, following every twitch of those quick fingers, enjoying the still too weak instincts of trying to trash away. “You’re so very skilled, so reliable and responsible, but for now, please allow me to take care of everything.” His blush only got worse, both because of the sincere praise and the fact that Jin Guangyao nuzzled softly the ticklish (ticklish, what a delightful word) spot behind his ear, pulling a tiny and surprised squeak before a couple of tiny giggles.

He fumbled over his words, not yet fully accustomed in letting someone else take his role. “A-Yao, maybe I should-”

A kiss hit his ear and a huffed squeal almost escaped, being controlled at the last second when Lan Xichen pushed his face on his own shoulders, which trembled a bit.

Trust me, Jin Guangyao wanted to say, words almost spilling along his desire in front of the who mattered the most, let me show you how much I know your every weakness, every reaction, every sensitive part of yours, let me show how good I can take care of all of them. Let me bring you everything you are looking for, all the joy, all the happiness, all the delight, let me pry each one of them from you and lay it all in your hands. Lay all of yourself in my hands. Let me, let me, let me.

What he said, instead, was: “There is no need, er-ge, I am sure of I want to do. There would be no great honor.”

How could it be a burden when all my thoughts are you and you and you. “But what about you? Are you sure, er-ge?”

His hands stopped and he adjusted his head to watch the other better when silence began spreading after his question.

“Please.” He let the word escape, filling the silence for a second.

Was he wrong, after all? But that couldn’t be, he noticed every positive response to his touches, every rewarding sound, the way after the initial instinct of moving away, Lan Xichen went back to press himself once more in his hands, how swiftly the work flooded, how closed lipped smiles kept blooming in his mouth. Could it be that not being able to see his expression as freely as before clouded his interpretations so much?

Lan Xichen’s words cut his line of thought before he could start to backtrack.

“Only if my A-Yao gives me the happiness of being called Huan-ge, for at least the end of this day?” His voice was playful and his eyes twinkled when they turned around to look at him. Jin Guangyao was helpless for the fond chuckle that escaped him. It was much better than choking in surprise.

Lan Xichen. Lan Huan. Huan-ge. To be allowed to call him by his birth name… Jin Guangyao truly couldn’t be more blessed.

I could call you that for the end of my life.

He lowered his voice and got closer once more, hands going back to the soft scribbles on his inner elbows, slowly going upwards in fleeting touches. In a purr, the advisor replied.

“Anything my Huan-ge wants.”

Even if the offer was his, wide, surprised eyes still found the other’s gaze, blush growing stronger before Lan Xichen quickly turned around, mind still spinning with Huan-ge, Huan-ge, Huan-ge over and over again, only distracted when his hands migrated to his shoulders, going way too close to his horribly ticklish neck. A tittering puff jumped away from his mouth and his shoulders trembled as he willed them to stay down. The hands continued to approach before closing on the hem of his robes, playing with them in between his fingers.

“May I?”

Realizing what that meant, Lan Xichen melted a bit and only the adrenaline and anticipation kept his muscles from falling on those kind arms.

“You may.”

Jin Guangyao hummed pleased and began taking off his outer robe carefully, treating the fabric with much more care than Lan Xichen who, much for his demise, was still very bad at washing the delicate fabric without tearing it apart.

He removed the first one, taking off his stash, folding it and putting both on his table. He repeated the gesture, tapping his fingers on the hem of his second, then third robes, always asking and waiting for his answer before he continued. When he was left with his two last robes, Jin Guangyao scribbled lightly at his side, seemingly satisfied at his louder and surprised giggles as an answer and then positioning his hands on his lower back.

Lan Xichen grabbed them and, quietly, guided both to the hem of his robe. “You may. Please.”

Jin Guangyao barely hesitated before removing it too, just as reverently as before and Lan Xichen smiled, patting the last, thin and comfortable, inner robe with satisfaction. It felt much lighter and adequate, completely different from greeting someone so important as his A-Yao with the condecorations of a sect leader. Now he was simply Lan Xichen, Lan Huan, enjoying the surprise Jin Guangyao so mindfully prepared for him.

The Jin grabbed Xichen’s skilled hands once more and pulled them upwards, crossing them behind his neck, making them both get even closer than before. Xichen took the opportunity to kiss his cheek, his ear, his neck and shoulder in appreciation, more than happy at the bold move.

For his last preparation, he slowly began undoing the knot tying his forehead ribbon, eyes focused and attentive to any slight show of discomfort, eventually pulling it carefully, folding and laying reverently above all his clothes.

“Let me look after you.”

His hands rested on his waist, first only caressing the skin, testing the pressure they would have to apply to tickle the spot, then changing to a soft spidering that started from his sides to the base of his spine, scrapping and prodding at them with quick, fleeting touches that started to bring more and more giggling, dancing on both spots over and over again, leaving his nerves prickling with every teasing tickle. His touch danced across the skin, tracing the line of the waistband of his pants, slipping a couple of fingers under his robe to pinch lightly at his sides, going up and down a few times until his giggles increased to a higher giggles, once or two squeals escaping here and there, especially as he went back to his spine, prodding and poking the bones as he went upwards.

The more the playful touches continued, the more Lan Xichen felt his control crumbling, his reactions slipping easily, delighted noises filling the room as the soft, light and fast tickling just continues, exploring his back with scratches and scribblings that only made him feel more and more ticklish at each moment, each touch teasing just enough to sent his senses into wildness. Every time those dancing fingers followed each bone of his ribs with fluttering and a light clawing, drummed quickly in between them, attacked the lowest parts of his shoulder blades with spidering and pokes, Lan Xichen tried to curl more and more forward only to remember about his position and laugh more. Louder snickers, painted sometimes by surprised crackles, escaped him in waves, arms trembling to not lower themselves, doing the best to keep his torso unprotected. Even the praising, grateful kisses that Jin Guangyao gave his biceps and forearms in appreciation felt like tiny sparks to ticklishness at this point.

As more and more moments passed and those maddening fluttering and sparsely rough tickling continued, his previous muffled squeaks turned into louder yelps and tittering giggles transformed in an unending onslaught of squealing snickers. Each sound grew more uncontrollable and unstoppable as Jin Guangyao calmly guided his efforts to his armpits, the fingers that were previously attacking every inch of his shoulder blades then walking in tiny pokes and swirls to the spot. Lan Xichen closed his eyes firmly, a giant, wobbly smile in his face as he squirmed the entire way, yelping and chuckling when they finally arrived at their destiny.

His fingers rested on the skin, drawing circles and scribbling softly on the place where his back connected to his armpit, slowly worming their way to tickle it before Lan Xichen couldn’t take it anymore and firmly clamped his arms on his sides, successfully blocking the way, shoulders bouncing with his laughter painted in a mix of excitement and fear.

The shorter one clicked his tongue, but moved his fingers away, nevertheless. It didn’t take long for his velvet tune to find its way to his sensitive ears once more.

“Huan-gege’s laughter is truly a blessing.” Lan Xichen shook his head, and he nibbled that spot behind his ear in reply, pulling a squeal, giggling and giggling non-stop. “Even if he keeps running from my care. There is no worry, however, I will keep bringing him back as much as we need to, again and again.”

Finishing with a peck that resulted in even more snickering, Lan Xichen finally realized the distraction for what it was, immediately arching his back the moment his hands began clawing at the tickle spot right under his shoulder blades, pulling an undignified squawk and a stumble that made him tilt and fall on Guangyao’s chest. Warmth involved him from every side, which did nothing to placate the ticklish tingling sensation spreading to his ribs in an unrelenting attack, uncontrollable laughter spilling freely from his lips until he felt a hand on his face, turning it to the side to find those warm brown eyes staring right at him.

“My, my, what a pleasant surprise to find you here, Huan-ge.”

His thumb began brushing his cheek softly and Lan Xichen guffawed, almost completely lost in the sensation, face and ears hot at the smug shine in the other’s eyes. After discovering that even his cheeks were ticklish, A-Yao always took an opportunity to tease them with fluttering tickles and playful words.

“Nohohot so much of a surprihihise, I belieheve.” He grinned, the mischievousness of it losing partially its sharpness by the utter adoring expression on his face. “I am ahahalways lookihing fohor you, after-aha-all!”

The fingers traced his cheek once more, then moved to his mouth, pressing across his lower lip for a moment. Lan Xichen nipped it and then looked at Jin Guangyao with big eyes, batting his eyelashes. The other huffed.

“So smooth, Huan-ge.” Still, he acquiesced with the silent wish, not wanting to refuse his dear one anything on this day. He laid a peck on his mouth and moved away before Xichen could try to convince him to change his current plan to different activities.

At the pout he received for that, Jin Guangyao let his hand scribble and tease softly his other (adorably, lovely, addictingly) ticklish cheek, immediately changing it to a wobbly, tiny closed lipped grin. Jin Guangyao hummed, laying more and more fast kisses on his mouth until it opened again into a happy smile and bubbly giggles fell from it freely.

His fingertips continued to tickle his cheek for a few more moments before it started heading down to his next target, crawling and poking until it arrived to that truly delightful spot under his jaw, lightly scratching on it over and over again, making Lan Xichen’s giggles rise to an uncontrollable chuckling laughter, painted with squeals and snorts as those tickles danced around the spot, his body trembling with the urge to trash and squirm away from the maddening touches.

Jin Guangyao twirled and explored every inch of ticklish skin, sometimes venturing further down his neck, spidering the middle and scribbling his collarbones before immediately going back to torment the previous, truly delicious, spot.

Delicious…

Hm.

Lan Xichen barely paid attention when A-Yao tilted his head closer, using his entire concentration to stop himself from scrunching up his neck and locking his hands and their horrible tickles on the place that made his snickers go higher and squeaky, pulling one high pitched sound after the other, refusing to let his laughter slow down even for a moment. It was only when his chin was held carefully up and a warm breath hit his bare neck that his mind caught up with his partners’ plan, leaving no time to react before his face was burrowed on his skin and those lips began nibbling under his jaw.

A loud shriek filled the room as he instinctively pried himself away from his embrace, laughing and squirming so much he eventually fell forwards, forehead rested on the tabletop as a snorting kind of laughter continued to escape him, only slowing down to a unstoppable giggling at the ghost tickles. Rubbing his neck, he tried to rub the feeling away and realizing with anticipation how this new position left him with his entire back open. More and more titters fell from his lips.

“Huan-ge, you fell.” Jin Guangyao purred, staying in the same place as he watched him with smart and crinkling eyes until Lan Xichen returned his gaze, face bright and a smile spread from one ear to another. He grinned and controlled the urge to attack him again, to turn Xichen around, hold his arms away and once more find his way to the most delicious spots and torment him, pulling joyous laughter again and again and-

He didn’t, of course. It was not the moment yet. For now, all the Lan needed was a little more of building up and tormenting tickles, until the slightest brush of fingertips would leave him drunk in happiness and snickers.

His foolish urges would have to wait for their moment and keep following the plan.

“Why don’t you come back up, hm?”

Xichen’s eyes followed to his open arms, fingers wiggling slightly, not even pretending to hide what would come of his fate would he choose to come back to his embrace. He could feel his face burn even more, heat escaping to his neck and ears. His lover had a look on his face that brought goosebumps to his spine, a kind of shine that said that he would patiently wait until the second Lan Xichen decided to continue their playful moment.

“A-Yao,” there was a hint of a whine at the end of his words. Jin Guangyao clicked his tongue and cooed in exaggerated empathy, as if his hands were tied and there was nothing he could do to save him from his current predicament. “Nohoho…”

“Won’t you come back to me, Huan-ge?” He pouted, looking down and away. “Tell me, does this one’s touch displease you? For you to try to get away from me so determinately, I can only imagine how my advances are not welcome.”

Lan Xichen huffed and groaned softly, recognizing the clear provocation for what it was. “A-Yao, my love, please…”

“A single moment without the presence of my Huan-ge and the cold is too great to survive.” He continued, tone pitiful and sad. “But, if this one truly wronged his Lan Huan so greatly, it must only be fair to endure it.”

Lan Xichen was a weak, weak man, and so he huffed and whined in protest, but straightened up and went back to his previous position, snuggled once more in the most trustful arms in the world, hiding his face in his own hands, his back shaking the tiniest bit with the chuckling, pleased laughter from the other he received in reward.

Every point of contact set his senses at fire and every breath he took in silence, slightly shuddering, was filled with the anticipation of his new attack, his nerves tingling in preparation and expression already losing itself to an uncontrollable kind of giggles that kept jumping joyfully on his throat.

A couple of seconds, then a pair of minutes passed and nothing happened.

Lan Xichen slowly lowered his hands, just enough to see those offending, wiggling fingers clawing the air, close, yet too far away to even touch skin. The unexpected scene was enough to make him jump and squirm, almost falling into those tickling touches, but managing to stop himself once more, snickering at his own silliness.

“No, no, wait, A-Yao! Wait!”

Jin Guangyao nuzzled behind his ear in answer and his laughter only worsened, even if there was yet no tickles teasing his spots, reactions fueled by nothing more than the adrenaline that made those tiny, ticklish sparks spread from everywhere Jin Guangyao touched or would (probably) touch any moment now. When he decided to move those offending wiggly fingers, possibly.

Lan Xichen pouted, turning around just the necessary amount for him to see it, receiving a placating kiss and even more nuzzles on his neck as consolation.

“Oh no,” Jin Guangyao gasped theatrically, which only made Lan Xichen let out another complaining noise, still surrounded by plenty of giggles, and bat one of his hands lightly away. “It seems like my Huan-ge is so far away! Too far from my caring touch. What shall I do now?”

“Just dohoho it, A-Yao, pleaahase. Have mehehercy, have mercy on yohour poor Xichen.”

“I would love to help, Huan-ge, but that simply seems impossible, with you being so far away. If only there was someone who could guide my hands to a kinder destination…”

“There is nohot!”

“There is not? Oh, that is truly a pity.” He nosed the spot once more, prying higher giggles. Angling his mouth better, then, Jin Guangyao made sure to whisper the next words directly into his ear. “I would be so happy to find, tease and tickle any and every spot that my Huan-gege would be kind enough to guide me. Anywhere he wants, any spot that would leave him relaxed, content and laughing his heart out and I would stay there, tickling and tickling again and again for as long as you want. Doesn't this sound like a nice offer?”

Lan Xichen snorted, tittering while turning his face away, burning in a newer shade of blush at such lovely teases. He was plenty aware, after everything they had passed together, that there was no escape from his current indecision. Jin Guangyao would keep his sweet words and provocations for hours at end until he caved and decided the next target to his doom, both to his absolute delight and despair. Still, he turned around with a new protesting, sad noise, making Jin Guangyao’s lip twitch upwards before an expression of pure innocence took over his face and he pecked lightly his mouth.

“Won’t you let me, Huan-ge?” Each word was marked by another kiss, on his lips, his cheek, his eyelid, everywhere. Lan Xichen hummed pleased, melting more in the embrace, realizing one of the many benefits of staying right where he was. “Won’t you show me where you want me to tickle you next?”

It took a bit more of distraction, more lingering kisses and sweet provocations, until two strong, yet so delicate, hands gripped his wrists and guided his own to an open neck. Jin Guangyao smiled and kissed his temple in gratefulness, more than happy at the happy snickering he received.

Slowly, his hands moved to rest on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing teasingly the skin, so close to the base of his neck that Lan Xichen could already feel the uncontrollable smile taking over the expression of his face. Even before the hands started creeping closer, his laughing fit was already back, yelps and squeaks going louder and quicker as his hands began spidering across his neck.

“Ahahahaha-Yahahao! Mehehercy! M-mer-r-cihihiHIHIHI!

Jin Guangyao gave a small nibble on his neck, humming in satisfaction at the screech, taking his time to trace with his lips across every little spot, to huff and puff his breath over the sensitive skin and tease with a light, barely there, scrape of teeth every little mole or scar he found in his way, only to go back to nibbling and huffing, changing the tune of the laughter at every little change, making uncontrollable and loud giggles morphing into wheezing crackles, then bringing back to louder titters and start the cycle again.

“So kind of my Huan-ge to let this one be deserving of his laughter, for returning so wingilly to my hug and following so perfectly my instructions, for trusting me like this.” He nuzzled him, pulling a higher joyous squeal before finally giving Lan Xichen his well deserved prize.

He took a deep breath and burrowed his face in his neck with a giant raspberry.

“AHAHAHA-YAHAHAO!”

Jin Guangyao hummed in question, being sure the vibrations hit the skin and resulted in more guffaws and crackling as an answer. Positioning his fingers once more, he began alternating between scratching and scribbling across his collarbone and fluttering and tracing behind his ears, making his laughter ring loud and free in the air, screeches and wheezes following it happily. Lan Xichen threw his head back, only opening even more space for his raspberries, an advantage that Jin Guangyao was more than glad to use.

After a few moments, he let his tickling slow down enough to a soft spidering, tiny pecks now trailing to the back of his ears, pulling squeak after squeak, making Lan Xichen melt even more on him, words forming and disappearing on the tip of his tongue with the sudden onslaught of affection. Eventually, his hands stopped.

“Please, allow me, then, to clarify a few important points, while we explore new spots at our convenience.”

Lan Xichen was just recovering from his laughing fit when the hands disappeared for a moment and quickly appeared back again on his ribs, mischievous fingers twitching lightly on the spot. The Sect Leader snorted, holding on the other’s arms and looking up, finding his fond gaze, unmoved by his own wide and shiny eyes filled with surprise. Pleas began spilling from him.

“My A-Yao! Plehehehease, wait! There is noho nee-eek!”

Jin Guangyao drummed on the spot, hands clawing determinately on each space in between the bones and incessant fingers prodding each one of his ribs, pressing on each one of them and vibrating in short bursts of attacks, spreading ticklish sparkles across his every single sense, making the poor sensitive Lan throw his head back with a crackling laughter, thrashing around in the hold.

“Let us start then.”

No matter how much Lan Xichen shook or moved his head, he couldn’t stop those whispering words to attack directly his sensitive ears, adding a squeaking tilt to his chortles and a bit more of maddening to his mind.

“My Huan-er-ge is the most hardworking, determined and brilliant person I’ve ever met.” Lan Xichen shrieked and before he could oppose anything Jin Guangyao was saying (by a simple confusion, of course) he felt the other’s hands slip and dig on that absurdly ticklish spot right in the bottom of his ribs, almost in his back, making him lose all his words and arch back with a loud crackle. A truly unfortunate event.

“Your spirit was strong enough to keep both of our hopes alive during the war and then to keep your resilience unwavering even during the fall out of it. Your resolution in what you believe and your kindness that forgives and love so easily form such an esteemed and important partnership that it amazes me until this very day, and will continue to do so for much longer. The first makes you understand the most subtle and important details of political affairs and crucial battles, while the latter keeps you-” (vulnerable, weak, transparent, he didn’t say) “trustworthy and human enough to lead, help and spare the most that you can.”

“You care so much for the ones who are dear to you and work the most to maintain and protect everything that you believe.” At this point, his words had lost all the teasing mischievousness to adoration, a reverence that he could only demonstrate fully when they were soft and unguarded like this. Jin Guangyao began slowing down his attack, changing to spidering tickles that ran up and down his ribs, slipping away momentarily to his armpits and drumming there from time to time, when Lan Xichen tried to interrupt his vulnerable words and then rewarded him with cute snorts and giggly squeaks.

His voice got even more gentle. “I wish you would let those you love-” (me, me, me) “take care and carry your burdens along with you as well. We would be so happy to do so, as much as you need, for as long as you need.”

Lan Xichen had trashed so much he had lowered himself even more on his embrace, disarranging his robes open, which created the perfect opportunity for the Jin to grin and worm his hands to skitter and pinch the ticklish skin of his sides, pulling surprised, ticklish laughter.

“A-Yao!” Looking down, all he could find was Xichen’s determined stare, watching him amidst the misty shine of tears that began collecting on the corner of his eyes. “Yohohohou alreadyihihihi do thahaAHAHAT!” Even as the tickling increased in protest, his words persisted. Amidst the crackling and snorts, they aimed directly to his heart. “Tahahahaking sohoHOHO - NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! - MUCH CAHAHARE OHOHO-ohof me! Yohohou d-d-dohohoho it all so eek! SohoHOHO FREHEHELY!”

And Jin Guangyao was weak. So incredibly and helplessly weak and weak and weak.

His body moved on his own before his mind could fully catch up with it, thoughts running too fast for him to get a strong hold on each of them. He lowered the taller one on the ground, digging his fingers on the soft flesh of his sides until he was laying on the ground and he could maneuver himself to sit on his thighs. In his new position he could see the exact moment Xichen’s face dissolved into that expression full of surprise, fear and delight as he pushed his robes to the side until his stomach was completely bare and he suddenly burrowed his face on his belly.

“MYIHIHIHI LOHOHOVE!”

His hands drilled on his sides, squeezing and drumming, running up to claw at his ribs, then inwards to knead at the corners of his stomach. Each new touch and tickle made the other shriek, loud, belly and mirthful laughter painted in wheezing screeches and snorts, filling the entire room with the force of it and making the other arch, which only burrowed him closer and closer to the playful attention. Jin Guangyao nibbled each weak spot he could find, blowing raspberries directly on his belly button, pressing kisses and whispered loving, praising words on his lower belly, following his waist with nibbles, nipping the sensitive places of his hips, raspberrying the trembling spot non stop.

After lavishing every single inch with all the nibbles, kisses and raspberries he could deliver, Jin Guangyao started to ascend. His hands slowed down their tickles, changing to a scribbling and spidering kind of touch that started on his lower belly, tracing the line of his waist, the bones of his hips, before climbing slowly up.

“So precious.”

He kissed a trail on his chest, completely unfazed by how it trembled and shook under him with all the maddened snickers that continued to spill.

“So strong.”

Lan Xichen hugged himself, hiding his face on his shoulder while the light tickles kept his nerves aflame. Tiny squeaks and high pitched sounds continued to escape him, growing quicker and more uncontrollable the more Jin Guangyao got closer to his target.

“So responsive.”

His hands slipped to land a quick squeeze on his inner thighs, immediately making him squirm from one side to another.

He kissed the spot right below his collarbone. Then waited.

Lan Xichen snickered and giggled and wiggled around, smile growing bigger and wobblier the more moments passed without another whispered, sweet word from the other nor a kiss that made his muscles be torn between melting into the touch or escaping away from all the tickles. His hands were now resting on his waist, keeping it nice and snug in his hold, preventing it from squirming away from their inevitable fate.

Jin Guangyao watched his every expression, every twitch and giggle avidly, making the heat consuming his face spread to his chest and his eyes to shut even more tightly, plenty aware of the kind of gaze they would find as soon as he reciprocated it.

Except for his increasing titters, nothing else took over the air around them. After minutes passed without anything more, Lan Xichen huffed and opened his eyes, finding that adoring, reverent, hungry gaze watching his every expression, a fond grin turning into an evil smirk that made goosebumps run across his spine and his snickering to increase.

Slowly, without any hurry or worry in the world, Jin Guangyao began lowering his head, eyes fixated on him.

“A-Yao!!” His squirms failed to escape his tight grip, which was not helped for the way all his muscles felt like wet wool. “Please! Plehehease, anythihihing else!”

“So sensitive. So ticklish for me.” Jin Guangyao continued, a low, pleased tune taking over his words when the mirth shining on Xichen’s eyes and the excited squirming only increased at the teases.

His mouth brushed his neck, next word hitting his skin into a mix of airy tickles and a spark of electricity.

“Perfect.”

Before Lan Xichen could protest anymore, a gigantic raspberry hit his neck, the vibrations leading to another shriek and louder laughter, a high crackling one that left his entire body shaking from the force of it, his head thrown back as squeals, screeches and chortles escaped merrily from his lips. Jin Guangyao followed his every squirm and movement, his hands spidering up and digging on his armpits, drumming on the spots as mercilessly as the raspberries continued to torment his every nerve, intertwined by nibbles and nips that would be prying squeaks and snorts from his lungs.

Not a trace of his torso was forgotten. Tiny raspberries rested at the crook of his neck, nibbles attacked every spot from under his chin to his jaw, and fingers danced across his armpits, scratched at his ribs, pinched his sides and drummed on his hips, spot that suddenly would be graced with one or two raspberries to tint his reactions in surprise. Not even his thighs, which were graced with so many squeezes and kneading that made him kick and try to roll around fruitlessly, weren’t spared from the onslaught of tickles, each touch teasing his most weak and sensitive spots to latch on and torment without a mercy.

Lan Xichen laughed. He pleaded, snickered and crackled without a single thought nor coherence, mind too much taken over by the overwhelming sensations, by the feeling of joy and happiness that filled his chest like nothing else mattered, by the ticklish tingles and vibrations that teased his every nerve, that danced across his mind and at which he couldn’t ever look away. For a moment, no worries from his position, no exhaustion from his work or fears of the future existed. There was only Jin Guangyao and his perfect, merciless tickles, his unending laughter and warmth all around.

Before it got too much, Jin Guangyao stopped, being intrinsically aware of Xichen’s every quirk and tell. The Jin laid a last kiss on his neck, chuckled at the tiny wiggle it pulled and then moved closer to his face, his smaller hands cupping it and wiping the few tears away with such a care that it was as if he was handling the most precious treasure of all the cultivation world in his palms.

They spend all the while his remaining snickers filled the air like that.

“It’s so dark and cold outside.” Lan Xichen said, when his voice was back and he could say more than one syllable without remembering what happened and falling once more in titters. He pulled the other closer. “Wouldn’t my A-Yao be kind enough to let this one stay for the night?”

Jin Guangyao huffed, amused.

(As if he wouldn’t let him stay for the rest of their lives.)

“Of course. Such an esteemed guest of the Jintali Sect deserves only the utmost hospitality from this lowly advisor.” He laid a kiss on his forehead, right where his forehead ribbon would be and Lan Xichen hummed happily. “After all, what would say the rumors after seeing Sect Leader Lan getting out of my room in such a disheveled state in the middle of the night?”

Lan Xichen replied with a peck on his cheek and a playful light pinch on his side. “Nothing worse than they will speculate tomorrow, surely, after discovering I spent the night with you.”

“Then I will take care of them accordingly.”

Lan Xichen turned his face around, kissing his palm in a quick distraction moving before he was worming a couple of fingers mischievously once more on Jin Guangyao’s side, making him get out from his place on top of him and move away enough for them to get up.

Amidst the playful remarks and softer words, both of them prepared themselves for the night, eventually slipping on the bed together. As soon as Lan Xichen snuggled on his embrace, happily burrowing his face on his chest and pulling Jin Guangyao even closer, he could already feel the sleepiness start to drag his eyes closed.

A hand deliberately rested in between his shoulder blades and Lan Xichen hummed in question, feeling a pleasant shiver when the fingers began softly tracing the spot.

“May I?” Jin Guangyao whispered.

Lan Xichen smiled and sighed, content, fulfilled, happy. He nuzzled the chest under him, laying a peck on his shoulder.

“You may.”

His other hand tangled on his hair and began scratching his scalp, a thankful kiss being delivered on top of his head.

The low, whispered words that filled the air no longer carried a teasing tune, but a quiet vulnerability and adoration that shone in each letter.

“There is no bigger honor in the world than to be allowed to have you in my arms, er-ge. to be granted the opportunity to take care of you, to pick each one of your reactions and vulnerabilities and then pick you carefully apart so I can give each little piece the attention it deserves and rearrange them all together.”

His hand began drawing tiny circles across each one of his shoulder blades, a single finger teasing momentarily the awfully ticklish spot under them before dancing away to a safer ground. Quick puffs of titters escaped from Lan Xichen, who only melted even further on him, the touch soft enough to slowly lull him to sleep, words forming and disappearing on the tip of his tongue at the affection.

“When you let me explore and find every single one of your tickle spots, to discover your most favorite teases and let me use them on you over and over and over again.” A finger worms its way to scribble across his collarbone, another hand goes up and traces the outer shell and behind his ear with the softest tickles, making his smile and let out a single giggle. “Every time you give me all your weakness, your trust, your smile, your reactions so willingly, without a second thought, I want to give you in return all my heart, all my reverence and attention until I can make you the most happy, content, relaxed, joyful you can be.”

Lan Xichen titters and hugs the other firmly, the giddiness spilling from his heart to his actions, making him lay soft kisses everywhere they could reach, getting slower and slower as the tiredness begins to take over.

Now the tickling was nothing more than a soft rubbing, a hint to make him a huff a laughter here and there at most, focusing primarily on making him floaty and relaxed enough for his consciousness to begin to slip away, in the rhythm those fingers tapped the back of his neck and scratched at his scalp.

“Thank you, truly, for letting me share this special moment with you, for trusting me, for this, for everything, for you. There is nothing in this world that could make me any happier than to do this with you for everyday of our lives. I will carry every single of your burdens and burn all the obstacles away if this means having you by my side for as long as I can, for as long as you will have me, Huan-ge.”

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen whispered, clearly losing more and more his battle against sleep, voice slurred. “My A-Yao, don’t forget,” he mumbled and sighed happily, making Jin Guangyao’s heart dance in reply. “I love you too.”

The Jin closed his lips tightly, in order to control the choked noise that almost escaped him, eyes closed firmly as he pressed his lips reverently on Lan Xichen’s forehead. The other was fast asleep, already, and Jin Guangyao chuckled softly and emotionally in the darkness of the night, where no one could see his expression, glad that this part of his soul could be so easily read by the one who mattered the most.

He didn’t say it out loud, of course. And maybe one day Lan Xichen would say this sober and awake and then Jin Guangyao would find the courage to answer him in kind. But for now he let the other sleep soundly and he followed his example quickly.

But since he was a weak, truly weak man, Jin Guangyao, Meng Yao, mouthed the words on his forehead anyway.

I love you.

[~*~]

Fun Facts and Extra Things!

Me: Hey time to write Meng Yao :D

*adds guilt, distrust, self issues, paranoia and hunger for (safety, peace, importance) blood and LAN XICHEN/ER-GE being shouted internally in love 99% of the time*

Me: Yeah my work here is done. Nailed it.

Lan Xichen being tickled: Noooo, I am simply a little, poor meow meow, won’t you spare me?

Jin Guangyao, THE poorest, littlest meow meow to ever exist: I’m about to destroy this man's whole career.

I almost added like Meng Yao inheriting a fancy and beautiful comb from his mother that he never used before but decided to use in the moment he was caring for Xichen’s hair but the scene of him daydreaming about the life he would have when he was accepted as Sect Leader’s son and all he could offer Lan Xichen after this was stronger to me.

Created an entire lore about Meng Shi in my mind only to realize it was like I wrote an entire AU of Apothecary diaries story rip. Got me thinking about Meng Yao being Maomao uncovering mysteries in the palace with his brilliant mind and Xichen being the eunuch with a dick that catches on to his plans. Anyway peace and love on planet earth. Rip Meng Shi tho she would be even more fckeeed.

Thinking forever about the implications of a world where Jin Guangyao is accepted and safe at the Koi Tower, when Jin Zixuan is the Sect Leader and so the Jin Sect doesn’t have only Jin Guangyao to relay in. I think that would allow him to come closer to Lan Xichen one day. Maybe he would realize that an advisor is not fully essential to stop the sect from crumbling and breaking apart, perhaps he would look at Jin Ling, growing stronger and healthy and spoiler but caring by the day and would then look at Lan Xichen and would desire. Maybe they could live in a nice, quiet place of Cloud Recesses, when one of the Lan juniors grew enough to inherit the title of a leader.

Meng Yao, upon living with Lan Xichen during three days: Well, even a complete uneducated and socially blind MORON can see that those forehead ribbons are extremely important to the Lans, even if I can’t exactly point how profound that sentiment is, I am still fully aware of it. (Ends up discovering how sacred the forehead ribbon is, what it means and then proceeds to wait YEARS until getting express permission to touch it)

Wei Wuxian after knowing and interacting with Lan Zhan for more than one year: Hey wonder what that piece of fabric in their head is for. Well, since it’s crooked I think I am just going to pull it out and fix it :)) HEY LAN ZHAN!!

Pls imagine that every tickle fic I write with everyone in mdzs being happy is because Jin Guangyao killed his father first thing first and so nothing bad ever happened.

I honestly have no concrete idea for this AU, here Jin Zixuan planned a revolution against his father, taking over and stopping their support to the Wen Sect, which lowered significantly their income and so they fell fastly first. Zixuan was not very interested in going after the power and cultivation Wei Wuxian and Wen Ruhoan had, so even if the Jin Sect still held the war prisoners, he vouched (after Yanlin’s opinion ofc) in letting Wen Qing and the Daifu Wen branch take over the leadership, with plenty of sanactions, which didn’t force Wei Wuxian to turn his back to the Yunmeng Sect and escape to the Burial Mounds, nor expose himself even more to the demonic cultivation and so doesn’t collapse as quickly as before. He and Lan Zhan talked more, with the later visiting Lotus Pier and both of them visiting Wen Yuan frequently.

The relationship between Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao is still delicate but not mortal. Jin Guangyao still has plans to take over the leadership of the sect one day… he just keeps pushing ‘that day’ more and more forward. I still believe Yanli’s death on the canon was a casualty of his choices and that he didn’t really planned it and I like to imagine that being so well treated by her, so very different of how the previous Madam Jin did, together of him not being the leader would actually help a bit to heal that deep yearning of having power to survive.

The first time he saw Yanli actually fighting for him and against the rumors would seal this (come on let’s be honest here, she has years training how to push brothers together). Eventually Lan Xichen starts to court him and Jin Guangyao convinces himself that being the spouse of a sect leader will bring him the power he wants much more conveniently than killing everyone to the top himself. The biggest problem is that, if needed, he wouldn’t be able to kill Lan Xichen to protect himself. So I let to your imagination if he accepts or not the proposal :D yipeee

The “difficult” times that led him to lose control and kiss Lan Xichen for the first time was that they fled briefly to reunite more small sects and roge cultivators to rise against the Wen, but they kept stumbling on Wen patrols repeatedly on the worst moments, which resulted in them escaping to a safer ground under the most awkward situations. He saw Lan Xichen naked way too frequently and had to share small, tight hiding spots and beds with him. Da boi was STRUGGLING

I think that actually Jin Guangyao is v neutral here about tickling but upon discovering that Lan Xichen loves it he simply does all the studies and research about it and takes upon himself to be the best at it. His er-ge truly deserves nothing but the best

Lan Xichen living under the precepts and rules of not being Greedy and Showing of How Rich You Are so he is used to using cheaper and simpler products all while Meng Yao is: If I don’t offer that man all the BEST the market has to offer He Will Die

#i feel almost shy singing your praises every time you post a fic but what else am i supposed to do??? not do it???? out of the question #and the clown to clown communication kanene omg. our followers may now understand what i meant by that but you do. thats all im gonna say #between the two of us there is no plagiarism there is only hive mind

34 notes · View notes