#they're always like this but this one is just through email

[incorrectbatfam]

Ways to be a nuisance in our year of 2025

(from personal experience)

Get a small box. Write "take as you need" on the side. Fill it with period products. Put them in public bathrooms, including men's rooms.

Find a pothole. Paint a dick on it. Either your town will fix it or the public will enjoy your masterpiece.

Apps like No Thanks, Boycat, and Boycott X (my personal fave) let you scan items for boycotting shit. Money talks.

Red Cards contains all the rights that everyone, citizen or not, is entitled to in this country. They come in a bunch of different languages. Print them, give them out, leave them in places that need it, etc.

Don't be a snitch. Know someone undocumented? Someone traveling for reproductive or gender-affirming care? No the fuck you do not.

If someone asks your help doing #5, be their cover. If you live where they're fleeing from: no you don't know where they went, no they didn't tell you anything. If you live somewhere people are going to: that is now your cousin, friend from high school, camping buddy, etc.

Here is a fake person generator including phone, email, and address. Here is a free VPN for desktop and mobile. Spam the shit out of those ICE tiplines, trans bathroom reporting forms, etc. Here is a thing that lets you flood an email. Make their system useless.

If you're white, you have way more freedom when it comes to interacting with cops. Distract and divert.

See Nazi shit? Tear it up, kick it down, paint it over. See a Nazi? Rip into them. If you can't, record them, post it, send it to folks connected to them. Do not let them know peace.

If you protest: nondescript outfit with a change of clothes, cover scars and tattoos, leave behind devices that can track you, and either don't drive or park far away. Masks, goggles, and helmets highly suggested. Heavy duty gloves or tennis rackets for lobbing gas cans back. Fresh water or saline solution for tear gas and pepper spray. Have an exit route but also be prepared to hunker down or get arrested.

Nonprofit orgs are always looking for donations and volunteers, especially smaller local ones. There's a role for everyone, including admin stuff for folks who can't leave home. Reach out to them and ask what help they need. The people who aren't seen are just as important as the ones who are.

If you're taking someone to get an abortion, especially a place like Planned Parenthood that might have picketers, put something under your shirt and pretend you are the one who's pregnant to divert attention. Guys can do this too. Be their secret mpreg fantasy.

Cis folks: if your trans friend asks you to accompany them to a bathroom or locker room, do it. And if someone comes poking their nose in your business, pretend you're the one who's trans—again, taking the attention away from your friend.

It takes just a dozen emails or a few people showing up at local town hall or school board meetings to disrupt everything and steer the discussion.

If you have a job in the government or something adjacent, gum up the works. Let calls go to voicemail and don't return them for hours. Leave emails unanswered for a day or few. Don't work through lunch breaks even if it's busy. Take your PTO in its entirety, and leave something only you can do incomplete. Rearrange your priorities ("Sorry Janet, I can't look into who's hiring illegal immigrants, I gotta fix this printer first"). Create excuses to delay things—it needs to be double checked, it didn't pass inspection, it didn't contain some insignificant detail.

Gather some food or prep some meals for your local homeless folks. Make a portion for yourself too. That way if someone asks, you're simply sharing a meal with an old friend who happens to be down on their luck.

Get some Pride stickers/flags/posters and sprayable Gorilla Glue. Slap them on everything, including cars and businesses owned by conservatives. Make our presence constantly known.

[slippery-minghus]

oof

[fingertipsmp3]

Ughhhhhhh I hate writing and I hate not writing and I hate myself

[purple-beans]

I can't sleep again

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Predicting the present

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/09/radicalized/#deny-defend-depose

Back in 2018, around the time I emailed my immigration lawyer about applying for US citizenship, I started work on a short story called "Radicalized," which eventually became the title story of a collection that came out in 2019:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250228598/radicalized/

"Radicalized" is a story about America, and about guns, and about health care, and about violence. I live in Burbank, which is ranks second in gun-stores-per-capita in the USA, a dubious honor that represents a kind of regulatory arbitrage with our neighboring goliath, the City of Los Angeles, where gun store licensing is extremely tight. If you're an Angeleno in search of a firearm, you're almost certainly coming to Burbank to buy it.

Walking, cycling and driving past more gun stores than I'd ever seen in my Canadian life got me thinking about Americans and guns, a subject that many Canadians have passed comment upon. Americans kill each other, and especially themselves, at rates that baffle everyone else in the world, and they do it with guns. When we moved here, my UK born-and-raised daughter came home from her first elementary school lockdown drill perplexed and worried. Knowing what I did about US gun violence, I understood that while school shootings and other spree killings happened with dismal and terrifying regularity, they only accounted for a small percentage of the gun deaths here. If you die with a bullet in you, the chances are that the finger on the trigger was your own. The next most likely suspect is someone you know. After that, a cop. Getting shot by a stranger out of uniform is something of a rarity here – albeit a spectacular one that captures our imaginations in ways that deliberate or accidental self-slayings and related-party shootings do not.

So I told her, "Look, you can basically ignore everything they tell you during those lockdown drills, because they almost certainly have nothing to do with your future. But if a friend ever says to you, 'Hey, wanna see my dad's gun?' I want you to turn around and leave and get in touch with me right away, that instant."

Guns turn the murderous impulse – which, let's be honest, we've all felt at some time or another – into a murderous act. Same goes for suicide, which explains the high levels of non-accidental self-shootings in the USA: when you've got a gun, the distance between suicidal ideation and your death is the ten feet from the sofa to the gun in the closet.

Americans get angry at people and then, if they have a gun to hand, sometimes they shoot them. In a thread /r/Burbank about how people at our local cinemas are rude and use their phones in which someone posted, "Well, you should just ask them to stop." The reply: "That's a great way to get shot." No one chimed in to say, "Don't be ridiculous, no one would shoot you for asking them to put away their phone during a movie." Same goes for "road rage."

And while Americans shoot people they've only just gotten angry at, they also sometimes plan shooting sprees and kill a bunch of people because they're just generically angry. Being angry about the state of the world is a completely relatable emotion, of course, but the targets of these shootings are arbitrary. Sure sometimes these killings have clear, bigoted targets – mass shootings at Black supermarkets or mosques or synagogues or gay bars – more often the people who get sprayed with bullets (at country and western concerts or elementary schools or movie theaters) are almost certainly not the people the gunman (almost always a man) is angry at.

This line of thought kept surfacing as I went through the immigration process, but not just when I was dealing with immigration paperwork. I was also spending an incredible amount of time dealing with our health insurer, Cigna, who kept refusing treatments my pain doctor – one of the most-cited pain researchers in the country – thought I would benefit from. I've had chronic pain since I was a teenager, and it's only ever gotten worse. I've had decades of pain care in Canada and the UK, and while the treatments never worked for very long, it was never compounded by the kinds of bureaucratic stuff I went through with my US insurer.

The multi-hour phone calls with Cigna that went nowhere would often have me seeing red – literally, a red tinge closing in around my vision – and usually my hands would be shaking by the time I got off the call.

And I had it easy! I wasn't terminally ill, and I certainly wasn't calling in on behalf of a child or a spouse or parent who was seriously ill or dying, whose care was being denied by their insurer. Bernie's 2016 Medicare For All campaign promise had filled the air with statistics (Americans pay more for care and get worse outcomes than anyone else in the rich world), and stories. So many stories – stories that just tore your heart out, about parents who literally had to watch their children die because the insurance they paid for refused to treat their kids. As a dad, I literally couldn't imagine how I'd cope in that situation. Just thinking about it filled me with rage.

One day, as I was swimming in the community pool across the street – a critical part of my pain management strategy – I was struck with a thought: "Why don't these people murder health insurance executives?" Not that I wanted them to. I don't want anyone to kill anyone. But why do American men who murder their wives and the people who cut them off in traffic and random classrooms full of children leave the health insurance industry alone? This is an industry that is practically designed to fill the people who interact with it with uncontrollable rage. I mean, if you're watching your wife or your kid die before your eyes because some millionaire CEO decided to aim for a $10 billion stock buyback this year instead of his customary $9 billion target, wouldn't you feel that kind of murderous rage?

Around this time, my parents came out for a visit from Canada. It was a great trip, until one night, my mom woke me up after midnight: "We have to take your father to the ER. He's really sick." He was: shaking, nauseated, feverish. We raced down the street to the local hospital, part of a gigantic chain that has swallowed nearly all the doctors' practices, labs and hospitals within an hour's drive of here.

Dad had kidney stones, and they'd gone septic. When the ER docs removed the stones, all the septic gunk in his kidneys was flushed into his bloodstream, and he crashed. If he hadn't been in an ER recovery room at the time, he would have died. As it was, he was in a coma for three days and it was touch and go. My brother flew down from Toronto, not sure if this was his last chance to see our dad alive. The nurses and doctors took great care of my dad, though, and three days later, he emerged from his coma, and today, he's better than ever.

But on day two, when we thought he was probably at the end of his life, as my mother sat at his side, holding the hand of her husband of fifty years, someone from the hospital billing department came to her side and said, "Mrs Doctorow, I know this is a difficult time, but I'd like to discuss the matter of your husband's bill with you."

The bill was $176,000. Thankfully, the travel medical insurance plan offered by the Ontario Teachers' Union pension covered it all (I don't suppose anyone gets very angry with them).

How do people tolerate this? Again, not in the sense of "people should commit violent acts in the face of these provocations," but rather, "How is it that in a country filled with both assault rifles and unimaginable acts of murderous cruelty committed by fantastically wealthy corporations, people don't leap from their murderous impulses to their murderous weapons to commit murderous acts?

For me, writing fiction is an accretive process. I can tell that a story is brewing when thoughts start rattling around in my mind, resurfacing at odd times. I think of them as stray atoms, seeking molecules with available docking sites to glom onto. I process all my emotions – but especially my negative ones – through this process, by writing stories and novels. I could tell that something was cooking, but it was missing an ingredient.

Then I found it: an interview with the woman who coined the term "incel." It was on the Reply All podcast, and Alana, a queer Canadian woman explained that she had struggled all her life to find romantic and sexual partnership, and jokingly started referring to herself as "involuntarily celibate," and then, as an "incel":

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/76h59o

Alana started a message board where other "incels" could offer each other support, and it was remarkably successful. The incels on Alana's message board helped each other work through the problems that stood between them and love, and when they did, they drifted away from the board to pursue a happier life.

That was the problem, Alana explained. If you're in a support group for people with a drinking problem, the group elders, the ones who've been around forever, are the people who've figured it out and gotten sober. When life seems impossible, those elders step in to tell you, I know it's terrible right now, but it'll get better. I was where you are and I got through it. You will, too. I'm here for you. We all are.

But on Alana's incel board, the old timers were the people who couldn't figure it out. They were the ones for whom mutual support and advice didn't help them figure out what they needed to do in order to find the love they sought. The longer the message board ran, the more it became dominated by people who were convinced that it was hopeless, that love was impossible for the likes of them. When newbies posted in rage and despair, these Great Old Ones were there to feed it: You're right. It will never get better. It only gets worse. There is no hope.

That was the missing piece. My short story Radicalized was born. It's a story about men on a message board called Fuck Cancer Right In the Fucking Face (FCKRFF, or "Fuckriff"), who are watching the people they love the most in the world be murdered by their insurance companies, who egg each other on to spectacular acts of mass violence against health insurance company employees, hospital billing offices, and other targets of their rage. As of today, anyone can read this story for free, courtesy of my publishers at Macmillan, who gave permission for the good folks at The American Prospect to post it:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2024-12-09-radicalized-cory-doctorow-story-health-care/

I often hear from people about this story, even before an unknown (at the time of writing) man assassinated Brian Thompson, CEO of Unitedhealthcare, the murderous health insurance monopoly that is the largest medical insurer in the USA. Since then, hundreds of people have gotten in touch with me to ask me how I feel about this turn of events, how it feels to have "predicted" this.

I've been thinking about it for a few days now, and I gotta tell you, I have complicated feelings.

You've doubtless seen the outpourings of sarcastic graveyard humor about Thompson's murder. People hate Unitedhealthcare, for good reason, because he personally decided – or approved – countless policies that killed people by cheating them until they died.

Nurses and doctors hate Thompson and United. United kills people, for money. During the most acute phase of the pandemic, the company charged the US government $11,000 for each $8 covid test:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/06/137300-pct-markup/#137300-pct-markup

UHC leads the nation in claims denials, with a denial rate of 32% (!!). If you want to understand how the US can spend 20% of its GDP and get the worst health outcomes in the world, just connect the dots between those two facts: the largest health insurer in human history charges the government a 183,300% markup on covid tests and also denies a third of its claims.

UHC is a vertically integrated, murdering health profiteer. They bought Optum, the largest pharmacy benefit manager ("A spreadsheet with political power" -Matt Stoller) in the country. Then they starved Optum of IT investment in order to give more money to their shareholders. Then Optum was hacked by ransomware gang and no one could get their prescriptions for weeks. This killed people:

https://www.economicliberties.us/press-release/malicious-threat-actor-accesses-unitedhealth-groups-monopolistic-data-exchange-harming-patients-and-pharmacists/#

The irony is, Optum is terrible even when it's not hacked. The purpose of Optum is to make you pay more for pharmaceuticals. If that's more than you can afford, you die. Optum – that is, UHC – kills people:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/23/shield-of-boringness/#some-men-rob-you-with-a-fountain-pen

Optum isn't the only murderous UHC division. Take Navihealth, an algorithm that United uses to kick people out of their hospital beds even if they're so frail, sick or injured they can't stand or walk. Doctors and nurses routinely watch their gravely ill patients get thrown out of their hospitals. Many die. UHC kills them, for money:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-08-16-steward-bankruptcy-physicians-private-equity/

The patients murdered by Navihealth are on Medicare Advantage. Medicare is the public health care system the USA extends to old people. Medicare Advantage is a privatized system you can swap your Medicare coverage for, and UHC leads the country in Medicare Advantage, blitzing seniors with deceptive ads that trick them into signing up for UHC Medicare Advantage. Seniors who do this lose access to their doctors and specialists, have to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars for their medication, and get hit with $400 surprise bills to use the "free" ambulance service:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-12-05-manhattan-medicare-murder-mystery/

No wonder the public spends 22% more subsidizing Medicare Advantage than they spend on the care for seniors who stick with actual Medicare:

https://theconversation.com/taxpayers-spend-22-more-per-patient-to-support-medicare-advantage-the-private-alternative-to-medicare-that-promised-to-cost-less-241997

It's not just the elderly, it's also the addicted and mentally ill. UHC illegally denies coverage for mental health and substance abuse treatment. Imagine watching a family member spiral out of control, ODing, or ending up on the streets with hallucinations, and knowing that the health insurance company that takes thousands of dollars out of your paycheck refused to treat them:

https://www.startribune.com/unitedhealthcare-will-pay-15-7m-in-settlement-of-denial-of-care-charges/600087607

Unsurprising, the internal culture at UHC is callous beyond belief. How could it not be? How could you go to work at UHC and know you were killing people and not dehumanize those victims? A lawsuit by chronically ill patient whom UHC had denied care for surfaced recorded phone calls in which UHC employees laughed long and hard about the denied claims, dismissing the patient's desperate, tearful pleas as "tantrums" :

https://www.propublica.org/article/unitedhealth-healthcare-insurance-denial-ulcerative-colitis

Those UHC workers are just trying to get by, of course, and the callouses they develop so they can bear to go to work were ripped off by last week's murder. UHC's executive team knows this, and has gone on a rampage to stop employees from leaking their own horror stories, or even mentioning that the internal company announcement of Thompson's death was seen by 16,000 employees, of whom only 28 left a comment:

https://www.kenklippenstein.com/p/unitedhealthcare-tells-employees

Doctors and nurses hate UHC on behalf of their patients, but it's also personal. UHC screws doctor's practices by refusing to pay them, making them chase payments for months or even years, and then it offers them a payday lending service that helps them keep the lights on while they wait to get paid:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frr4wuvAB6U

Is it any surprise that Reddit's nursing forums are full of nurses making grim, satisfied jokes about the assassination of the $10m/year CEO who ran the $400b/year corporation that does all this?

https://www.thedailybeast.com/leading-medical-subreddit-deletes-thread-on-unitedhealthcare-ceos-murder-after-users-slam-his-record/

We're not supposed to experience – much less express – schadenfreude when someone is murdered in the street, no matter who they are. We're meant to express horror at the idea of political violence, even when that violence only claims a single life, a fraction of the body count UCH produced under Thompson's direction. As Malcolm Harris put it, "'Every life is precious' stuff about a healthcare CEO whose company is noted for denying coverage is pretty silly":

https://twitter.com/BigMeanInternet/status/1864471932386623753

As Woody Guthrie wrote, "Some will rob you with a six-gun/And some with a fountain pen." The weapon is lethal when it's a pistol and when it's an insurance company. The insurance company merely serves as an accountability sink, a layer of indirection that lets a murder happen without any person being the technical murderer:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

I don't want people to kill insurance executives, and I don't want insurance executives to kill people. But I am unsurprised that this happened. Indeed, I'm surprised that it took so long. It should not be controversial to note that if you run an institution that makes people furious, they will eventually become furious with you. This is the entire pitch of Thomas Piketty's Capital in the 21st Century: that wealth concentration leads to corruption, which is destabilizing, and in the long run it's cheaper to run a fair society than it is to pay for the guards you'll need to keep the guillotines off your lawn:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-the-21st-century/

But we've spent the past 40 years running in the other direction, maximizing monopolies, inequality and corruption, and gaslighting the public when they insist that this is monstrous and unfair. Back in 2022, when UHC was buying Change Healthcare – the dominant payment network for hospitals, which would allow UHC to surveil all its competitors' payments – the DOJ sued to block the merger. The Trump-appointed judge in the case, Carl Nichols – who owned tens of thousands of dollars in UHC bonds – ruled against the DOJ, saying that it would all be fine thanks to United's "culture of trust and integrity":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-antitrust-shooting-war-has-started

We don't know much about Thompson's killer yet, but he's already becoming a folk hero, with lookalike contests in NYC:

https://twitter.com/CollinRugg/status/1865472577478553976

And gigantic graffiti murals praising him and reproducing the words he wrote on the shell casings of the bullets he used to kill Thompson, "delay, deny, depose":

https://www.tumblr.com/radicalgraff/769193188403675136/killin-fuckin-ceos-freight-graff-in-the-bay

I get why this is distasteful. Thompson is said to have been a "family man" who loved his kids, and I have no reason to disbelieve this. I can only imagine that his wife and kids are shattered by this. Every living person is the apex of a massive project involving dozens, hundreds of people who personally worked to raise, nurture and love them. I wrote about this in my novel Walkaway, as the characters consider whether to execute a mercenary sent to kill them, whom they have taken hostage:

She had parents. People who loved her. Every human was a hyper-dense node of intense emotional and material investment. Speaking meant someone had spent thousands of hours cooing to you. Those lean muscles, the ringing tone of command — their inputs were from all over the world, carefully administered. The merc was more than a person: like a spaceship launch, her existence implied thousands of skilled people, generations of experts, wars, treaties, scholarship and supply-chain management. Every one of them was all that.

But so often, the formula for "folk hero" is "killing + time." The person who terrorizes the people who terrorize you is your hero, and eventually we sanitize the deaths, and just remember them as fighters for justice. If you doubt it, consider the legend of Robin Hood:

https://twitter.com/mcmansionhell/status/1865554985842352501

The health industry is trying to put a lid on this, palpably afraid that – as in my story "Radicalized" – this one murderer will become a folk hero who inspires others to acts of spectacular violence. They're insisting that it's unseemly to gloat about Thompson's death. They're right, but this is an obvious loser strategy. The health industry is full of people whose deaths would be deplorable, but not unsurprising. As Clarence Darrow had it:

I’ve never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure.

Murder is never the answer. Murder is not a healthy response to corruption. But it is healthy for people to fear that if they kill people for greed, they will be unsafe. On December 5 – the day after Thompson's killing – the health insurer Anthem announced that it would not pay for anesthesia for medical procedures that ran long. The next day, they retracted the policy, citing "outrage":

https://www.cnn.com/2024/12/05/health/anthem-blue-cross-blue-shield-anesthesia-claim-limits/index.html

Sure, maybe it was their fear of reputation damage that got them to decide to reverse this inhumane, disgusting, murderous policy. But maybe it was also someone in the C-suite thinking about what share of the profits from this policy would have to be spent on additional bodyguards for every Anthem exec if it went into effect, and decided that it was a money-loser after all.

Think about hospital exec Ralph de la Torre, who cheerfully testified to Congress that he'd killed patients in pursuit of profit. De la Torre clearly doesn't fear any kind of consequences for his actions. He owns hospitals that are filled with tens of thousands of bats (he stiffed the exterminators), where none of the elevators work (he stiffed the repair techs), where there's no medicine or blood (he stiffed the suppliers) and where the doctors and nurses can't make rent (he stiffed them too). De La Torre doesn't just own hospitals – he also owns a pair of superyachts:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It is a miracle that so many people have lost their mothers, sons, wives and husbands so Ralph de la Torre could buy himself another superyacht, and that those people live in a country where you can buy an assault rifle, and that Ralph de la Torre isn't forced to live in a bunker and travel in a tank.

It's a rather beautiful sort of miracle, to be honest. I like to think that it comes from a widespread belief by the people of this country I have since become a citizen of, that we should solve our problems politically, rather than with bullets.

But the assassination of Brian Thompson is a wake-up call, a warning that if we don't solve this problem politically, we may not have a choice about whether it's solved with violence. As a character in "Radicalized" says, "They say violence never solves anything, but to quote The Onion: that's only true so long as you ignore all of human history":

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2024-12-09-radicalized-cory-doctorow-story-health-care/

[seospicybin]

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Your ex, Chan, makes a return to his social media with a thirst trap. Horny and bored, you decide to see him for the sole reason of getting your physical needs fulfilled. However, as the night goes, you start to wonder if seeing him tonight is a bad idea. (14,4k words)

Author's note: Yes, it's inspired by that one Olivia Rodrigo song.

Talking to your ex is a bad idea, right?

You've been considering whether to slide into his DM or not, commenting on his Instastory which is a video of him exercising half naked, exposing his toned upper half body in all its glory.

It's been two years after the breakup and he didn't post anything on his social media until today, it's like he knows you're bored and horny.

It's unclear whether it's him or it's your uterus talking, but he looks hotter, sexier, and bigger than the last time you saw him. Although you must admit that he's always been attractive to you, except that his attractiveness is on a whole 'nother level now and it makes you wonder why you let this man go in the first place.

In your defense, Chan is not a terrible ex, he decided to break up with you because he was leaving to study abroad and thought the long-distance relationship would be hard and mentally draining for both of you.

You acted like it didn't hurt you but when you came home that night, you cried so hard that your pillow got drenched in tears. You didn't want to break up with him because he's a great guy who happens to be great in bed too, not only because he has the most delicious cock you've ever had but he also knows how to put it to a good use. Simply put, you were so devastated thinking that you'd never find a man like him again.

And you know what? You were right. You tried dating a few times but nothing comes close to what you had with Chan. Also, can't two people reconnect?

Before you get to change your mind again, you decide to hit the like button and send a short message in his DM.

Hey, there. You type into the message box, adding a smiling emoji at the end to make it sound casual but friendly at the same time.

There's no reply or a sign that he's read your message, you figure he must be busy on a Saturday morning, he could be having another session at the gym or having breakfast, or... yeah, it could be him ignoring your messages.

Slightly hangover from hanging out with your friends last night, you slump down your bed and close your eyes to get another few minutes of sleep.

You wake up an hour later with more than a dozen notifications on your phone, they're mostly your friends sending photos they took of you last night. You groan when you see a couple of work emails and do not think twice to skip them. There are some texts from friends and then, there it is, a reply from Chan.

Well, hello, there!

It's been ages.

How are you?

You check the time and his replies came about fifteen minutes ago, there's a possibility that he's still on his phone and he'll respond faster this time.

Never been better.

How about you?

Looking fine as ever, I see.

You add the eyes emoji before hitting the send button and drop your phone onto the bed, it's a bit risky but a compliment never hurt. Besides, who doesn't like getting a compliment?

The thought that Chan is probably waiting for your reply in those fifteen minutes amuses you but pfft... that's just your wishful thinking.

As you wait for his response, you're checking the photos your friends sent you. You check them one by one, deleting the ones that you don't like and saving the good ones where you look flattering.

An idea pops into your head as you go through your gallery: a plan. First, you choose a photo of you that shows your whole look last night, dressed in a blue mini dress and strappy heels with your hair up, tied in a messy bun, in other words, you looked hot and you felt like it when your friend took the picture.

You upload it as your Instagram story and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You're sure as hell he'll see your new post, then he'll get curious and open it, and Wowza!

Chan thinks he can be the only one posting a thirst trap on a Saturday morning, huh?

It only takes a minute for the thirst trap to do its job, you smirk at the notifications and see Chan's username on the top.

Me? He adds three flustered emojis to it.

Nah. I'm not.

But you...

You look beautiful as always.

Is it even allowed to look that beautiful?

A year of being single makes you weak at the slightest chance of romance, you catch yourself smiling to yourself in the mirror. You slap yourself to get ahold of yourself, reminding yourself that he could say that just to—

A notification pops up and it shows that Chan liked and reacted to your Instagram story with the hearts eyes emoji. Fuck! You just caught yourself smiling again. but what can you do? You're just a girl who is lonely and in need of some loving touch.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and think about what to reply to him.

And you...

Is it even allowed to have that much of muscles?

Someone, please close the gym!

You look good nonetheless, Chris.

But seriously, close the gym! You add a laughing emoji to keep it playful.

You patiently wait for his reply but your patience only lasts for twenty minutes until he makes you wait longer for his reply and you slump on the bed again.

It's time for plan number two!

The thirst trap worked to pique his interest and you have to come up with something that shows you're a hot commodity, you don't waste your time chasing boys, they chase you. That way, Chan will respond to your message faster.

So here comes plan number two, you take another trip to your gallery, scrolling through photos from last night, and find the perfect photo. It's a picture of you and one of your male friends, you're standing side by side, holding your drinks together and smiling to the camera. There's enough friendliness in there to show that you're close with this guy but also, not that close. You don't know how to explain it, but you know it'll work.

You wait a few more minutes to add it to your Instagram story, not forgetting to tag your friend which is the best part of it. If anyone checks his account, they'll see a model with blue eyes, just the perfect guy to make certain someone is jealous.

You're devilishly laughing as you hit the post button and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You check to see the final result and smile in satisfaction.

Okay, maybe you were too haste and didn't do your calculation right because morning has turned into afternoon and Chan hasn't replied to you. Not only did he make you wait, but you also wasted three hours of your day staring at the ceiling with the phone resting on your chest.

At this point, you should've given up and maybe it's true, he only replied just to be friendly, nothing more. You fling your phone across the bed out of spite and get up, planning to wash him away from your head with a hot shower.

Against the loud sound of the hairdryer, you hear your phone chimes and you turn it off to check whether you're imagining it chimes or not.

You hate how quickly you forget how upset you were a while ago after seeing your phone light up with new notifications.

I'm sorry for replying late.

I was busy moving some stuff.

Do you have time?

And you hate it more that he can easily get your hopes up again. You figure it's time he tastes his own medicine, you put your phone away and leave him on read. You'll reply later when you feel like it, or never. Who knows?

You continue drying your hair but the constant hum of the hairdryer makes you unable to hear your thoughts, especially one that stops you from going to your phone again as it chimes with a new notification. It only takes twenty minutes for you to cave into the temptation.

I don't know about you but all these chats, they're not enough.

Can we video call instead?

It takes you not even a minute to say yes to him. You make a run to your closet and change your clothes, picking up a white top with a low neckline, ditching the bra, and pairing it with denim shorts.

Chan doesn't give you a minute to choose the setting of the video call, your phone rings as you try to make the bed as best as you can and sit with your back against the headboard of the bed.

The phone keeps ringing but you need to check your hair in the mirror again to finally accept the video call. A second later, Chan's face appears on your phone screen, and from his damp hair, it seems like he's just taken a shower too.

"Hey," he greets you as he brushes his curls with his hand.

"You look a little wet, Chris," you tease with a sly smile.

Chan moves, changing his sitting position and revealing himself in a bathrobe with his chest all exposed. Intentional or not, you must admit that's quite a show!

"I was feeling hot so I took a quick shower," he answers with a grin.

"Feeling hot, huh?" You tease again.

"I am now," he playfully responds, flashing you a sly smile and lip bite.

The two of you just stare at each other through the screen and it's getting too much for you with how intense his eyes are.

"So, where are you now?"

"I'm actually in the city," he shortly replies.

"Oh? You're back!" You gasp but hold yourself back from continuing the sentence and ask if he's back for good. The most important thing is he's confirmed his location, all you need to find out next is if he's up to do no good with you.

"Kind of," he vaguely answers.

"Kind of..." you teasingly repeat his words and then giggle.

Chan grins and rests his back against a pillow, it's unclear if he's sitting on the bed or the sofa, "Oh, how I missed that," he says.

You take a pillow and put it on your lap as something to hold on to, "Missed what?"

"Your sweet smiles and cute giggles," he shortly answers like he's been waiting for you to ask him that.

"Oh, stop it, Chris!" You respond, getting a little flustered that you melt onto your pillow. You may as well lie down on your stomach and put the pillow under your chest, "You're getting good at lying, huh?"

"Yeah. Nah. Just a little bit," he jokingly says, then bursts into laughter that his dimples sunken deep into his cheeks.

And oh, you missed his dimpled smiles and his sonorous laughter too, but you're not going to tell him that, maybe not now, or ever.

To avoid it escalating really quickly, you shift the conversation elsewhere. You prop a hand under your chin and tilt your head to the side while the other hand steadily holds your phone far enough from your face.

"So, what are you doing now?"

"Staring at your face," he answers, a half smirk decorating his rectangular face.

"Just my face?" You jokingly ask with a flirty lip bite.

"Everything else too," he adds, catching his eyes flicking down for a second then smirks.

You act oblivious to the fact that with the way you lie on your stomach, you're offering him a view of your cleavage and he would be stupid if he missed the sign.

"What I meant is what are you doing in the city? Is it for work or...?"

"I need to sort a few things," he vaguely explains.

It's obvious that he's keeping the details from you and you have to respect that, he's not your boyfriend and even if he is, he's not obligated to tell you everything. Including the possibility that he came here to see his new girlfriend, perhaps?

"Oh? So, all business, no pleasure?" You joke with a light chuckle, hiding your true intention to know whether he's seeing anyone or not.

"I'm free tonight and I was hoping that we could meet," He says, shattering the negative thoughts that rush through your head.

Now, that gets you thinking if he's coming here to see you and you get that fluttering feeling in your stomach, or it could be your uterus ovulating as you speak, either way, you like it.

"Tonight?" You ask, acting like you already have a plan for tonight.

"Yes. Or do you already have plans for tonight?"

The act always works, gosh, you should consider to start a career as an actor, "Not really, but uh... where do you want us to meet?"

"There's a nice bar in the hotel I'm staying in. We can have a drink or two," he replies, then licks his lips and makes them appear wet and fuller, tantalizing you to kiss them.

Despite you feeling like screaming and jumping on the bed, you remain coy about it, reminding yourself to not sound eager but show enough enthusiasm.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, tilting your head to the other way and saying, "Hotel bar has better drinks so... yeah, I'd love a drink or two."

A triumphant smile rises on his face and it's cute that he lets it show, making you feel a lot of things in a few seconds.

"I'll see you there, I mean, here at 8?"

You tug your middle finger between your teeth and flash him a seductive smile, "Okay."

"I'll DM you the address."

"Okay," you mutter again while staring at him through the screen on your phone.

"See you tonight then," he says, touching his lips and rubbing the lower lip with his long, dainty finger.

"Can't wait to meet you," he adds.

Instead of answering him, you let out a giggle and sit up on the bed. You flip your hair to the back and just stare at him for a minute without saying anything.

"See you tonight, Chris," you finally reply, making sure to call his name with a low, sultry voice and a sly smile.

Without hesitation, you hang up first and let out a long sigh after. It's just a video call but Gosh! It feels like a foreplay already.

You give yourself a moment to compose yourself before execute plan number three: Dressed to fucking impress. To be honest, you don't even bother with the 'impress' part, you just want to fuck.

See? Talking to him is not a bad idea after all.

-

The sound of your high heels constantly tapping the marble floor as you walk echoes in the hotel lobby, you're unsure of how to inform him that you've arrived just a few minutes late from the appointed time.

You take your phone out of your purse and are about to compose a message when you catch him holding his hand up at you from the second floor.

You wave your hand back at him and make your way to the stairs, climbing each step with caution because it would embarrassing if you tripped. But looking at Chan waiting for you at the top of the stairs makes it feel like you're living a scene out of a movie.

Even with his signature all-black look, it doesn't make him less princely. He looks dreamy with crinkles in his eyes and a charming smile on his face.

He offers his hand when you're only a couple of steps away from him. You take it and let him guide you on the last steps of the stairs. His grip is firm as you remember and he still has his favorite chain bracelet around his wrist.

"You look gorgeous," he doesn't say it in a dramatic, hyperbolic way but he softly whispers it to you before placing a sweet kiss on your cheek, so close to the corner of your mouth.

The night has just begun but he's already succeeded in making you quietly hold your breath. You put on a smile for him and coyly say, "You look stunning in black as... always."

He laughs and it feels like to see and hear it in person, like you can feel the warmth that his laughs emit.

"Want to have dinner first?" He asks.

"I've had dinner," you answer.

The truth is, you barely had dinner because you were too nervous to eat anything but you did eat a nutrition bar in the taxi.

"This way to the bar then?" He offers his arm at you like a true gentleman.

"Lead the way, sir!" You say as you link your arm around him.

It's only a short walk from the hotel lobby to the bar Chan mentioned, the interior is rather luxurious, leather seats with a live jazz performance. He mutters something to the hostess, probably where he prefers to sit and she nods in response.

"This way, please!" She says with a polite smile, walking like a feline creature in her tight skirt and silk blouse.

You glance to the side to see if Chan is looking at the pretty hostess in front of him, but you find him staring at you instead.

"Is there something on my face?" You ask in slight panic, afraid that you have something in your teeth but he feels bad to tell you.

"No," he simply answers.

"This way, sir, ma'am," the hostess says, gesturing to the booth she chooses for the two of you, a little hidden in the corner of the bar to provide some privacy.

Chan gently places his hand on the small of your back and lets you take a seat first. You have a seat in the middle of the curved sofa and he sits right next to you.

"Can we order drinks right away?" Chan asks as he puts his phone on the table.

"Sure," the hostess answers, slightly bending down to hear him talk clearly, "What would you like to have, sir?"

"I'll have the... Boulevardier," he eloquently says with a slight French accent.

"Excellent choice, sir!" She comments, she then turns her head at you to take your order, "How about you, ma'am?"

Things have been feeling a little surreal for these past few hours your brain is struggling to keep up, you want to be cool and confidently answer the fanciable hostess but it takes you a longer time to process a simple question like that.

"I'd love a daiquiri, please!" You answer, ignoring the fact that it takes you a minute to come up with it.

"Can I recommend you with the Hemingway special? It's a daiquiri with a splash of sweet grapefruit juice and Maraschino liqueur," she eloquently explains, proving that she's not only hired because of her look.

"That sounds amazing. I'd love that," you say with an impressed smile.

After confirming your orders, the hostess left the booth and it's just the two of you now in this nice yet slightly erotic setting of the bar.

"That's a nice dress," he suddenly compliments as he's looking at your face, not at your dress.

The dress goes to your midthigh, it's white and tight enough to showcase your curve. It's long-sleeved but the sweetheart neckline exposed just the right amount of skin. You've been saving it for a special occasion and considering that you haven't met him for two years, you reckon it's time to wear it.

"Just something I had, you know, lying around," you playfully answer.

The drinks come not long after and Chan waits until the server leaves to initiate a toast with you. Your drink is in a glass with a thin stem so you carefully lift it with your fingers.

"Cheers!" You mutter in unison and clink your glasses together.

The first round of drinks went with a conversation that consisted of basic questions. He asks you about work, family, life in general, and everything in between. You must admit that your life is kind of boring but it's nice to know that he wanted to catch up on your life updates.

It's a little disappointing though that he doesn't ask anything about your love life or whether you're seeing anyone or not.

When you deem that you're on the verge of oversharing, you stop talking and shift the focus to him.

"What about you? What are you working on at the moment?" You curiously ask, putting down your drink on the table and leaving one last sip on the fragile-looking glass.

"I'm working on a lot of things right now. From a lot of places too," he answers.

"So, you've been traveling a lot," you remark.

"Yes."

That says something about his relationship status and unless he has learned how to be in a long-distance relationship, then it means he's not seeing anyone right now. Even if he is, there's a big chance that it's noncommittal.

This calls for a celebration so you pick up your drink and drain every last drop of it, delightfully gasping once you swallow it.

"Round 2?" Chan offers.

"Yes."

Now that you've made up your mind about it and from the subtle signals he's sending you so far, it's safe to say that he's up to do no good with you. You smooth down the hem of your dress and flip your hair to the back, preparing yourself to execute plan number four: Make your intention known.

As much as you feel tempted to say 'Chris, let's fuck!' right to his face, you decide not to be haste and go with a more convenient, acceptable way. You plan to be forthright about your intention what you want and if he wanted the same too so the two of you can skip the formalities and go straight to the fucking.

"Chris, I have something to tell you," you say to him.

He positions his body slightly turns to the side to face you and softly smiles, "You can tell me."

You've mustered up the courage and have the words prepared in your head only for the moment to be ruined by your phone ringing in your purse.

"Fuck..." you quietly mutter to yourself, you could sense your courage shrinking inside you.

The phone has stopped ringing but you grab your purse on the space next to you and pull it out to check the caller. A new text message appears on your screen.

Call me. It's urgent. Your friend wrote in her text along with multiple red exclamation marks.

It seems rather urgent, you put on an apologetic smile at Chan and say, "I'm sorry but do you mind if I make a quick call?"

"Not at all," Chan says with an easy smile.

You take your phone with you as you get up from the sofa, leaving the booth at the same time the waiter comes with your second round of drinks.

Finding the way to the restroom, you hit the call button as you enter and stand in front of the sinks, waiting for your friend to pick up while checking for your hair and make-up in the mirror.

"What's the urgency?" You say the second you hear the call being picked up.

"I need to borrow your laptop. Mine is suddenly frozen and I can't reboot it," your friend answers in a rather distressed tone.

Knowing that it's not the kind of urgent you imagined in your head, you let out a sigh of relief and then say, "Yes, yes you can use my laptop."

"I'm already in the elevator to your floor."

"You have the code to my apartment and I'm sure you know where I put my laptop," you calmly tell her, putting the strands of hair to the side and carefully dabbing the skin under your eyes.

"Wait. You're not home?"

"I'm not and I'm not taking any more questions," you immediately stop her before she gets too nosy.

"Don't call me for the rest of the night. Bye!" You don't wait for a response and quickly hang up.

On the way back to your booth, you see Chan enjoying the jazz performance on the stage, tapping his foot against the floor. You didn't notice the way he sat until now, his legs spread open, he's slightly slumped and his long arm rests along the edge of the sofa, plus he left the top three buttons on his shirt open.

Chan looks so hot simply by sitting like that and you're sure you've seen much hotter men but you really can't remember when.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and slide into the booth again, then slowly sit on the sofa, leaving a gap between you and him.

"Here's your drink," he says, handing the glass to you with such caution.

"Thank you!" You mutter your gratitude.

You're glad that you're taking the recommendation because the Hemingway Daiquiri tastes so refreshing, it's sweet and sour, certainly an upscale from the classic daiquiri.

"I hope the call wasn't something bad," he says to you.

You lick your lips after taking a sip, "Oh, no. It was my friend. She needs to borrow something," you spare him from the details.

It takes a minute to remember where you left the conversation and when you finally recall, you need to take more time to prepare yourself again. You immediately take another sip to quicken the process of building up your courage.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He suddenly comes up with an unexpected request.

Your throat burns from accidentally swallowing your alcohol too fast and you can feel your eyes get teary as well.

"Sure," you manage to answer.

Somehow the gap you purposely put between you and him disappears, he sits so close to you that his knee bumps into yours.

"I've been stalking your Instagram page," he shares with a shy smile.

You snort because he makes it seem like it's an embarrassing thing to say, but you doubt if that's true, he could be saying that to make you feel flattered.

"As far as I can recall, you've been abandoning your account until today," you say, hardly believing his so-called secret.

"That's because I'm using a fake Instagram account," he simply answers.

You snort again and roll your eyes at him, "Yeah, sure."

Chan smirks and picks up his phone, he opens Instagram to show the fake Instagram account he made and it only has one following, you.

"Do you believe me now?"

It's hard to stay calm when you find out that the guy who broke your heart two years ago has secretly been keeping up with you through your social media. You're happy but a part of you is still in denial.

"I mean... why not use your own Instagram?" you ask out of pure curiosity because it's not like you'd mistake this as a sign that he wants to get back with you. You're not that naive nor delusional.

"Then you would know that I regret breaking up with you," he casually answers like he didn't just reveal something profound.

You look at him to check if he's just messing with you and you would know if he's lying cause he's bad at it, but nope, he's telling the truth.

"And you would know that I've been struggling to get over you," he continues with glints filling his doe eyes.

There's an alarm going off in your chest, it's coming from the heart and it's telling you to be cautious, potential heartbreak lies ahead. You get reminded that you came here not to confront your feelings, you came here to get fucked, hopefully hard.

"And I guess you posted your boxing video for a purpose?" You ask with your eyebrow raised at him.

"Well..." he shrugs and slyly grins, "it worked, didn't it?"

As expected, this man has so many tricks up his sleeves. Better be careful as he puts all of his attention on you, his arm slowly makes its way around your shoulder and his hand is playing with your hair.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No comment," You smirk and take a small sip of your drink.

Chan lets out a laugh, the sonorous one and the kind that makes his eyes form two crescents. He takes a sip of his Boulevardier which is an upscale version of negroni.

"I've been wondering why you stayed single for so long," he says with an underlying tone, implying that he's actually asking you the reason why. Also confirmed his secret stalking behavior.

"It's not that long," you reply, crossing your legs together as you flash him a sly smile.

"A year, isn't it?" He asks.

You groan and roll your eyes at him, "You really are a stalker."

"You can tell me," he playfully elbows your side.

"No. It's a secret," you refuse to share.

"I shared my secret with you and it's only fair if you share yours with me."

"First of all, I didn't ask for your secret," you defend yourself while holding your drink close to your mouth.

He leans to your side, offering his ear at you as he says, "You can whisper it to me."

He means to know the answer anyway so you lean into his ear and cover the side of your mouth, then whisper, "All the guys I've met, they don't have a big cock like yours."

That's a way to get his attention and escalate the tension between the two of you. You pull away with a devilish smirk dancing on your face.

You glance down at his crotch and ask, "Is it still as big as I remember?"

"If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," he plays coy about it and you find it extremely attractive.

Noticing that you've drained your drink, Chan waves his hand to get the two of you another round of drinks. Obviously, you don't want it to end when things have just started to warm up.

He looks at you and then glances down, showing his hand snaking its way to your thigh.

"Have I told you that it's a nice dress?"

"I don't mind hearing it one more time," you respond with a cheeky smile.

He shoots you a big grin while he's playing with the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

"It's a nice dress," he compliments, then leans in close so that you can feel his warm breath brush your cheek as he adds, "And I want to take it off of you tonight."

You place your hand on his hand that rests on your thigh and play with his bracelet, "if you're lucky, you'll get to do it," you poke fun at him.

You can audibly hear his laugh in your ear as he leans in closer his nose pokes your cheek, "We're even now."

The third drinks bring the tension higher as the two of you relax from every sip and the gap between your bodies gradually disappears.

Chan has his eyes on you all the time, it's overwhelming at times but you like the way he looks at you like an animal who has his eyes on its prey and you like seeing the confliction in his eyes on whether he should eat you whole or play with his food first.

There's so much chemistry and tension here, plus the alcohol, you're only waiting for the light to turn bright green, really.

He gently brushes your hair to the side and keeps it there so he can plant a kiss on the skin behind your ear, knowing that it's your sensitive part of body.

"You change your perfume?"

"Yes," you manage to remain calm despite the proximity and the way he constantly rubs your thigh with his knuckle.

He drags his lips to your ear and asks, "What is it called?"

You lick your lips and make him wait for your answer, "I believe it's called Good Girl Gone Bad."

He tilts his head to the side and looks at you right in the eyes, wide and dark with lust, "How bad?"

You grab the collar of his shirt and tug at it, "If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," you get back at him again.

As he bursts out laughing with his eyes closed, you follow your intrusive thought to cup his jaw with your hand and laugh along.

"That's two to one," you remind him.

He stops laughing only to fondly smile at you, "Remind me how I broke up with you."

"For a start, you acted like an absolute jerk that day," you half-jokingly say.

The truth is it wasn't the breakup that hurt you the most, it's the post-break-up and his total absence from your life, he didn't call or text, or even send a pity email after that day. It felt as if he didn't want you in his life anymore.

Fuck. How did you get here again? Forced to face your feelings. Time to shift the talk.

"It's getting late, don't you think?"

Chan immediately reaches for his phone on the table to check the time, "It's 10.51."

"Oh," you plainly respond and finish you drink.

"Can I have your new numbers?" He suddenly asks.

You put down your glass on the table and answer, "I still have the same phone numbers."

"Yeah but I lost my phone at the airport and had to get a new one, lost all of my contacts," he explains like he knew you thought about how he didn't call you earlier.

Chan hands you his phone so you can enter your phone numbers and hand it back to him once you've finished. He hits the call button instead of saving it first and your phone rings a second later.

"Come on. Pick it up!" He tells you.

You obey him, accepting his phone call even though he's sitting next to you, "Hello?"

"Hi, it's future Chris calling," he says with a mix of foolish and sexy grin, you don't know how but he does it so well.

Curious to see where this talk is going, you decide to play along with him, "If you are really from the future, can you tell me the lottery numbers for this week?"

"I... can't tell you that."

"I'm hanging up," you joke.

"But I can tell you something else."

"Not interested," you put away your phone from your ear.

He glares at you, forcing you to continue playing along with him, "Hear me first!"

"Okay, I'm listening," you say with a dramatic eye roll.

"Future Chris says you need to go to hotel room number 103 tonight."

"Uhm... why?"

"You have to go there if you want to get lucky," he says with his tongue slightly poking out on one corner of his mouth.

"Still not interested," you poke fun, pretending to hang up the phone again.

"You'll regret it," he teases.

"I doubt that," you say with your nose scrunched at him.

Chan gets a little annoyed now, you can tell by the way he has his tongue poking his cheek and the fed-up grin on his face.

"Don't you want to get lucky tonight and find out about..." he pauses as he reaches for the pendant of your necklace and turns it over in his fingers, "the thing you're curious of."

This is it then, your intention matched his intention and the light has turned bright green. You take his hand and put it down onto your lap, then you slide your hand into his palm, "Okay."

"Okay," He says, holding your hand in his then brings it close to his mouth to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

-

As you're waiting for the elevator to arrive, Chan steadily places his hand on the arch of your back and lingers there until the elevator chimes open.

He lets you get in first and you choose to stand on the side, close to the panel full of numbers of the hotel floors and he reaches for it to push the number to his floor.

Should you consider yourself lucky that the elevator is empty? Should you be nervous because you're starting to feel like a prey being locked with its predator inside a small, enclosed space?

No words are being exchanged as the two of you locked in a gaze, but he speaks so much through his eyes, they're fiery, filled with so much want, so much need, and ultimately, desire.

After that much teasing, flirting, alcohol, chemistry, and tension, you've been wondering how the two of you managed to not kiss each other already.

It seems like he's about to make it happen as he comes closer to you, putting his hands on the handlebar and caging you in between. Slowly, he brings his hand close to your face and carefully puts away the strands of hair covering your face to the side, then tucks it behind your ear.

In this proximity, you can see how plush his lips are, how soft and full they are, and it's getting too hard to try to ignore. You look at him, telling him how much you want to kiss him through your eyes and deliberately blink to give him the unspoken permission to kiss you.

The heating moment gets interrupted by the sound of the elevator chimes open and a group of people gets in from the fourth floor.

"Excuse me," a man says as he reaches for the panel to press the number to his floor.

With his hand on your back again, Chan protectively guides you to take a step forward and stands behind you, he puts his arm around your waist with his hand resting on your abdomen.

There's a low chatter going on from the other corner of the elevator but the absence of silence doesn't make it less tense as Chan buries his nose in your hair, you can feel every breath he inhales on the nape of your neck. It feels hot and cold at the same time, making you tingling inside.

He then presses his mouth to your ear and softly whispers, "You're still using the same shampoo, mmh?" His lips graze your ear as he speaks.

Chan puts his other arm on you and quietly, pulls you closer until your back meets his chest, that way you can feel him behind you and his body heat that slowly melts you from the inside.

Quietly, he slides his hand down to the curve of your ass cheek and then gently squeezes the flesh.

"My God, this body..." he whispers with his breath tickles your body, "Makes me want to ruin you so much."

Is it wrong that you don't even want to hide it anymore? You want everyone in the elevator to hear what he just said to you and for a split second, you want Chan to fuck you right there and let everyone watches.

However, Chan suddenly lets go of you and you pout at the sudden loss of contact. Then you notice that the little screen above the panel shows that the elevator is about to stop on the 10th floor.

When it chimes open, you make your way out with Chan trails behind you. None of you look back but keep walking ahead with his hand resting on the arch of your back again, leading you to where his room is. His hand goes lower and lower the further you walk through the hotel corridor.

"This way," he says, guiding your body to take the left corridor.

Without warning, he grabs you by the waist and roughly pulls you with him until he hits his back against the wall, then crashes his mouth on you.

This is not your shared first kiss but this is somehow better than that. The feeling of your lips finally reunited in a rapturous kiss especially when you've been craving it oh, there's nothing like it!

Chan kisses you so hard, so deep, so passionately that you have a hard time returning it to him and breathing becomes a second priority to you.

"I've been wanting to do that all night," he mutters when he lets go of the kiss.

Still gasping for air, you nod and say, "Me too."

To your surprise, he turns you over and has you pinned against the wall this time, he pushes his body against yours as he seeks to be as close to you as possible until there's no inch of gap left between your bodies.

When he deems that you need to breathe, he lets go of your lips only to kiss you on your neck and you tip your head to the side to give him the free access. You let out a low moan as his teeth faintly scrape the skin.

His hands run amok, feeling you all over and touching you through your clothes, eventually his hand cups your breast in his. He kisses your lips again only to distract you from his hand trying to pull down the front of your dress and after a few tries, he manages to send your breast spilling which he wastes no time to take it in his mouth.

"Oh..." The moan just slipped out of your mouth and you hurriedly press your lips together to shut yourself up, aware that you're in a hotel corridor and the hotel guests might hear it, oh and also, someone may walk in on you making out in the hotel corridor.

He leaves your breast wet with his saliva when he lets go and goes straight to kiss you again, putting his weight against you and hoisting your leg around him.

It's getting hard to stay quiet as he starts to dry hump you, you can feel the friction of his clothed erection on you, big and bulging, highly arousing.

Hearing footsteps coming, he hurriedly fixes your dress and takes your hand, this time, leading you right to his hotel room. He swiftly unlocks the door with his keycard and pushes the door inward.

"Come in," he softly mutters, keeping the door open to let you in.

Once you're both inside, the obscenity continues. Nothing is stopping you from coming at each other and ripping each other's clothes. Your dress is the first to go then his shirts, they're lying on the carpeted floor now.

As you lips continuously latch with his, Chan swiftly unbuckles his belt and zips open his fly, he pulls his erection out of its confine.

Without breaking the kiss, he takes your hand and puts it around his hardening member. You gasp at how hot it feels in your hand, how hard it is that you can feel the veins coiling around his length.

He pulls away and looks down to see your hand holding his cock, "Is it as big as you remember?"

You suck air through your teeth and then say, "I'm not sure."

You start to slowly pump his length in your hand and look up at him, "but there's a way I can know for sure."

His eyebrow raised in question, "You do?"

"Uh-huh," you answer, leaning in to kiss him.

From his lips, you begin a trail of kisses to his neck and his chest next, then down to his sculpted abs until your knees hit the carpeted floor.

Something about kneeling in front of him and he's looking down on you with a mix of excitement and anticipation in his eyes arousing you in a whole new way.

In return, you look back at him, innocently blinking your eyes at him all the while your hand keeps stroking his cock in front of you.

"Can I?" You ask him with your thumb softly rubbing the tip of his cock.

He puts his hands in your hair, brushing your hair and gathering them in the back of your head, making a makeshift ponytail with his hand, "Yes."

Without looking away from him, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, then slowly, you take him in your mouth. You take him little by little and give yourself time to adjust yourself to his size which you think is somewhat bigger than you remember.

Wanting to impress him, you push yourself to take more of him but you're too haste and his cock hits the back of your throat so fast, triggering your gag reflex. You immediately pull away before you embarrass yourself more and look away as you let out a cough.

"Still too big for me," You say with a shy chuckle.

Chan places his hand on your cheek and tenderly caresses it, "Too big for you, mmh?"

You nod with your puppy eyes at him.

"But you're taking it so well," he coos, now wiping your chin with his thumb.

You wrap your hand around his cock again and slowly pump it, "Yeah?"

"Yes," he mutters with a soft smile.

The truth is you're not a big fan of giving blow jobs and you're not very confident in your skill, but he remains sweet and patient with you and you believe it's because he knows.

Chan makes you feel safe and comfortable enough to make you want to do it again.

"Let me just..." you don't finish your sentence but do it all over again.

You remind yourself to take it slow, regulate your breathing, and keep calm, it's even better if you can try to enjoy doing it.

To compensate for the rest that you can't take in your mouth, you use your hand and alternate between sucking and licking.

"See? You're taking me so well," he softly mutters, delicately tucking your hair behind your ear.

It doesn't take long for you to find your rhythm and slowly enjoying yourself giving him head, you're even humming in pleasure with your mouth full of him.

Seeing his reactions and hearing the lewd noises coming out of your mouth, encourages you to keep going despite your jaws getting tired and your knees are hurting from kneeling too long.

In between his low moans, he manages to mutter sweet nothings to you.

"Oh, that pretty mouth!"

"You're just too good."

"Oh... Too good at this!"

After a few minutes though, you sense that you needed a break so you slowly pull out and replace your mouth with your hand.

"You like that?"

"Very much," he answers without a beat.

He offers his hand to help you get up from the floor and pulls you close, hoisting your body against him knowing that you're probably tired from kneeling too long.

"You're getting too good, it's dangerous," he whispers to you with both hands cupping your ass cheeks.

You giggle and let him have your lips in him again, you're opening your mouth for him so he can kiss you deeper while he hoists you higher until your feet are lifted off the floor.

Chan carries you to the bed and gently lays you down on the bed, he removes his jeans first before joining you, lying next to you on the bed.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a kiss on your lips, "So, is it as big as you remember?"

You tangle your hand in his soft curls, "Jury's still out," you answer with a sly smile.

Chan glares at you as a grin slowly blossoms on his face, he offers his arm as your pillow and then pulls you closer to him, that way, he can comfortably plant his lips on yours again.

As he keeps you busy with his kisses, his hand is making its way down south and not stopping until it lands on your clothed cunt. He smirks against your lips the second he slips his fingers under, meeting your wetness.

"That wet for me, mmh?" He murmurs.

You coyly shrug and shoot him a smirk just to provoke him.

"Well, I'm honored," he says with his fingers tracing your folds and running it up and down your slit.

When he starts playing with your clit, you know you no long can keep your cool anymore. The cold that comes from the metal of his chain bracelet adds a different sensation to the hot and wetness of your cunt.

"Goodness..." you breathlessly gasp as he inserts his finger into you.

"I know you can take one more," he mutters with his mouth pressed to your ear, then proceeds to add another digit.

His two long fingers are inside you now, pumping them in and out of you, and curls them to find that spot that makes you—

"Chris! Oh, fuck!" You curse and grip his shoulder hard enough your nails dug into the skin.

He's enjoying it from the way his head hovers above you and peacefully observing your face, wanting to see all of your reactions to his delightful assault.

He has his mouth sucking on your breast now and the other is being fondled by his other hand, the other hand is busy making a mess out of you.

You're squirming on the bed with your waist upheld in the air and shamelessly arching your back at him, seeking more of him inside you.

Chan knows when to stop, he teases you enough to prepare you for what comes next. He slows down his hand motions and slowly pulls them out. He doesn't let go yet but keeps his hand inside your underwear, playing with your clit.

A moment later, he draws his hand out of your underwear and rubs his fingers coated with your arousal on his lips, "Taste yourself on me," he says.

Seeing his lips wet with your essence is rather arousing and you don't hesitate at all to kiss him, tasting yourself on him. The kiss feels exceptionally kinky and you thought you couldn't be more aroused than this.

Without letting go of the kiss, he hovers above you and props his elbows against the mattress, "Are you still on the pills?"

You swallow air before answering, "Yeah."

He places a sweet peck on your lips then looks at you, "Is it okay if we do it without protection?"

Maybe deep down you know you can trust him and it wouldn't be the first time you're doing it with him without a layer of protection so you find it easy to agree to it and nod.

"Okay," you say, also providing him a verbal consent.

He smiles at you and lowers his mouth on you again, he continues the kisses down your front. His hands tugging at the elastic band of your underwear and pulling it down as he continues the kisses down to your legs.

The bed quakes as Chan gets off the bed and he's just standing there, looking at you and your naked body for his eyes to lust on. You catch him inhaling and exhaling air like he's overwhelmed by what he's seeing.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters with a delightful sigh.

It would be the only normal response to get flustered under his lustful eyes, you look away from him and say, "Just get in here, Chris!"

He surprises you by jumping onto the bed, making the bed quakes once more and he immediately puts his lips on yours again.

"Turn over for me," he softly whispers to you ear.

Without saying a word, you obey him, turning over on the bed and getting on your fours, kneeling with your hands propped against the mattress in front of you.

Chan positions himself behind you and then with so much care, he puts all of your hair away onto one shoulder so he can place kisses on your back. His hands freely roam around your body.

In your opinion, Chan has the most attractive pair of hands, it's warm and firm with veins snaking on the back of his hand, and of course, long fingers that know how to find your most sensitive spot. Now, they're on you, going all over you and feeling you all over.

"I almost forgot how soft you are," he murmurs.

He then brings his hands to your chest to play with your mounds, he hums in pleasure as he sees your breasts mold perfectly in his hands.

"Like they were made just for me," he sighs.

It's like his attractiveness and his big cock aren't enough, Chan has to have a smart mouth too, a mouth that knows what to say and how to say it.

Then again, you're just a girl and you're prone to sugary sweet words like that. You look over your shoulder and smile at him, not expecting that he's going to capture your lips in a kiss.

He slides one hand down to your throbbing cunt again, making sure it's wet enough for him to penetrate. He gently pushes you to the front so he can aim his cock at your entrance and then slowly, he guides you to take him in.

"Oh... ah..." you moan, crumpling the sheet underneath you.

And you almost forget how big he is until he's inside you and you get so high that you blank out, you're there on all fours and merely just a vessel.

Not giving you another minute to adjust, Chan moves back and pulls his cock out only to push it deeper inside you. He then wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly while you're flailing against him like a rag doll.

"You feel so good," he whispers, his breath is hot and heavy in your ear, "So fucking tight around me."

He brings his hand down to rub your clit, adding gentle pressure as he's circling on it.

"I'm going to move, okay?" He says to you with a slobbering kiss on your shoulder.

Unable to form a coherent answer, you repeatedly nod in answer.

The sploshing sound of his fingers incessantly rubbing your clit intensify along with the pace of his thrusting. Chan either has his lips on your lips or plants them on your shoulder, either way, he does it to muffle his groans.

This is what happens when his hand and his cock joint forces, you find yourself on the brink of orgasm when all you've been doing is filling the room with your high-pitched moans.

"Oh, I'm cumming," you whine, holding onto the sheet as waves of pleasure surging all over you.

Chan slows down but does not stop thrusting into you, he kisses your neck and shoulder as you relish your orgasm. He keeps you close with his slung across your chest.

"Chris?" You breathlessly call his name.

"Yes, baby?" He answers your call and you guess the pet name unintentionally slipped out of his mouth.

Not going to lie, it gets you fluttering to hear him call you baby. You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close to kiss him.

After a while, you start to doubt that the fluttering feeling came from Chan calling you with a pet name. You think it's because you're getting your second orgasm.

"What should I do, Chris?" You whine against his mouth

He breaks the kiss and looks at you with a concerned look, "Huh?" Chan confusingly asks.

"I'm about to cum again," you shamelessly admit.

Chan lets out a low chuckle and presses a kiss on your lips, "Then let's cum together, yeah?" he simply resolves.

He draws you close to him until your back hits his chest, his strong arms wrapped around you to hold you steady as he adds more speed to his thrust.

"Chris, oh..." you moan while holding onto his forearm.

His hands slithering around, one hand squeezing on your breast and the other wrapped around your neck. His mouth nests in the crook of your neck, grunting in pleasure and at times, sucking on your skin to muffle his noises.

"Oh, you keep clenching, baby," he mutters, followed by a broken moan.

That is probably because his cock is deep inside you, it's engorging and pulsating, filling you whole and continuously rubbing against your velvety walls, making the knot in your stomach tighten with each passing second.

Getting weak on the knees, you collapse onto the bed and Chan hurriedly holds you by the waist as he maintains the pace.

"I'm close, I'm close," you tell him repeatedly with one side of your face pressed against the bed.

Chan groans as he pushes his cock as shallowly as possible inside you, "Almost there," he says through his gritted teeth.

The previous orgasm makes you more sensitive than before and you can't hold yourself back anymore so you slowly let go and let the pleasure take over you once more.

Meanwhile, Chan hovers behind you and takes your hands, he holds them by the wrists then pin them against the bed as he restlessly thrusts into you to chase his high.

"Want me to cum inside you?" He asks, still thoughtful as you remember

"Uh-huh, yeah," you manage to answer even with your brain close to short-circuit.

Getting the permission is all he needed to get to his release. Then moment he finally come undone, he lets out a hoarse yet the most beautiful moan you ever heard, then lets himself lay on top of you.

A moment passes in contented silence and Chan presses a long kiss on the nape of your neck, then softly asks, "Are you okay?"

Not getting an answer, he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face to check it himself, "Did I go too rough on you?" He asks again with a slight concern.

You allow yourself to take a few more seconds to gain your composure and instead of answering, you foolishly grin at him and say, "That was so fucking good."

In response, Chan brightly smiles then pecks your lips, "No, but seriously, are you okay?"

You nod at him, "I'm okay."

After hearing your confirmation, he lets out a sigh of relief and then kisses you again, longer than the previous one.

"Sweet break?"

You don't expect him to say that after a long time, you smile and nod, "Sweet break."

-

Sweet break is something you used to say to each other when you need to take a break from something by eating something sweet. Like now, for instance, you and him taking a break from sex to order something sweet from the room service.

"Bad news is the kitchen is closed" Chan announces the second you come out of the bathroom.

It would be bothersome to put on your dress so you put on Chan's shirt instead, buttoning it as you join him on the sofa, "And the good news?"

He opens the food cover to show you what he got from the room service, "They're still serving desserts," he says with a grin.

The two of you huddle together around the plates of desserts and eating them on the sofa, filling the room with the sounds of your chewing and the dessert spoon scraping the plate.

It's fascinating to watch Chan casually eat his chocolate cake like he didn't just fuck the brains out of you a while ago. You let out a low chuckle and get back to your crepes.

"What's so funny?" He asks, catching you quietly chuckling to yourself.

"Nothing," you answer with a shrug.

He glares at you and decides to invade your plate with his fork, stabbing at the sliced banana and then shoving it into his mouth.

"Hey, eat your own dessert," you scold him but let him collect more bananas from your plate.

"But you don't like bananas," he says in between his chews.

"I don't like bananas but that doesn't mean I can't eat them," you say, but proceed to put the bananas to the side of the plate.

"I'm eating it for you so you only eat what you like," he says with a proud grin.

It's endearing that he still remembers little things like this. The sweet break, your dislike toward a certain and even how many of his fingers you like to have inside you. You can't help but wonder if he remembers other things too. His feelings for you, perhaps?

"Want to order another one?"

The two of you shared and finished the last plate together, even though you feel like you can have another plate, you refuse the offer.

He puts the plates away to the side of the room and returns to the sofa, lifting your legs before he sits next to you and then puts your legs on his lap.

"What's that café with the salted caramel cookies?" He suddenly asks.

"The one with butternut latte?" You ask back to check.

He gently puts his hand on your shoulder and plays with your hair, "Is it still open?"

Damn. He even still remembers that one café you regularly visited when the two of you were still dating.

"Yes," you answer with a smile.

"Man. Those are the best cookies!" he sighs with his fingertips lightly rubbing your thigh.

"I mean, we can go there tomorrow if you want," you casually say or you hope it sounds casual, it's a friendly offer.

He stops playing with your hand and cups your jaw, "I would love to," he says.

From the way his smile slowly dims, you sense a 'but' coming. Oh no, you sense a regret coming. You shouldn't have offered it in the first place.

"But I have to leave tomorrow," he says.

"Oh?" You try to remain unbothered and keep your facial expression in check, "Tomorrow, huh?"

"Yeah. I have to take care of a few things back home," he explains.

By back home, he means Australia and he'll fly out tomorrow, and probably for good. You hate that you get sad like it would be the first he's done it to you.

He holds you by the chin and slowly brings your head close to place a chaste kiss on your lips, it's so tender that you feel a tug at your chest.

"Thank you for coming to see me," he sincerely says with his eyes wide and shining for you.

This is where you start losing the objective of why you're here, you came here to solely get fucked, not expecting anything but his cock inside you.

Time to put some sense into your head and laugh it off, "Oh, my God, Chris!" You gasp out loud.

His forehead wrinkles in question, "What?"

"Yes, we can fuck again, no need to try so hard," you say with a sassy eye roll.

Learning that he's being pranked, he squints his eyes at you with his tongue pokes his cheek. While clutching his chest, he says, "Gosh, I thought—"

Before he can finish his sentence, you shut him up with a kiss because you don't want to keep talking about your feelings or get reminded of how things were when you were still together. You kiss him because you want to forget.

"You thought what?" You ask as you sit on his lap.

He licks his lips and shakes his head, "Nothing."

He's more than glad to have you sitting on his lap as it allows him to hold you close. His hands trail the sides of your body until they eventually land on your ass and then eagerly fondle them in his hands. Catching you off guard, he lands a slap on your ass cheek.

"Chris!" You shriek, abruptly stop kissing him, "That stings!"

"Can't help it," he innocently says while laughing and then pulls you close to kiss you again before you scold him more.

As a safety measure, you take his hands from your ass and fold them together on his chest but he takes it to his advantage, he finds another playground for his lewd hands.

Doesn't want to waste time unbuttoning it, he slips his hand under your shirt to fondle your breast, circling his fingers around your nipple before pinching at it.

He then lifts your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool night air, and wastes no time to bury his head in between your mounds. He then pulls the shirt down and hides himself in it, acting like a toddler by purposely placing ticklish kisses on you to make you laugh

"Stop playing," you scold him with your hand tangled in his curls, "Let's go to bed, mmh?"

Chan pops his head out through the opening of the shirt and looks at you, "Kiss me first," he demands.

How can you say no when he looks at you with fondness in his eyes and a smile on his face? You fulfill his wish and place a long, lingering kiss on his lips.

"Can we go now?" You say the second you pull away from the kiss.

"Okay," he obliges.

He gets out of your shirt first and you get off his lap next, then starts walking toward the bedroom when Chan suddenly comes from behind you and hoists you up, looking unbothered carrying you on his shoulder.

"To the bed!" He announces, then slaps the back of your thigh.

"Chris!" You scold again but you can't do anything about it as you hang upside-down on his back.

The bed is already a mess and it seems like it's going to get even messier with the way Chan constantly has you pinned under him. He kisses your lips, softly yet hungrily like devouring an ice cream.

Aware that he has taken his turn, Chan doesn't complain when you flip him over and take it over from him. You're straddling him, rubbing his cock between your slit while he's unbuttoning your shirt open.

You find yourself wet for him again in no time and his cock is as hard as you need it to be, maybe this is why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are always horny for each other.

You let out a low, long moan the whole time you lower yourself on him and a seductive chuckle slips out of your mouth the second he's fully buried inside you.

When you look down at him, you find him staring at you with his mouth agape. You slyly smile and place both of your hands on his glorious pecs, "Have you always been this big?"

Chan licks his lips and rests his hands on your thighs, "And have you always been this tight?" He asks back instead of answering.

Being on top gives you the freedom to set a pace you prefer and switch positions as you like, more importantly, you can fully enjoy every bit of it. But it's working because Chan is such a great partner, he lets you have full control and lets you take your time.

If not using his hands to touch you all over, he has his hands folded under his head and quietly enjoying watching you fucking him.

"If you keep clenching around me like that, I might cum too fast," he tells you.

"I'm okay with that," you calmly respond.

To tease him more, you purposely keep clenching around him and rolling your hips in circular motions. Somehow you stop focusing on getting your high and start thinking about how to please him more.

"Oh," he loudly groans and his hand grips at your waist, "You're bad!"

You giggle in response while continuing to roll your hips back and forth in painstakingly slow motion.

"Oh, you're really, really bad," he says with ragged breath.

The sex may not be as hard or as intense as the previous one but it's just as good, even better. Maybe it's the unwavering eye contact, maybe it's the way he hisses every time you tease him, or the way he trusts you to make him feel good.

Whatever it is, you feel like sharing an intimate moment with him and you can't lie, it feels special.

"Are you close?" You ask because you're very close to your climax.

"I've been waiting for you to ask me that," he hastily answers, still able to joke in a heating moment like this.

You take him along with you to the edge and not stopping until the two of you come to your release, you keep moving at a sloppy pace to ride out the high.

Chan pulls you close, forcing you to lower yourself onto his body and accidentally sending his cock to slip out. You don't mind it at first but you can feel his hot cum dripping out of you and onto his abdomen.

You break the kiss and mutter in panic, "It's dripping."

"I'll put it back in," he simply responds, reaching down for his cock and slowly pushes it back into you.

Now that it's resolved, he puts his arms around you again and pulls you even closer until your bodies mold into one another, then kisses you more.

Without looking and breaking the kiss, he pulls the duvet and covers both of your bodies with it, ready to end the night with your bodies still connected.

"Have I told you this?" He suddenly asks.

"What?"

He looks at you with his brown eyes that looks like a nice cup of cocoa, comforting and warm.

"I miss you," he ever softly says.

There he goes again, making you debate whether you came here for the sex or to try to rekindle old sparks with him. But in all honesty, it feels good to know that the yearning goes both ways.

For once, you let your heart answer it for you.

"I miss you too, Chris," you mutter back with a smile.

And now you start debating if seeing him tonight is indeed a bad idea.

-

There's a wet, squelching sound when you first come to your senses the next morning, you feel like sleeping for another hour or two but you also feel the urge to check what that noise is all about.

You force open your eyes and find out right away the source of that wet, squelching sound, it's coming from Chan and he has his mouth latched to your breast.

"Morning, Chris," you croak as you brush your hair away from your face.

He lets go of your breast with a loud pop and looks at you, "Did I wake you?"

"Not really," you answer, putting your hand in his fluffy bedhead.

"I'm sorry," he says but not looking like it.

"Are you? Sorry?" You jokingly say and lay back on your pillow.

He slyly grins and shifts his focus back to playing with your mounds. He holds your breast up and uses his slick tongue to tease your nipple, alternating between licking and sucking.

It's normal to feel horny in the morning and, you find yourself already wet under there, you guess Chan has been helping himself while you were still sleeping.

Chan's head hangs above your chest and you can see how much he's enjoying your breasts, playing with them like a toddler, he even makes noises as he fills his mouth with your ample flesh.

"Aren't you leaving today? Shouldn't we get up and shower?" You mutter, softly scratching his scalp as you talk.

He sucks at your breast so hard and pulls it before letting it go, grinning as he is satisfied with what he just did.

"My flight is in the afternoon," he says.

"And I'd better go so you can pack—"

"But I already ordered breakfast," he whines like a fussy child.

"Well, we can shower first."

"They'll send breakfast at 8," he shares with a wild grin.

You turn your head to check the time on the clock hanging on the wall, "But it's hardly 7."

"Exactly!" He exclaims.

"Exactly what?" You ask in genuine confusion.

He buries his head in your neck and whispers, "We have an hour before breakfast."

Despite catching on to his intention, you decide to act dumb, "And?"

"And..." he inhales your scent before hovering above you, "I'll have my breakfast first."

He winks at you then goes under the duvet, and settles himself between your legs to have his so-called breakfast and it only makes sense that it progresses to intercourse.

Morning sex offers different things, it's the quiet, the peace, the slivers of morning sun shining through the cracks of the curtains, doing it with a refreshed mind and body, it's also the best way to start the day.

It's even better when you get to be a pillow princess, you just lay back and let Chan do all the handwork. He has your legs locked around his waist as he thrusts into you at a slow yet steady pace and in every thrust, he makes you feel every inch of his length rubbing against your walls.

"This is just great," he says with his face pressed to the side of your head.

"Mmh, what?" You respond as best as you can.

"I don't have to do cardio today," he says with a low chuckle.

This is your favorite kind of sex, do it by not taking it too seriously. Because in your opinion, other than it should be comfortable for the individuals involved, sex should be fun.

You kiss his open mouth and drag your lips down to his neck, then plant your mouth on his skin, sucking at it hard enough to form a hickey on it.

"What's that about?" He's rather dumbfounded instead of annoyed.

"Just trying to make it fair," you coyly say as you point to the blossoming mark he made on your breast.

"Yeah, okay," he says in defeat.

As much as you don't want the sex to end, it eventually ends but in a rather explosive, euphoric way. You feel like you've just been given another chance at life after that last orgasm.

"Who needs coffee, huh?" You sigh as you blankly stare at the ceiling.

It's a rhetorical question but Chan decides to respond to it anyway, "Not me, apparently."

Then you remember that he indeed doesn't drink nor need coffee to function, "Not you, apparently," you correct your earlier remark.

Chan carefully lowers himself on top of you and hastily kisses you, both of your teeth almost colliding.

"Thought I was still dreaming when I woke up next to you," he says, coming with another sentimental remark that evokes something deep within you.

You decide to push it further down and keep it there by saying, "Ugh. It's too early for that," you groan.

Chan weakly chuckles with his head nestled in your neck and just like the universe knows you need the distraction, the knocking comes on the door and it must be the breakfast.

You gently pat his head and say, "Now, go get my coffee!"

The morning continues with a quiet breakfast, it's obvious the reason why, the two of you burnt so many calories last night and need a reload.

Then there's the shower and you strongly refuse to share with him or else, it'll take much time. But Chan has an even stronger will and joins you anyway.

This is another reason why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are the same insatiable creatures.

The two of you dressed in silence and at times, catch him watching you, instead of feeling shy, you give him a proper show, bending down and wriggling your ass as you put your underwear on.

Chan enjoys every bit of it, he grins and bites his lips, tempted to come up at you, and goes at it again, but sadly, time is running out.

It's here, this is where it's going to end and you never know when you'll see him again, and that's even if you're still able to. You can only hope that he doesn't see how much you want him to stay.

"This is it then," you say, standing right in front of him in the foyer.

He takes your hand, loosely lacing his fingers with yours, "Can I still text you?"

"Sure," you answer.

"How about phone calls?"

"Booty calls only," you jokingly say.

He smiles and takes a step closer to you, you can almost see every moment the two of you shared last night flashes in his eyes, and it's achingly beautiful.

"Can I kiss you before you leave?"

You plan to make the goodbye as brief and as painless as possible but you don't want to risk losing the opportunity to make it a not-so-sad ending. But if you have to be honest, you simply want to kiss him.

"Okay," you agree with a nod.

You put your arms around his shoulders and let your body molds into him as he holds you close, you tilt your head up and close your eyes.

The moment your lips make contact, your heart bursts open and there's no way of stopping your feelings flow out of it so you let them be. You let him feel your pain, your yearning, and ultimately, your feelings for him that you try so hard to conceal, and then slowly, you pull away from the kiss before they fight their way out of your heart.

It's possible that Chan feels it too, that the kiss feels intimate, the kiss feels emotional, and a little close to the heart. He pulls you into a hug that lasts for a long time as if he tries to convey some unspoken messages too.

"No need to send me off," you tell him, not wanting to make it sadder than it already is.

Chan walks you to the door with his hand on the small of your back and then keeps it open for the final goodbye. You stand facing him and say, "Goodb—"

He puts his finger on your lips to stop you from finishing your sentence, "I'll see you when I see you."

That sounds like he indirectly promises you that one day, he'll come and see you again, and surprisingly, it only makes you uneasy.

You put on a smile and try another way to say goodbye, "Have a safe flight, Chris."

As you get into the back of the taxi, you get these familiar feelings and unfortunately, they're not the good kind. You feel like you went through the same thing before, you feel angry, you feel sad, and lost, and you feel this tightness in your chest that makes it hard to breathe. Then it hits you that it feels exactly like that day he broke up with you, this is the feeling of heartbreak.

In the end, you got your physical needs at the price of having to face your feelings and it all comes down to one conclusion: seeing him was a bad idea.

-

ONE MONTH LATER

It's like you're trapped in an endless loop, it's the weekend and you're lying on your bed, horny and bored.

Your phone is blaring with notifications and messages, you check and skim through them, they're from your friends or some other miscellaneous, you couldn't care less.

In other words, they're not the notifications you've been anticipating.

Chan has been diligently contacting you, sometimes he texted and when he's not, he calls you late at night because apparently, he's always busy during the day. The point is he always contact you by any means of communication.

However, for these past few days, it's been total radio silence. He's not even looking at the pictures you specifically posted to thirst-trap him. If only he knows how much time and energy you've spent just to get a single flattering shot of yourself. Ugh!

As you're about to spiral down, your phone dings and you consider ignoring it to spare you from getting disappointed all over again.

After a moment though, you cave in. You unlock your phone and get greeted by the very notification you've been dying to get.

What you doin'?

Busy running around in my head? He wrote a corny message and added a crying laughing emoji.

A week of no contact and that's the first thing he said? You scoff in disbelief and just stare at the messages, you've learned to make him wait for your reply and use the time to think of witty, flirty answers to his messages.

Am I running with clothes on or naked? You playfully ask back, giggling as you type it.

I think you know the answer. He wrote back with a winking emoji.

Let's hope I don't catch a cold then. You jokingly write in response.

You should stop cause it does things to me.

One minute he's corny, one minute he's cute, and the rest of the time? Hot, confident, and flirty, and you eat those shit up.

Things like what? You reply.

Like this. He wrote along with a picture.

Intrigued, you hurriedly click open the attachment and it's a picture he took of him in the mirror, wearing nothing but his white underwear. Your eyes feast on his glorious Greek God body, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders, and eventually your eyes flick down to the bulge inside his underwear.

In all honestly, it's the first thing that catches your eye because it's so fucking big and the underwear does nothing but enhance the shape and the size.

All of a sudden, you feel thirsty, literally and figuratively, and Chan knows how to make you keep swallowing air by sending you another picture.

The picture is of the same setting but in a rather different position, he's sitting on a chair, slightly slumped with his legs spread wide open and his hand holding his bulge.

Wish it was your hand.

Did he take a class on how to take good thirst traps and nudes? Because damn! Two pictures are enough to make you feel like an animal in heat.

Can I have it in my mouth instead?

Want to have you in my mouth.

Being straightforward mixed with the drooling emoji always works but what really does it is the one magic word: Please?

A minute later, there's no reply from him but your phone rings, he's calling you and you scramble to sit on the bed. You take a deep breath first before hitting the accept call button.

"Hello?"

"Gosh, I want you so much," He suddenly says, no greetings or small talk first. He goes straight to what he wants and you kind of dig that.

You giggle into the phone and playfully ask, "How much?"

"So fucking much," he emphasizes every word and lets out a heavy sigh after.

"Come and maybe I'll give it to you," you seductively say while playing with the lint on your denim shorts, "Maybe."

He chuckles and then jokingly says, "I'm on my way."

"Don't make me wait long," you play along with him but secretly wish that it's true.

You hear rustles from his end of the phone call and think he's probably calling you while lying on his bed but then, you hear the sound of bustling streets and car horns and—

"You're not really on the way, right?" You nervously ask, twisting the loose thread around your index finger.

"I told you, I'm coming," he coyly says.

Your heart skips a beat but he could be anywhere, he could be driving to work or you know, in a taxi in... Australia. Right?

"Chris..." you meekly call him.

"Yes?"

"Are you in the city?" You ask to confirm his location.

"Suprise!" He exclaims followed by a series of giggles.

Yes, you secretly wish that he was coming, but not now but not now and maybe, not ever because the last time you saw each other, things didn't end well for you.

So seeing him tonight is a bad idea, right?

"Why didn't you—" You don't know how to word it without sounding like you're not grateful for his surprise.

"I want to see you," he says, cutting through your silence, "Do you want to see me too?"

What should you do? You don't want him to come but at the same time, you want him to come. Oh, God, this is so confusing!

You want to lie so badly but your heart won't let you, "I want to see you," you openly admit.

"I'm coming so wait for me, yeah?" He softly mutters.

"Okay," you weakly reply.

"I'll see you in a bit," he says with a smile that you can hear through the phone.

"See you."

The second you hang up the call, you start pacing back and forth in your room. He'll be here anytime soon and it'll be just like that night all over again.

You almost jump when the knock comes on the door and you slowly walk to the door, just standing there with your hand on the knob, debating if you should ignore him and pretend you're not home.

The knocks come again and reflexively, you turn the knob and pull the door open.

There he is in a white shirt and blue jeans, the simplest way of dressing yet somehow, it looks incredibly stunning on him.

"Hi," he says with a sweet grin on his face.

His hair is slightly tousled, he smells incredible and those dimples have the power to make you soften around him almost immediately, they're your kryptonite.

"Hi," you say back, lingering by the doorway.

"Brought you wine," he says, showing the bottle of red wine in his hand.

You tilt your head to the side and fight the urge to jump at him and climb him like a tree.

"That's so nice of you," you say with a smile.

"Can I come in?" He asks, gesturing his head toward the inside of your apartment.

But it's a bad idea, right?

However, you find yourself nodding and you step aside, "You may come in."

Chan steps inside and you close the door behind you after. The second you turn around, he pushes you to the wall and crashes his lips against yours.

And you know what? Fuck it! It's fine.

-

Support my blog by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @yourmomscuntis2tighy @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @cutiespaghetti @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house

[celepeace]

I don't know how these people get by but some people straight up do not process or choose to ignore half the information given to them in a conversation. My mother in law is this way and it makes dealing with her for complex topics/issues a huge chore. Even in text-based conversations you can give her a detailed rundown of a situation with all the information she would ever need and instead of actually being productive she chooses to ask questions you already answered in the initial text. Like for example you'd say "[son's name] car got a flat tire, we're going to replace it on sunday and it's going to cost [x amount of money]" her first response would be "when are you replacing it?". Like do you have a problem you need to see a doctor for or Are You Just Stupid

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ hallmark holiday !!

ᝰ.ᐟ tis the season to sit by the fireplace and indulge in cheesy, cliche, ever-so-predictable hallmark movies where we know the main couple will always get their happily ever after. alternatively: a scenario post detailing the cliche holiday romance you and your fave would be ♡ྀི ( fem!reader & sfw )

starring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, shoyo hinata, seishiro nagi, shoei barou, yoichi isagi, jinpachi ego, noel noa, rin itoshi, oliver aiku, kento nanami, naoya zenin, porco galliard, colt grice, levi ackerman

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . haikyuu films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. dedicated to you starring keiji akaashi synopsis keiji akaashi finally gets his dream promotion to the literature department — sort of. see, first he's given what the company calls a "trial run", where they're testing to see how well he'll do. if this book that he edits makes it to the bestseller's list within its first month of publication, he gets the position permanently. fail, and he doesn't just get demoted — he gets fired. this dream of his becomes a nightmare whenever he realizes the author they're assigning to him is you — famous literary critic turned author. well, almost an author. this will be your first book you're ever writing. see, you've got a bit of a reputation. your reviews of novels, whether they'e indie books available only on kindle unlimited or works considered to be modern classics, are nothing short of scathing. rarely is there ever a book that seems to impress you. and while your reviews are valid, a group of scorned writers (who are all beloved by the booktok community, which, in your opinion, invalidates everything they do by default) publicly challenge you: if their writing is so bad, why don't you publish a book and show them how it's done?

exclusive sneak peek! "so you're my editor?" you raise an eyebrow at the man sitting across from you. he's wearing a brown blazer, his hair neatly parted with gel, and he has such a mild-mannered aura about him that you want to groan in agony. of course, the only shmuck who'd be willing to touch your book (book is generous; you barely have half of a first draft) would be some dweeb who's probably been out of work for like, the last year. "yes. i'm keiji akaashi. we spoke over email." he reaches into his workbag, probably to hand you a business card that you'll end up tossing in the cafe's trashcan. "oh. from the tone of your emails, i was expecting someone..." you don't finish your sentence. "someone what?" he asks. "it's nothing." you wave your hand, as if to tell him that the comment was useless anyway. "listen, i'm sure i'm not your ideal client, but we don't have to keep meeting. i'll make your job easy by making sure you never have to edit or touch a single letter on my drafts. just let me handle this my own way, and i'm sure—" "no." you don't normally let people interrupt you, but the shift in his tone makes you pause. you stare at him curiously, only this time, you notice that keiji akaashi doesn't seem so mild-mannered right now. he continues. "i'm not sure where you got the bright idea that you would just write this book on your own, but you don't make a deal with a major publishing house just to go about the project like all the indie authors you criticize in your little column. the minute you signed that contract, you became my responsibility." akaashi looks you in the eyes as he tells you, "so from this point forward, your book is about to become our book. and i only plan on producing bestsellers." you smile at that, leaning forward and matching the intensity of his gaze. "good. because i only plan on writing a bestseller."

⋆⁺₊❅. make it to christmas starring atsumu miya synopsis break-ups can be tough. coming home for the holidays can be tougher. combine these two situations, and throw in the fact that no one can know about said break-up, and this might be the toughest situation to go through. here's the deal: you and atsumu, who've been together for the past four years, are deemed "most likely to get married". your friends, family, and even strangers on the internet all think you two are the couple that will make them believe in the power of love again. with this type of pressure, neither of you are willing to wreck the holiday spirit by announcing your break-up, and really, mama miya just got a particularly bad diagnosis. the last thing either of you want to do is break her heart some more. so, you both agree to pretend to still be together, all for the sake of "saving christmas", so to speak. but then, mama miya walks in on the two of you in the kitchen at the worst possible moment. atsumu is down on one knee, kneeling in front of you. finally, some good news this season: her baby boy is getting married to the love of his life.

exclusive sneak peak! "atsumu, this whole thing is a mess!" you whisper-shout at him, leaning down and examining the space beneath the floor kitchen cabinets in search of your missing earring. "well, you can't back out now!" he whisper-shouts back, crawling on all fours to help you look for the damn earrings osamu's new girlfriend gifted you. "what would we tell everybody?" "how about the truth?" "we will tell them the truth! right after christmas." "you idiot, your mom has her next appointment the day after christmas! the whole point i agreed to this was so that way we wouldn't crush her with a whole day of bad news!" "you're right." your back is turned to him, but even without looking, you know he's nodding his head. "we should just wait 'til the month's over then." "that's even worse!" now you finally do turn around, crossing your arms against your chest. "i really think this was a bad idea. we need to figure out how to come clean before this whole thing blows up in our faces." he sighs, knowing that you're right. you always are. it's what he loves — loved; he's not quite sure if he's still allowed to use the L-word concerning you — about you. then, he perks up, catching a glint of your missing earring. propping himself up on his good knee, he presents the ring to you earnestly. "oh!" you grin, happy that atsumu found the damn thing. now, osamu's girlfriend will be properly placated. before you can reach for it, three things happen in rapid succession. one: the kitchen door swings open. two: mama miya assesses the situation quickly, and lets out the biggest shriek of excitement heard 'round the world. three: this whole thing definitely just blew up in your faces.

⋆⁺₊❅. v for valentine starring shoyo hinata synopsis you hate valentine's day — after you found out your (former!) boyfriend of three years was cheating on you on this very special holiday, you see what the 14th is all about. commercialized "love": packaged in bright pink packaging and red hearts that get sold to unsuspecting fools. however, as a wedding planner, you still have to love love. it's just hard to whenever the wedding you're planning is set for feb. 14th... and it's to your ex-boyfriend and the girl he cheated on you with. you know it's petty and ridiculous and horribly immature, but you're plotting and scheming ways to ruin their wedding without it being tied directly back to you. the only obstacle in your way, though, is the bride-to-be's annoying cousin who immediately catches onto your plans and seems intent on putting a stop to you.

exclusive sneak peek! "what do you think you're doing?" you jump up, startled at the sudden intrusion. everyone else is supposed to be occupied, oohing and ahhing at bridezilla's reception dress reveal. "nothing." you say, in that tone of voice that makes it very, very obvious to anyone who can hear that you were definitely up to something. "really?" hinata asks. "because it looks like you're trying to convince the dog to tear up my cousin's high heels." busted. (you're too flustered and trying to come up with an excuse as to why there's peanut butter on his cousin's designer heels that you don't notice the way hinata looks like he's trying to hold back his laughter.)

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . blue lock films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. married by christmas starring seishiro nagi synopsis as the only daughter of the mikage business empire, not to mention having an older brother who could care less about the family business, you should be rightfully inheriting a good majority of mikage corp. on the day of your twenty-fifth birthday, you anticipate the metaphorical keys to your family's empire. instead, you receive the worst news of your life: reo's going to lead mikage corp starting on christmas day (a gift that he never asked for), and since you're still unmarried at the decrepit age of twenty-five, your grandparents are demanding you start going on blind dates with the men they've found for you. when you angrily confront your parents, wanting to know why everything will be handed to reo, who doesn't even want this responsibility, the answer is clear: they need a man to be the face of mikage. if you marry someone, even if you're the one pulling the strings from behind, you can still inherit the business by having your husband look like the one in control. your parents know that you don't want to get married, but what they don't know is that you're willing to do anything to get what you've worked so hard for. you didn't spend years abroad to study at the best business school in the world and to build connections all for it to go down the drain. but then you realize that all these men your grandparents found for you won't be willing to just sit back and let you do all the work. they want power of their own. where in the world could you possibly find someone you can trust to be married to in these conditions? and then it dawns on you: your older brother's best friend! from what you remember of him during high school, nagi wants nothing more in life than to just be able to make easy money and relax, left to his own devices. he's never taken advantage of reo, so he'll probably stay loyal to you. and a quick google search reveals that nagi's never even been in a public relationship. he's perfect.

exclusive sneak peek! "you bought me a ring?" you stare at the velvet box resting on your living room table, eyeing it like a bomb that might explode at any minute. "huh? oh yeah, why?" nagi's voice is cracking through the speaker of your phone. you're not sure where he is; you don't really know much about your husband-to-be, you realize. you should get him to email you his daily schedule. you plan on making note of that in your outlook calendar, after this call. "i didn't expect you to get me a ring." you frown. "forward me the invoice for it, and i will make sure to reimburse you. in the future, please refrain from making any purchases related to our relationship unless i clearly allow it and expect it. christmas in front of my family, and public birthday celebrations, for example, are occasions in which i'll allow gift-giving." "you're sayin' my future wife doesn't want gifts?" nagi wants to choke reo. he's the one who said you expected to be spoiled, and all the guys on his team seem to be adamant that buying gifts for your significant other is the way to go. if he knew you were going to start talking business around him, he wouldn't have gone through the hassle of finding a decent jeweler in this city. "this is a business partnership, nagi. not a romantic relationship. in business, you buy gifts only to bribe. are you trying to bribe me right now?" no, he thinks. he was only trying to make you happy.

⋆⁺₊❅. a king for christmas starring shoei barou synopsis serving as king but hated by a small, powerful group of witches, the ruler of the kingdom, shoei barou, is cursed and expelled to another world where his tyranny will not be tolerated. the only way to return back to his world is for him to learn benevolence and empathy. they certainly gave him a challenge; it'll be hard to be kind and empathetic whenever you're magically transported to the twenty-first century without a single clue as to how the world works. luckily, he ends up transported here, unconscious, on the front porch of a tired, overworked, graveyard shift ER nurse. you signed an oath to protect and save all lives, so you can't exactly kick the large man passed out by your front door, now can you?

exclusive sneak peek! "where is your horse?" barou asks you, following you around your house. him being your shadow is odd, considering how he towers over you so much, he's actually casting a shadow onto you. seriously, he's blocking the sunlight peeking through your blinds. "my horse? you think i'm a horse girl?" you whirl around to meet him, nearly bumping into his muscular chest as you do so. he makes a face, not sure what to make of your exclamation. "how will you travel into town?" "like everyone else. with a car." you hold up your key fob, and he immediately snatches it from your hands, staring at the fob curiously. "you travel using this?" he points to it, and you nod. "witch." he says. "what did you just call me?" you stare at him, stunned. "witch." he repeats, still holding onto your key fob. "to travel in a contraption so small... magic is the only reasonable explanation. you must be a witch. why didn't you tell me this sooner? we can use this—this car, and you can take me back to my kingdom at once!" he straightens his back, holding your key fob out of your reach. "witch, i demand you transport me back home." "i should've kicked you when i had the chance." you mutter, wondering how hard this stranger banged his head to forget what a car is.

⋆⁺₊❅. the perfect playbook starring yoichi isagi synopsis bastard munchen is forcing all of its players to dedicate their time during the holiday season to an approved community outreach initiative. isagi sees nothing better than to return to his hometown, and help volunteer to coach the local little league team that's 1) underfunded and 2) currently coached by the only person kind enough to volunteer: you, the fresh-out-of-college brand new, bubbly elementary school teacher. yoichi might not be the biggest believer in team work makes the dream work, but you don't make a bad teammate... not in the slightest.

exclusive sneak peek! "isagi," you frown as you stare at the whiteboard, trying to make sense of all the x's and o's and arrows he's scrawled on them. "you want to train this group of seven to nine year olds... to become strikers?" he nods, pleased that you're finally starting to see his vision. "yes, exactly!" "the recreational elementary-aged youth team... is going to undergo a simulation of what you went through as a high school boy?" "well, it'll be tweaked accordingly. with your guidance, of course! it'll be a more tame version, but i'm sure the results will be the same." when he smiles at you like that, you can't help but want to give in. "and besides, i'm proof that project blue lock is a very beneficial program. look how i turned out!" you think back to when you curiously searched him up on the internet. "top 10 isagi crash-outs on the field" was not the result you were expecting. but he's been nothing but kind and enthusiastic around you and the kids. it's not like he's some egotistical maniac who only cares about soccer, right? "okay." you nod slowly. "project baby blue lock it is, then."

⋆⁺₊❅. cease and assist starring jinpachi ego synopsis former collegiate athlete with a professional career ahead of you, your dreams of becoming the world's best women's soccer player gets crushed the minute you suffer the worst injury possible. now, you spend your time trapped in an office, working for the japan football association, waiting for the decades to pass you by so you can finally retire and die. until the head of the association pulls you to his office and lets you know that you're going to be going undercover; apparently, jinpachi ego is creating a soccer program that's supposedly going to change japanese soccer, and he wants you to report back to him and the jfa so they can anticipate everything ego plans on throwing at them. hired to project blue lock as ego's personal assistant, you spend practically the whole day with him. he's annoying, never listens to your advice, mansplains everything, and refuses to eat anything resembling a vegetable unless you force it down his throat. he's also the only person to match your passion for the sport, and the only one to call you out for not continuing to chase your dreams. the more time you spend by his side, the less and less you want to report to the jfa...

exclusive sneak peek! "sir," you grit your teeth, clutching onto the files in your hand because you know if your hands are unoccupied, you'd be sprinting across the room so you could personally choke jinpachi ego out. "i have an mba from the top business school in this country. i've played soccer since i was a child, and was one of the most decorated d1 players back in college. i know i'm just your assistant, but i can promise you, i am capable of far more than heating up your cup ramen." he doesn't even turn around his chair so he can face you; instead, he's still laser focused on the massive monitor in front of him, his eyes occasionally flickering to the other dozen screens surrounding the room. he doesn't even acknowledge your words. "are you seriously going to ignore me?" you snap, strangling the poor papers in your grasp. "are you done speaking? last time i tried to answer back, you yelled at me for not letting you finish." he still isn't looking at you, but you're certain he sees the nasty scowl that crosses your face. somehow, ego is capable of seeing everything. "forget it. you're impossible." "and you're a failure of a player." he tells you, right before you can storm out. "excuse me?" "you keep talking about how good you were at soccer, yet you never even bothered to pursue it after you got out of physical therapy. good in college doesn't mean anything when it's been so long. that's why i don't listen to you." he turns his chair, finally staring at you. "when you prove to me that you're still as good as you claim you used to be, maybe i'll take your advice. until then, get out of my office until i call you back."

⋆⁺₊❅. the only exception starring noel noa synopsis at thirty-three years old with not a single serious romantic relationship for the past decade or so, and with society basically treating any single woman in her thirties like a cow put out to pasture, you have come to terms with the fact that you'll be a spinster. it's fine. you have a successful career in a male-dominated field, you're still as beautiful as ever, and it's not like romantic love is going to fill the void. you have a supportive family and even more supportive friends; you don't need anything else. at thirty-five years old, with a successful soccer career and a body still performing at peak physical fitness, noel noa is considered to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. the public considers him to be at his prime, even. and yet, he seems to want nothing to do with romance. he plays his sport, he does a damn good job of it, and then he goes back to his isolated home in the french countryside to spend his days and nights entirely and utterly alone. for two people content to spend the rest of their lives without a partner, the minute you walk into his life as the new assistant coach for bastard munchen, you both slowly start to realize that maybe, you both could just try being alone together.

exclusive sneak peek! he doesn’t pay you any attention whenever you enter the locker room; after all, this isn’t the first time one of his teammates’ girlfriends walked in here unannounced. he can only hope that your heated rant and accusations of cheating don’t take a long time because practice starts in ten minutes, and noel noa is known to be particularly anal when it comes to sticking to a strict schedule. “hey!” igor says, being the only one bold enough to block you from taking another step further in the locker room. “you can’t be in here, even if you are dating or related to one of the players.”  “well, that’s certainly a respectable rule, but it doesn’t apply to me.”  “i'm the vice captain of this team.” he replies, letting his title to do the rest of the talking. right now, in this room, he’s the authority, second only to noel. noel, who's too busy stretching his legs to really concern himself with something as silly as a female intruder in the men's locker room. the altercation between you two is nothing more than white noise to him. “oh? that’s nice.” you hum, before adjusting the lanyard around your neck so that the little ID card, the one that’s used to allow people entrance into the gym during practice, is showing. it must be brand new because it shines underneath the fluorescents of the locker room. “i’m your new assistant coach.”  well, you’ve certainly got noel's attention now.

⋆⁺₊❅. all in starring rin itoshi synopsis even with worldwide fame, rin itoshi still prefers to be left alone. deemed the "prodigal recluse" by the media, no one knows what he gets up to during the offseason. the truth is, rin returns back to his hometown and spends his free time training by himself in the frozen field he used to train in during middle school. he's never been found out here, and that's how he likes it. until you, an ambitious sports journalist visiting your parents during the holidays, gets lost and stumbles upon him playing soccer by himself. you're convinced that this is fate. no one else in your field has ever gotten this close to him, especially outside an official game, and you're begging him for an exclusive interview. you're persistent and annoying, and rin finally agrees, with one catch: you have to score against him on a one-on-one soccer match. (he just doesn't anticipate how persistent and annoying you can be. when you set your mind on a goal, you're going all in.)

exclusive sneak peek! "you have to admit, it's pretty impressive i even kept up this long." you're panting, the palms of your hands digging into your knees as you hunch over, struggling to catch your breath. the icy air makes every exhale visible. rin looks like he hasn't even broken a sweat. "a child could've kept up for even longer." he says, the soccer ball resting underneath his right foot. "if you're this tired already, you might as well just head home and go enjoy your vacation with your family." the and leave me alone goes without saying. "why? intimidated by my shocking athletic abilities already?" you think you've finally got your breathing situation figured out, and you straighten up. "i'm going to get that interview, itoshi." "if you say so." he shoves his hands in his pockets, his own breath visible in the icy air. "i'm ready for our rematch." you tighten your ponytail, giving rin such a fixed, determined stare that it surprises him. you really are serious about this, aren't you? "and don't think about going easy on me." the corners of his mouth nearly turn upwards. he matches your gaze, preparing to shoot the ball. "i never will."

⋆⁺₊❅. meet your match starring oliver aiku synopsis tired of cleaning up his messes and struggling to reform his playboy image, oliver aiku's publicist has to break out the business card locked away in her "in case of emergency" glass case. she's calling in the calvary — you, the celebrity world's most respected matchmaker. every celebrity couple you've set up has either dated for years (and more to come) or even got their happily ever afters by saying i do at the altar. you've got a one hundred percent success rate. you're making the perfect matches left and right. hinge who? when your publicist bestie calls you, begging to help her most troublesome client finally find love and quit playing around, you already know who she's referring to. oliver aiku. he's hellbent on ruining your perfect run, and you're hellbent on finding him the love of his life so he can finally settle down and stop causing your best friend to spend her whole paycheck on migraine medicine. in his hyper-competitive field, he's never quite met someone as obnoxiously stubborn as you — nor has he ever had as much fun playing games with anyone else. it looks like the two of you have finally met your respective match.

exclusive sneak peek! "what the hell is the matter with you?" you glare at him from across the table, but oliver doesn't seem the least bit ashamed. you're not shocked; you don't think he has the capacity for shame. "what are you talking about?" he tries to sound innocent, but it doesn't work. look at him — there's nothing innocent about the man sitting across from you. "i'm talking about you bringing another woman to the date i set up for you!" you hiss, trying to remain calm and not draw attention to the two of you. he takes a long sip of his coffee, dragging out the silence as you wait for his explanation as to why he wants to make things as difficult as possible. "i was just testing her." oliver is smiling. you want to punch him in his stupid face and see if he'll still be grinning at you. probably. he's annoying like that. "during a situation like that, you can tell if the girl's gonna be a struggle to deal with depending on her reaction." "you know what my reaction would be if you did that to me?" you lean forward, and he meets you halfway, also leaning in closer. he's still smiling. you hate his stupid smile. "oh? what would your reaction be?" "nothing. you'd never even get the chance to pull that shit on me. as if i'd ever be dumb enough to go on a date with the likes of you." you lean back in your seat, opening up your phone and furiously marking off girls from your list. the list gets smaller after every one of his failed dates. oliver sits back, too, watching the way your brows furrow as you stare at your screen, not even giving him the time of day. he never stops smiling; finds it hard not to smile when he's in your presence.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . jujutsu kaisen films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. the roadtrippers starring kento nanami synopsis you're traveling solo for the first time ever after your fiancé breaks things off with you to date his 19 year old neighbor. kento nanami's a single father/investment banker trying to make it back home in time for his daughter's birthday. you're both trying to travel across the country, but when a massive snowstorm delays the same flight you two were going to take home, you decide to team up and just travel together to try to make it your respective destinations on time. from weirdos on the train, flat tires on scarily cheap rental cars, and posing as a married couple at a strict, christian-owned bed&breakfast, you go from strangers traveling cross-country together to being connected together in ways neither of you have ever connected with your previous partners before.

exclusive sneak peek! "whoa, you're doing this like it's nothing." you stare in awe as nanami rolls up the sleeves to his button-down, exposing his strong forearms as he turns the wrench, loosening the lug nuts of the flat tire of the rental car. "that's because it is nothing." he tells you, glancing up at you. you're wrapped up in his blazer, but the chill of the outside air still bites at you. "you should go back inside the car and wait for me. i'll be done in a second." "it wouldn't be fair." you explain to him. "you've been doing all the work this entire trip. braving the elements with you for a few minutes is the least i can do." "you don't have to do anything." he looks up at you, his stare bringing heat back into your body. "you don't owe me. i really don't mind helping you. if you really want to do me a favor, then go back inside the car and stay warm."

⋆⁺₊❅. snowed in starring naoya zenin synopsis you've never had great luck, but with your good attitude, you don't let life get you down. good karma finally comes your way when you win an all-expenses paid trip at a luxury ski lodge. this is where your good luck ends. apparently, the ski lodge accidentally double-booked the cabin: you're supposed to be staying there... and so is the rudest, most arrogant and condescending lawyer you've ever met. naoya zenin booked this place to get away from the city and work in peace, away from the incessant nagging of his family and employees. instead, he's met with even more inconveniences, the biggest one being you, some teacher from a small town he's never heard of and couldn't care less about. before either of you can head back to the main lodge to complain, a snowstorm comes rolling in, effectively leaving the two of you snowed in together for the time being. no cell service, no internet, and no one but each other. fantastic.

exclusive sneak peek! "where are you going?" he asks, eyeing your towel and pajamas in your hand. "to go shower?" you point to the bathroom door. after claiming he wants nothing to do with you, and then setting a ground rule that you can't speak to him unless he allows it, you figured he'd just leave you to your own devices. "unless i need permission from you to do that, too." "i checked the water tank. there's barely anything, and even less hot water." "and this is my problem because...?" "i need to shower, too. i know women have a tendency to take hour-long hot showers, but that isn't going to work here." somehow, you find it hard to believe any woman would want to be close enough to naoya to where he can track their shower-time. "fine. i'll take a lukewarm shower for fifty-five minutes then." you reach for the bathroom door handle. "will that satisfy you?" he's up in a flash, his body so close to your own. you've got nowhere to go but to back up against the closed door, trying to get some space between the two of you. "you don't want to know what'll satisfy me."

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . attack on titan films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. falling onto you starring porco galliard synopsis when you’re forced to return to your hometown to take care of your grandmother after her hip surgery, you’re roped into volunteering for the town’s fire department charity event. paired with the constant scowling firefighter who rescued you from a tree back when you two were kids and classmates, you’re tasked with organizing the firefighter calendar auction. between awkward photo shoots, bickering over decorations, and trying to outbid a local rival for the best auction spot, you start to see that maybe porco galliard isn't all scowls and shambles arrogance — after all, he's there to catch you every time you fall.

exclusive sneak peek! "no." "it's for charity, galliard." you toss him the santa hat, not the least bit shocked that he manages to catch it without batting an eye. "you're like, morally obligated to do this. unless you want to ruin christmas. that's fine by me, too." "i won't be ruining christmas. you're just a pervert." you gasp. "i'm not the one who came up with these positions!" "you're still going to buy the calendar." he points out. "yeah, for charity! not to actually look at it!" "you sure about that? because you seem pretty damn persistent that i should take off my shirt and let you take pictures of me in nothing but suspenders, my work pants, and this ridiculous hat." "that's the most stereotypical firefighter photoshoot for a sexy christmas calendar!" he pauses. "you callin' me sexy?"

⋆⁺₊❅. the one starring colt grice synopsis colt grice has the worst luck known to man. when it comes to pay-it-forward chains, he always gets stuck in front of a minivan for a family of nine. naturally, the only people who crash into his car are the ones with no insurance. he felt bad for a coworker during a work potluck, stomached some of their disgusting food, only to end up getting food poisoning from it. the only thing colt ever seems to have good luck with is relationships... specifically, his good luck seems to transfer over to the girl he's currently dating. see, the thing is, every time colt gets dumped, his exes always end up finding the love of their lives. all his exes are happily married or in long-term relationships, with all of them finding their soulmates right after breaking up with him. he thinks no one else in the world has luck as terrible as his, but then he meets you. after a conversation exchange during a long line, you reveal that it seems like every ex you have has found their soulmate directly after breaking up with you! which is when you two hatch a plan: in order to help each other find "the one", you both agree to date each other for a period of time and then dump each other, all in the hopes of finally meeting your soulmate.

exclusive sneak peek! "your soulmate is super lucky, by the way." "what makes you say that?" colt turns to his side so he can look at you. you're still laying on your back, gazing up at the stars above. "just... i can't imagine why anyone would want to break up with you. you're honestly the best boyfriend i've ever had." colt's heart jumps at your words. he's glad it's so dark outside; otherwise, you might see the blush creeping on his cheeks. you continue on. "i'm going to be really sad when we have to breakup." he knows it's not in the agreement, but he can't help it. he thinks, then let's not. instead, he swallows hard and makes a half-hearted joke. "don't worry. you'll meet your soulmate soon, all thanks to me." you laugh, but you don't tell him how you're really hoping that he's the one for you.

⋆⁺₊❅. girls just wanna have fun! starring levi ackerman synopsis you're the prime minister's daughter wanting to get the proper college experience during your very last year of university. he's your marginally older, no-nonsense, militant bodyguard. you're determined to check things off your college girl bucket list (skip lecture, eat questionable dining hall food, go to a frat party), and he's determined to keep you safe.

exclusive sneak peek! you’ve been meticulously planning this all week. the perfect outfit is tucked under your oversized hoodie, and you’ve even plotted out the quietest route to avoid any of the creaky floorboards in your family’s massive home. all that’s left is to slip past levi, who seems to have an annoying sixth sense for every bad decision you attempt to make. sliding your shoes on, you tiptoe toward the front door, holding your breath as you slowly twist the handle. almost there. just a few more seconds, and— “you have exactly five seconds to explain what the hell you’re doing.” the deep, authoritative voice freezes you in place. slowly, you turn to find levi standing in the shadows, his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in disapproval. the flat line of his mouth isn't forming a frown or a scowl, but the disappointment is evident. “levi,” you start innocently, trying to cover your tracks. “i was just—” “if you're just going to lie, don't bother saying anything.” he interrupts, stepping into the light. his eyes flick to your shoes and back to your guilty expression. “where are you really going?” you sigh, crossing your arms defensively. “it’s just a party, okay? everyone’s going, and i’m not some teenager who needs her parent's permission to go out at night.” “you might not need your father's permission,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, “but you do need my protection. and if you think i'm letting you sneak off to some frat house full of drunk idiots without so much as telling me, then you’re dumber than i thought.” you glare at him, your frustration bubbling over. “you’re not my dad! i can take care of myself.” he leans against the doorframe, unflinching. “if you could take care of yourself, you wouldn’t have tried sneaking out like a common criminal." “ugh,” you groan, childishly stomping your foot. “why do you always have to ruin everything?” “why do you always have to make my job harder?” he counters, his tone sharp but his eyes softening just slightly. for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. then levi exhales, rubbing his temples as if you’ve given him the worst headache of his life. “here’s the deal,” he finally says. “you stay home tonight, and i’ll consider letting you go to the next party — with me shadowing you the whole time.” your jaw drops. “you can’t be serious.” “correct. i never plan on letting you go to one of those idiotic parties.” he says. “now go change out of that ridiculous outfit you're wearing under your sweatshirt, and get some sleep. you've got class at eight.”

[coquelicoq]

how to write a sympathy card

so someone you know recently lost a loved one and you would like to extend your sympathy, but you have no idea what to say. here are some ideas to get the juices flowing. i did not even try to keep this short, so i've broken it up into four sections: general advice, what to include, some example cards i've written, and takeaways.

general advice

first, if you're reading this i'll assume that you have decided to express your sympathy in some way and just don't know how. the thing about doing this is it will always feel inadequate. it will often feel very awkward. you may be worried that everything you say sounds weirdly insincere even if it isn't. i'm here to tell you that that is all okay and normal and to be expected. i've written a lot of sympathy cards and afterwards i've never been like "wow, i nailed it!" and yet i've gotten a lot of comments from people thanking me for showing up even when all i did was send a measly insufficient card, because most people don't do that. it will mean something to the person that you did it at all, even if it's not perfect.

should you send your sympathy in a card or some other method? if you never send mail, if you don't have their address, if you don't even own stamps, maybe sending a card is not for you. but everything below also applies to an email you could send. i personally prefer a card because i like the physicality; it's something they can keep and look at later if they want to, and it's a way of showing a small amount of deliberation and care (i went to the store and picked this out; i sat down and handwrote this). more importantly, i feel like there's less pressure to respond to a card than an email, and a phone call can be overwhelming to someone who is already dealing with a lot of shit, while a card is just there whenever they feel up to looking at it. but that is entirely my own perspective; there are differences culturally as well as personally. you should do what makes sense for you.

do think about what you're trying to accomplish by sending this card. you may not be able to make things better, but you are certainly trying not to make things harder. one example of this might be: if your friend has just lost her mother, you might have a lot of complicated feelings about this that aren't really about your friend or her mother specifically (you also have a mother!), and that's natural and okay, but those feelings would perhaps be best to share with other friends of yours who didn't just lose their mother. another example: it's okay to be worried about your friend and how they're doing, but try not to imply that they owe you updates or that they're causing you a lot of stress by not keeping you in the loop. (of course, if they are instead sharing more with you than you can handle, it's important to set boundaries around that! though probably not through the mechanism of a sympathy card.)

it is okay to keep it really short and generic. again, i think just the act of thinking to get a card, getting a card, writing something in it, and mailing it already means something regardless of what is written in it. if you feel overwhelmed trying to figure out what to say, it is okay to keep it to "I'm thinking of you in this difficult time. I'm so sorry for your loss." i also sometimes add "I don't know what to say, except that [I'm thinking of you, etc.]."

one thing i've learned that makes this harder is that you cannot assume you know how anyone else feels. you may be thinking, "i also lost a parent, so i know how it feels," but you only know how you felt about it. there are infinite ways to feel about losing someone, including:

sadness for the deceased, that their life is over

sadness for themself, that the deceased is gone

sadness for the other people who lost the deceased

fear of their own mortality

fear of dying in the same way

fear of how their life is going to change without the deceased

relief that the deceased is no longer suffering

relief that their caretaking duties are over

relief that the deceased can no longer mistreat them

anger at the deceased for dying or for not doing something before they died

anger at god

anger at others/self for contributing to their death or not saving them

overwhelm from all the logistical things there are to deal with when someone dies

overwhelm from all the emotions

confusion at their own reaction

guilt for outliving the deceased

guilt for not feeling sadder or for feeling other things in addition to sadness (or for being numb/in shock)

this is an incomplete list!!!

i try not to project onto my friend or put words in their mouth, because it can be very isolating to be told how other people think you should feel if that's not exactly how you feel. because you're sending them a sympathy card, there is some baseline assumption that there is something to feel sympathy about. but beyond that i try to be careful not to get super specific about how "you must be feeling" or how hard "this must be". generally i try to avoid the word "must" because it implies that there is a certain way this is supposed to go, when there isn't.

if i know that they are struggling in some way but haven't talked to them much about it, i personally usually feel okay saying "Loss is hard" or "It's hard to lose someone", which might seem similar to "This must be hard", but avoids the word "must" and the direct reference to their situation ("loss" in general vs. "the particular instance of loss you are experiencing"). if i don't know much at all about how they're doing, i might say "Loss can be hard", which presumes even less, or i might not directly mention the difficulty of loss at all.

but also, it's okay to be more specific and personalized if you have been in contact with your friend as they've been processing the situation. it's good to acknowledge specific feelings that they've told you about, but try to also leave room for other feelings and/or ways their feelings might have changed.

what to include

here are some categories of sentiments you may want to include (all optional!):

thinking of you: even though it's kind of self-evident that you're thinking about them, this is something that is always appropriate to say and always nice to hear. examples: You're in my thoughts. I'm thinking of you often.

wishing you comfort/support: comfort and support are very safe things to wish somebody because they don't assume anything very specific about how they're feeling, and they express care for their wellbeing without putting pressure on them to be fine. I hope you can find moments of comfort in the coming days. I hope you're feeling supported by friends and family.

sorry for your loss: this is one of those things everyone knows is a stock phrase, but it's the kind of stock phrase that imo actually communicates something, so i do generally use it. I'm so sorry for your loss.

my heart goes out to you: this stock phrase is a little iffier, meaning it can be kind of a toss-up on whether or not it will sound insincere. it might depend on how close you are to the person. use your discretion. again, even things that sound insincere to you can still mean a lot to the recipient. My heart goes out to you. My heart is with you.

i'm here for you: offer logistical and/or emotional support if you want to and if you're reasonably sure that you could provide it. if you're able to be specific, that can be very helpful; one thing that can be overwhelming in the aftermath of a loss is dealing with lots of people wanting to help and having to come up with ways for them to do that. Please reach out anytime if it would help to talk about it. If you ever need to be distracted, I'm good at that! I'd love to bring over some food/help out with chores and errands; I'll text you to see if that would be helpful and not disruptive.

prayers: if you and the recipient are both religious/spiritual and it feels right to say, you could say "I'm keeping you in my prayers" or similar, in addition to or in lieu of "I'm thinking of you." if you are religious but the recipient isn't (or you're not sure if they are), i suggest not saying this, but use your judgment. some people don't mind hearing that someone is praying for them even if they don't believe in prayer and may in fact expect you to say it if you are known as someone who often expresses care through prayer, but for others, this can be actively offensive. i would say when in doubt, stick to "thoughts" instead of "prayers". You're in my prayers. I'm praying for you.

there are many ways to grieve: this one is harder to describe, but i like to include something that validates whatever the recipient may be feeling, despite not knowing how the recipient is feeling. the downside of a card is that it's not in real time, so you really have no way of knowing how your friend is feeling when they read it, even if you talked to them previously and know how they were feeling during that conversation. so i like to, in addition to not assuming any particular emotions, make space for the fact that their emotions may be shifting in ways that are confusing or distressing. but you have to be kind of vague about it, because you don't even know if that's happening. I hope you have the space to grieve in whatever way you need to/is meaningful for you. I hope you're getting through this time in whatever way is best for you.

you may want to express your own grief over the loss of this person, if you knew them. i think this can be comforting for the recipient to hear, but i suggest keeping it brief and not overwrought. the last thing you want is for your friend to feel they have to manage your emotions in addition to their own. if you can, do the below instead of or in addition to this.

now i will share my LIFE HACK!! for the very best thing to put in a sympathy card. this will not always be possible, because it relies upon a) you yourself having a relationship with the deceased (which is not always the case) and b) you being able to remember things (which i often cannot, especially when i'm sad). but if you can, i highly suggest something along the lines of the following.

say what you will remember the deceased for. (I will remember them for their wry sense of humor. I will remember them as a compassionate/driven/curious person.)

give an example of a memory you have of them in which they exemplified that characteristic.

if you can't do both, it's also good to do just one and not the other. if you have a favorite memory but it's too hard to think of adjectives to attribute to them, just share the memory. if you tend to think of them as [positive adjective] but no specific evidence is coming to mind, that's okay, this isn't a debate. in general it is comforting to people to know that they are not the only ones who will remember their lost loved one.

example cards

i will now give some examples of cards i've written. these all feel really awkward and inadequate to me, and you can see i didn't always stick to my own advice! but they were all deeply appreciated.

[to my coworker. i didn't have much detail except knowing her dad had been in the hospital a lot, and she was sad that he died]

I was so sorry to hear about your father. It seems like the last few years have been hard on your family, and loss is especially hard. I hope you are able to take the time you need to be with your family and cherish your memories of him together.

[to my friend's mother after the passing of her husband. i knew from talking to my friend that her mom was struggling especially with outliving him, because she was sick and had expected for a long time to die before him]

I'm thinking about you and [friend's name] a lot. I'm so sorry for your loss. Losing someone is so hard. Adjusting to their absence is, too. I hope that you're finding moment of comfort and feeling supported by friends and family. He will be missed. I will remember him for his wry sense of humor; I still have a "card" from him on my fridge (he cut out a sample "thank you" card greeting that said "The smallest good deed is better than the grandest intention" from a list of things to write in different kinds of cards (a sample message for a "Get Well Soon" card was on the back, crossed out) and simply added my name at the top and his name at the bottom. It's one of my favorite pieces of mail I've ever received and it's been on my fridge for many years). I am so sorry that he's gone. You are in my thoughts and my heart goes out to you.

[to my close friend and her husband i don't know as well, after a late-term abortion for a baby they had been very excited to raise. in this case i knew some of my friend's feelings, but not her husband's, and while i knew that many things about the pregnancy had been hard (lots of waiting for test results about the viability of the fetus, for one thing), i didn't want to imply that the decision to abort was hard, because my friend said it wasn't]

I'm thinking of you both lots. I'm so sorry for the loss of your baby. It sounds like it's been a difficult and fraught process, and I hope you're getting space and time to grieve and to come to terms with the loss. I hope you're getting whatever kind of support you need. If there's anything I can do to help, whether logistical or emotional, please let me know. I would love to be of service to you. I wish I knew what to say. You've just had such a fantastically shitty year. I do believe that things will get lighter for you both, and I hope that happens soon. Take care, and know you are cherished.

[to my grandmother after the loss of her estranged brother, when i was extremely unsure how she was feeling about it and had my own complicated emotions]

I just wanted to send you a card to say I'm thinking of you. Mom let me know about Uncle [name]. I know things had been strained for many years and I haven't seen him in a long time, but I'm sorry to hear that he's passed. I hope that you and [grandmother's sister] are able to reminisce in whatever way feels appropriate and meaningful to you. I'm not sure what else to say, other than I'm thinking of you, I love you, and I'm sorry. It was really nice to see you at [family member's] graduation the other day. The next time we're together, I look forward to giving you such a big hug! I feel very lucky to be your granddaughter and to have you in my life.

[to my grandmother after the loss of my 38yo cousin, which was hitting me really hard]

I don't know what to say, but I just wanted to tell you that my heart goes out to you and that I'm thinking of you, and [cousin], and [uncle], and [father], every day. It's so hard to lose someone, and I'm so sorry for your loss. My grief is a strange animal that sneaks up on me at the strangest times. I hope you are finding moments of comfort and feeling supported by friends and family. I'm looking forward to the day when I can hug you in person.

[to my close friend on the loss of her father after a long illness. she had been leaning on me for support, as another person who has lost someone after a long illness]

I'm thinking about you lots. I hope you're getting through this time in whatever way is best for you. Loss is hard even when you know it's coming and even when you get to say goodbye. I hope you are finding comfort and feeling how loved you are. He was a special person, and I'm so sorry he's left you. I know part of him will live on in you and the other people who learned from and admired him. It's still so hard to lose him, and grief is a strange animal. Take care. Reach out anytime. I love you so much.

takeaways

it will probably feel inadequate to you, but chances are it will still be appreciated.

remember that though you may not be able to make things better, you are trying not to make things harder.

it is okay to keep it really short and generic.

you cannot assume you know how anyone else feels. there are many ways to grieve. that said, it's nice to acknowledge any specific feelings your friend has expressed to you, while also leaving room for other feelings you may not know about.

if you want to offer support, it can help a lot to be specific in how you are able and willing to help.

it is usually comforting to people to know that they are not the only ones who will remember their lost loved one.

even if you do it awkwardly, just the act of reaching out is meaningful! people don't know you're thinking about them unless you tell them.

and remember to take care of yourself, too! watching friends lose loved ones can be hard for you as well for a variety of reasons. reach out to other friends for support when you need it.

[chrisbesitos]

younger reader having parent issues :( so whenever Chris snaps at her it reminds her of when she was younger and her dad yelled at her

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀emails i can't send

( warnings: family issues, argument, angst with fluff at the end.

( synopsis: y/n never had a healthy family and this still affect her.

Y/N parents wasn't the best ones. She had a great childhood, playing outside with her friends, a lot of dolls and colorful toys, but still missing something. Doesn't matter what she said or did, it never was enough for them. Never was enough for them to stop screaming, everything fucking night she could hear from her room. Y/N just cried, hugging her favorite plushie against her chest under the blankets, at least when they were screaming with each other, they didn't scream at her.

Growing up dealing with that shit wasn't easy, but she learned how to survive. Cry in silence in the middle of the night, walk around on tiptoe to not disturb her dad, she also learned who's coming by the sound of the steps. This is not living, but there's nowhere to run, nowhere to go.

Until she met Chris, her lovely boyfriend. Her parents didn't like him, they always said he'll end up cheating on her or breaking up, because she's younger than him. At first, Y/N didn't tell anything about her relationship with her parents to Chris, but he started to ask when he realized she always looks upset when they talk about their families. He and his brothers have a great and supportive family, Y/N feel a little jealousy of them.

She said what's going on in the night she asked Chris if she could spend the night, because her parents were mad at her and she couldn't deal with the screams anymore. Chris was supportive, he cleaned her tears and held her until stop crying. Y/N was nineteen, she could move out, Chris said she could stay with him. At first, she denied, because she didn't want to disturb them, but Y/N ended up accepting, at least for a while until she find a place for her.

Chris promised he'll never scream at her, but he didn't keep his promise.

"So you're gonna keep ignoring me?" Y/N said following Chris until their room, Chris wasn't answering her since they got in the car after leaving a dinner with his friends. "Can you fucking answer me?"

"What do you want me to say?" Chris groans, he turned to Y/N with his arms crossed against the chest and the eyebrows frowned.

"What do i want you to say? You're fucking ignoring me since we left, what's wrong with you?" She stamped her foot on the ground, Chris laughed sarcastically. He sat on the couch, shaking his head. "Damn, stop being so childish!"

"I'm being childish? You're the one who is stamping your feet, because I'm not doing what you want."

"What are you talking about, Chris?!" She said, passing her hands through the hair nervously.

"You don't give me five minutes, because I always have to be around you or you fucking cry about." He said, almost screaming. He groaned when she frowned her eyebrows, trying to understand. "Don't play dumb, Y/N. You can be alone for fucking five minutes, you can't act normal around people? You need to keep grabbing my hands and shit."

"I'm sorry if I don't know how to talk with your friends, they fucking older than me." Y/N crossed her arms, stepping back and hardly holding her tears. She doesn't like arguments, Chris knows this, but he's too angry to think straight.

"There we go again, you and your fucking "oh, chris, they're older than me"" He lifted up from the couch, stepping in Y/N's direction. "You're such a cry baby." He screamed in your face, then he realized he took too far.

Her eyes are filled with tears, hugging her own body. Y/N feel like she was a kid once again, small and defenceless. He took too far, he promised he'll never scream at her, because that's what her father used to do and he screamed. Chris felt so. . . So idiot.

"You think I'm a cry baby?" She asked, her voice cracked and this broke Chris' heart. He wasn't an idiot, he was an asshole. What type of boyfriend is he making his girl cry? Chris shook his head, closing his eyes fighting against his tears. He tried to reach for her hands, but she didn't let he hold them.

"I shouldn't have screamed with you, doll. I'm so sorry." He said, his voice was stuck on his throat. Y/N shook her head, more tears were falling from her pretty eyes. He felt like shit for being horrible with his girlfriend, she didn't deserve this.

She didn't deserve him.

"Do you think I'm a cry baby?" She asked again, Chris shook his head approaching her. Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself down. "So why you call me this?"

"I wasn't thinking, I was so blind being selfish that I didn't think, but I don't think you are." Chris said, embracing her shoulders and moving her towards the couch. Y/N sat down and Chris kneeled down on the floor in front of her, he held her hands. "I'm really sorry, doll. I didn't mean to treat you like this. I was acting like a–"

"Asshole." She said, sniffing.

"Asshole, yes." He said, Chris kissed the back of her hands. "I don't think you're a cry baby, neither childish. I disrespect you and I see this now, you're just trying to fit in and I didn't help you, I'm sorry, doll."

"You hurt me with your words, Chris. And you know I don't like screams, you upset me." Y/N said, she use her fingers to clean the tears on Chris' cheeks. "You promised me, Chris."

"I know, doll, and I'm really sorry. I'll never do that again."

"I'm sorry if I was annoying today, I just didn't know how to fit." She said, looking at Chris with her glassy eyes. He lifted the floor and sat by her side, he pulled her to his lap and kissed her forehead.

"I'm the one who needs to apologize, not you." Chris hugged her shoulders, Y/N rested her head on the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. "I don't know how to fix this, I'm really sorry, Y/N."

"Don't call me Y/N, I'm your doll." Y/N lips leaned in a smile, she lifted her head and looked at Chris. "Never do that again with me, I'm not kidding." She pointed at him and Chris nodded quickly.

"Never again, doll." He smiled, Y/N hugged his neck and Chris caressed her back, giving little kisses on her hair. "I love you, babydoll. Much more than you can think."

"I love you, baby." She whispered. "Now, I know how you can fix this." She gave him a perv smile, Chris laughed caring her to the bed.

tags ; @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @strnlxlqve @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo

taglist | masterlist

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

MORE WAYNE EXEC! TIM THOUGHTS I BEG 🙏🏼

thank god someone asked ;) i was about to explode

okay and this could be either like..

y/n is a wayne employee and they're fwb or y/n is a wayne employee and they're in an established relationship like i think it could go either way tbh

so here's some thoughts:

lots and lots of making out in a storage closet

fogging up his reading glasses, feverishly kissing, his heartbeat rapidly increasing at the idea of one of his employees walking in.

always making sure the both of you are set to rights before heading back out into the office. he has deep and genuine respect for you and your reputation. imo.

he shares a lot of knowing smiles and the occasional wink with you

every time he stops for coffee.. you come to work to find your exact coffee order on your desk. sometimes with a little 'anonymous' note hiding under the cardboard sleeve on your cup

your work emails are certainly.. professional. to the naked eye. but the two of you have a lot of inside jokes ;)

tim in his fancy tailored suits. sometimes they're three pieces and he has a sexy little vest on underneath his blazer too... yeah

his tailored suit pants barely hiding his boner. instead framing it so beautifully it's almost like a work of art. like it belongs in a gallery.

because timothy drake wayne is hung like a damn painting

a smear of lipstick on his pristine white shirt collar he missed when cleaning himself up

his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose his lightly scarred, muscular forearms

always calling you into his office for something or other

"hey, y/n, could you grab me a red paperclip?"

"y/n, did you print out that email for me?"

just absolute nonsense that gets you near him but if any of the other employees actually paid attention..what little 'cover' you two have would be blown

he could absolutely be persuaded in favor of you on your knees under his desk, giving him head while he stifles his groans behind clenched teeth and holds his breath

you called him 'mr. drake' one time in the copy/printer room

"could you please hand me that document, mr. drake?"

and before you know it his hands are bracketing you against the photocopier, your hands are pulling at his tie, pulling him ever closer, you can feel him growing harder through the layers of fabric separating you two.

your task is long forgotten, his hands are being scanned into the machine, printing out a copy. exactly one, since that's all you needed for the document.

you never quite figured out where the paper with his hands on it went. you were pulling your skirt down to your knees from where it had rode up your thighs, and as you turned around tim was tucking something into his blazer pocket. so who knows.

[syoddeye]

xylaria polymorpha

You pick him. He picks you back. cw: entomophobia, earachnophobia, vomit mention (not depicted), mild body horror, abduction, buried alive (sort of), nonconsensual kiss a/n: AO3

The woods, no matter where you roam, have always felt like a refuge. An escape from your day job and your cramped flat. Far from emails and bills.

The air is cool, laced with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. As you walk, you name the flora around you, half-whispering, half-thinking. Dog's mercury. Lesser celandine. Bursts of foxglove.

The woods are loud in a quiet way. Alive. Wood pigeons cooing, squirrels chittering, a fox slipping through the brush in a blur. You take it all in, breathe it in deeply.

This peace is why you come here. Or part of it, anyway.

Your foraging bag swings at your side, weighted with what you've already found. Oyster mushrooms, chicken of the woods, a single giant puffball. Two dryad's saddles stacked atop one another. Your parents taught you how to hunt and how to identify your finds. You were barely knee-high the first time they took you, holding your hand as you nervously poked at leaves and logs. It's a valuable skill, one you're grateful to have honed. The shelves in your kitchen are full because of it, and on weekends, you sell the excess at the market.

The trees grow taller as you walk, their trunks thick and gnarled. It's darker and colder here, the light barely piercing the canopy. You don't mind, and merely zip your jacket to your chin. The good stuff's always further in.

A few hedgehogs and puffballs later, you see them.

They rise from around the body of a rotting log, black and knotted, their shape unmistakable. You kneel, your heart fluttering with the discovery. You've read about them in books, seen photos online: xylaria polymorpha. Dead man's fingers.

They're inedible, nor are they particularly pleasant to look at, but you reach for your notebook anyway. A sketch and then a picture on your phone. Something to send the parents. But your gaze catches on something else.

In the rear of the cluster, there are five paler growths, different from the others. They stand out, almost glowing against the dark soil. You've never seen anything like them. A mutation, perhaps. Or some kind of bacteria or mold. You edge closer, leaning in, fascinated, and without thinking, you reach out to touch one.

The moment your fingers brush the surface, it moves. And it doesn't just twitch or shift—it grabs.

A cold, wet pressure wraps around your hand. It knocks a violent gasp from your throat, and immediately, you try to pull back, but the grip tightens. Your bag falls, spilling as you twist and yank. The mushrooms clinging to your hands aren't mushrooms anymore. They're fingers—long, sinewy fingers. Pale and filthy, their nails cracked and dark with soil.

You freeze, a scream catching in your chest as the fingers pull harder, dragging your hand downward. Then you see it. The arm . Rising from the earth, covered in moss and mud, thick and muscular. Panic surges up from your belly, burning your throat with its acid. Stomach churning your breakfast as the rest of it emerges. Piece by piece as though being assembled by the woods themselves.

A man. 

And from your knees, he looks enormous.

The body is tall, broad-shouldered, with skin that appears almost translucent in places under the layers of muck and decay. The chest is scarred, torn up, and sewn back together with thin vines and stems. Pocked with keloids and other protrusions that look less natural. Dozens of insects crawl over his skin, falling to the ground or disappearing into the folds of moss that cling to bits of him. One of his ears is a swollen, misshapen thing, his hair shoddily cropped, bits of it stringy and wet, but his eyes lock onto yours—dark, intense, and unblinking.

You can't move. His hand wraps around yours like a root. He towers over you, filling your view, banishing whatever notion of peace you had.

"A woman." He rasps through cracked lips, hoarse. "Were you gonna pick me?"

You try to speak, to say anything, but the words won't come. You're not even sure this is actually happening.

He tilts his head, studying. He squeezes a little, hinting at how he could crush your hand without a thought. Crack you open like a walnut.

The image snaps you back to yourself, your mind clearing with a rush of instinct. You pull, but before you can make any progress, he yanks you forward, then up, like it's nothing. He holds your hand high above your head, and you watch, transfixed, as a spider squeezes itself through the mess of his ear.

You finally find your voice, though you swallow some sick to free it. "What…What are you?"

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drifts down, then back up again, slow, deliberate. He looks at the overturned bag, his brow twitching just slightly, then returns to your eyes. His free hand lifts, and as it moves, a sludgy drip of mud falls, plopping softly onto the ground. You flinch as he drags two fingers over the curve of your cheek, smearing the mud over your skin.

"These woods belong to me. Everything you've stolen? Mine." His fingers graze you again, feeling the hammering pulse at your neck. "You followin'?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." His mouth curves slightly. "You touched me. You chose. You thought you were gonna carry me off."

The once-familiar sounds of the forest warp. The birdsong sounds wrong. Off-key and more frantic. The forest closes in. Shadows stretch longer in the periphery.

His hold is what keeps you from collapsing in shock when the ground starts to give way. Slowly, beneath your boots, the earth begins to eat you. Your toes, your ankles, your calves. You pull at his arm, desperate to break his grip, to push yourself free, but he's unmoving, rooted. Then you realize he's sinking with you.

His other hand touches your chin, rough fingers tilting your face toward him. You flinch as his thumb brushes your lower lip, leaving behind the tang of damp soil. The taste makes you gag, and you twist harder, but his hold is unrelenting.

"This is 'ow it works," There is no malice. He speaks as though this is fact. "You don't take without givin' back. Not 'ere, not from me."

The ground rises faster, the earth climbing your thighs. Your breath catches, panic surging. You try to wrest free, but no amount of struggling helps. You're sinking, and he's sinking with you.

"You picked me. This. Made your choice." He repeats, softer this time. 

It's up to your chest. Dozens of tiny legs move beneath the surface, exploring your skin, inspecting you. Welcoming you. Tears blur your vision and slip down your face.

He lets go of your arm now that you're trapped, immobile, and holds either side of your face. He tips your head back up, and just as the world swallows you whole, he plants his mouth over yours.

A week later, the authorities will find your foraging bag beside the log. Its treasures withered to black. They'll call your name and search until dusk, but they won't find you.

You'll be far below them by then, cradled in roots and arms as thick as tree branches, breathing in the forest in a different way. Far beyond their reach, but alive. Thriving. Growing.

[beezhives]

currently thinkin' about ;;

sensei Midoriya Izuku who is just a normal amount obsessed with you. truly, it's the most normal amount of obsession and infatuation he's had with someone in a while.

now that he's a teacher, Midoriya doesn't have the proper time to analyze anyone but his students. sometimes, if he gets graced by the grading gods, he can review some of his former class' battles and send them his thoughts (they love when he does this!!).

speaking of those former class fights: Pinky and Cellophane managed to snare this petty criminal that had been getting a bit too bold to be just petty, with the help of an underground hero. not too high in the general rankings but loved by those who truly know them, you caught Midoriya's eye without even trying.

"yeah Midoriya! I've worked with 'em before, what's up?" Ashido's bubbly voice felt far too small through the phone, he couldn't help but hold it a bit more firm against his ear.

"it's just- well, I've got this student–" always the student excuse, "with a sorta similar quirk to theirs. I think. and- y'know, I was just wondering if you could get me in contact with them?"

even without being face-to-face, Ashido can see the puppy dog eyes he's unintentionally making.

imagine the look of utter shock on your poor receptionist's face when he knocks on the door to your office holding a slightly crumpled sticky note, jaw slack, eyes slightly wide.

"what is it, what's wrong?" you ask almost immediately, standing up from your spot and making your way to him.

"how the hell do you know Deku?" are the words that choose to fall from his poor mouth, sticky note pressed against his chest.

"I don't?" you ask, tilting your head only slightly to verify that you, in fact, have no contact with the symbol of hope. "I don't. What- what is it? What's going on?"

with a defeated sort of sound, your receptionist offers the crumpled green post-it note out to you. on it, written in haste with blue ink, sits a phone number. and an email. and a fax number. and, for safe measure, the number for the UA office.

"what?"

"yeah, Midoriya Izuku called and talked to me," he begins to explain, to the best of his ability. "wanted me to relay that to you. he said so many numbers in a row, I hope they're all right!"

safe to say, at least one of the numbers was right as he promptly invited you out to get coffee the next week. off duty, he insisted, and on a weekend, you insisted.

he's only obsessed with you the normal amount. even if it wasn't the normal amount (for him), there wouldn't be a notebook big enough for the things he wants to write about you.

♡ any likes or shares would be appreciated. thank you for reading, see you later. ☁︎

[bonbonly]

pairing: nico rosberg x f!reader ; tw: cunnilingus, p in v, masturbation (male)

college!au nico rosberg works as the ta for dr. norton, your intro to engineering professor. you didn't have a major permanently locked in like your peers, so you figure you could take this class and see if it's your calling. most of the time, you're too busy staring at the ta instead of the lecturer. on the days where nico is teaching the class, you're sitting up front and staring at him dreamily. you don't take notes, you just listen to him speak, your eyes always focused on the way his blonde hair would fall in front of his eyes. and as soon as dr. norton is back to teaching, you're sitting in the back of the class scrolling through your phone.

during a test, nico catches you cheating. you had your phone under your desk, trying to memorize the answers you had found on a website and the disappointed glare he gave you made you lower your head in shame, pleading for him to not rat you out in a low whisper. he's a ta, though. he does his job because he likes his job, and he wants to be a professor one day in the future. so you find yourself in the code of conduct office with nico explaining the situation to the dean of academic integrity, and you're sitting there with arms crossed, tears falling from your eyes because you didn't really think the cute ta would snitch on you like this. considering you'd been on your best behavior previously, the dean merely places you on probation, and says you have to retake the class but under strict supervision from the ta next semester. your winter break is spent trying to explain to your parents what really happened in class. they're not very thrilled to say the least.

you show up next semester, and nico's there as the ta once again which makes you frown. you sit in the very back, not wanting to catch his eye because boy, you really hate him. after what he did to you? come on, everybody else was cheating! why'd he have to call you out for it. the girl in front of you literally had a whole sheet of paper with all the answers just right there on her desk, but nico didn't see that. noooo, he just had to see you!

you had been instructed by the dean that every time you completed your homework, you had to email nico with an attached document of your work and he would do extra checks to make sure you didn't plagiarize any information. it took you hours to just finish one homework and you always submitted just before midnight which made nico mad because he always wanted to get some sleep.

one friday evening, your friends and you get together in your dorm and one of them comes up with a vile idea. she had done it the previous semester and got away with it surprisingly. the rules were to take scandalous nudes of yourself, and a friend would spin a wheel and send the nudes to someone else without your knowledge. you decide to play along, thinking this would be fun. you're already on probation, at this point you have nothing to care for. you take off your top, being the first to volunteer in the game and your friends are all giggling as bouncing your tits. you take off your shorts, spreading your legs and letting your friend take another picture of your glistening cunt. as you put your clothes back on, your nudes are sent off to some mysterious person. only problem was, your friends didn't know much about your relationship with nico, and surely didn't know that you had an assignment that's due tonight which you totally forgot about.

nico's on his laptop, and when he gets your email he's frowning. he glances at his clock, it's around 9:30 at night and he's surprised. usually you'd never be this early for an assignment. he smirks to himself, thinking you've finally come around and he shifts through some papers on his desk before pulling out the rubric for the assignment. he opens the email and much to his shock, sees you spread out for the camera, a smile on your lips. he doesn't even know how much time passes because he's been staring at those pictures for so long. he glances at the clock again, it's 9:45. he bites his lips, trying to be the morally righteous person he always is but in the end, decides to crumple up the rubric and toss it into his trashcan. his hands are in his pants, pulling his cock out as he begins stroking. he's laughing out loud, surprised at your audacity but he must say, in all the semesters he's been a ta, you were surely the biggest surprise he's ever had. he couldn't wait to have a talk with you the next morning as his cum dribbles down his hand.

you wake up at your friend's dorm at 10:00 in the morning with your phone ringing loudly. you groan out loud, checking the caller id. your eyes could barely open so you didn't bother to fully read who was calling you and you place it to your ear, "which fucking moron's trying to disturb my sleep, hm?"

"meet me at my office for supplemental learning, we have a lot to talk about," nico responds on the other side of the phone. you can briefly hear a small chuckle escape his lips, and you shake your head. you must be dreaming. nico was always so serious about everything.

when you show up at his office, he gestures for you to take a seat and he's spinning a pencil in his hands, "i'm really surprised. i opened your email last night, you know."

and that's when you face palm in front of him, "oh no! i forgot the assignment! nico, i'm so sorry! i'll do it right now, please give me an extension!"

and he's laughing at your insolence, "but you submitted something last night!"

"no i didnt!" you frown, "i didn't submit anything! what are you talking about?"

he's logging into his computer, smiling the entire time before shifting the monitor for it to face you and your mouth runs dry at the sight of your bare pussy facing you, bound to haunt your dreams. you gulp, turning to nico, "i am so sorry. my friends and i were playing this game and i had no idea they sent the pictures to you."

"this doesn't seem like a game," he snickers, "i've never met someone that's repeatedly making mistakes worse than the one before. i did get a kick out of this, though."

you cross your legs, unsure of what he means, "a kick? what do you mean?" but he's already standing up and walking around the desk to tower over you,

"spread your legs, i want to see the real thing." he demands, and you stare at him with wide eyes, "go on. unless you want me to call the dean again, and explain to him that my favorite girl's being reckless. what if someone else other than me saw your tits and your cunt, hm? you want the whole world to see what kind of a whore you are?"

and you're growing wetter as his words continue. you bite your lip, slowly spreading your legs and he crouches down, "that's a good girl," he whispers, and his praise goes straight to your dripping pussy, your walls fluttering in hopes that he'll give it the attention it craves. the dreamy ta you were always crushing on is now between your legs. he sighs out loud, his breath coming in as waves against you, you buck your hips whining about how you want his mouth around you, once and for all. he licks a long strip, his tongue delving past your folds and you throw your head back, relishing in the feeling of having what you wanted for so long. if only he ate you out instead of droning on about engineering. you would've aced the class a long time ago! he laps up your juices, rubbing his nose against your clit.

"i want you to be loud. i want you to beg for me to give you a 100 on this assignment, even though we both know you don't deserve it," he hisses, letting his fingers slip inside you. you let out a high pitched whimper, nodding your head,

"i'll do anything you ask. j-just don't rat me out like you did last time," and he's giggling as he's scissoring your pretty cunt,

"i only did it so i could see you again. what if i fail you each semester, i looked into your major. exploratory? please, i'd rather you be my permanent cocksleeve for the rest of your life. god, you taste divine," he hums, leaving open mouthed kisses on your clit that makes you cry out loud as you cum around his fingers. his lips travel upwards as his free hand pushes your top up. he's devoting his time to biting every inch of your tits, wanting to leave marks that you will never forget as his fingers continue to curl inside you, demanding you to give him another orgasm.

so every night before you have to submit an assignment, he's having you send him videos - not photos - of your fingers deep in your cunt. he even goes out of his way to buy you a dildo to ride on, giving him performances through his phone screen. if you've cum once, he's failing you. but if you're cumming 3 times, he's giving you a 100 for the assignment, doesn't matter if you turned in a blank sheet of paper online. he's the only one checking anyway. if he's bored, he'll invite you to his office and has you re-do an assignment for fun, his cock buried to the hilt, making you ride him, a hand around your mouth to silence your screams. he's smiling at his computer screen, keeping a personal file for all the times you've been to his office and he's fucked you in different corners and in different positions. his personal favorite is having you spread out on his desk as he's eating you out, your hands tugging his blonde silky hair.

you pass the class successfully, and nico's planning to ta one of your classes next semester. he just can't get enough of you.

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Public Announcement

G/N. Your relationship is leaked...

The first picture was leaked at 7:04pm. That was the moment everything took a turn. For the worse, you thought.

And it's funny the things you focus on. Not the rabid stans calling you every name under the sun, or screaming about how DG is betraying them. Nor the messages or calls coming thick and fast to your phone.

Instead you thought Huh. That's a particularly flattering angle of you, and an unflattering angle of DG, which almost never happens.

Both your heads bowed, foreheads touching. Gone is his cool aloof veneer. In place of it, he looks at you like you've hung the moon.

So all things considered, maybe this wasn't too bad.

Sure you looked close, intimate. More than friends. But you still had culpable deniability.

The next picture came 5 minutes later. Ah. You're kissing. There goes the deniability.

(If you recall that day correctly, he also left some love bites along your neck too.

You bring your hand up to your collarbone, touching the tender skin. You can still feel the heat of his lips.)

And this brings you to now, when a blurred picture of you, but not blurred enough, comes into existence with those bruises on your neck and walking hand in hand with someone with familiar pink hair.

Damn.

.

.

A statement is released from the PTJ company on the relationship status of their CEO.

You sincerely doubt that DG has vetted it first if the tone is anything to go by. And it seems like they're still going hard after the deniability angle. Blaming it on photoshopping and filters and whatever technology they can pull out their ass.

You're proven right hours later when DG storms home in a foul mood.

"Diego-" you start and that seems to snap him out of it.

"James," he corrects you, taking a deep breath to decompress. Because it's always James when it's just the two of you alone.

"James. It's fine, you can deny it. Play the company line. Blame it on AI or whatever," you swallow down the hurt.

He's never made you feel like a dirty little secret. Truth be told, the unwillingness to go public was more due to your dislike of the limelight. However, now that it is already public, it seems disingenuous to lie. To tell the world there's nothing there. And what if it's because it's actually nothing, that you're not important enough to stake his reputation on. Sure, it's selfish and self-centred but-

"No," James cuts through your spiralling thoughts with one word.

"No?"

"No." He takes a moment to consider his next move. Realises that out of all the things that could be leaked to the press, his unsavoury dealings and bloody past, this is by far the lesser evil.

Had hoped that when this moment would come, and he would announce this relationship to the world, he would have much more control. Be able to shield you from the negative attention.

Still, it's never too late to control the narrative or to do everything in his power to protect you.

James whips out his phone, fires off a text or an email or likely a social media post because moments afterwards, your phone goes crazy again.

"Diego Kang is all yours." He announces, tossing his phone onto the coffee table with a clatter.

You look at him, long legs crossed, body language exuding confidence. The wicked gleam in his eyes. His smirk, fangs bared and dangerous. He looks at you like he wants to devour you, make you entirely his.

As if you weren't already.

You're his and he's yours. And now the entire world also knows.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers Day 28: Lactation + Day 7: Omegaverse. Maxiel (omega Max, alpha Daniel). About 2.6k words. Yes you read that number right. cw: mentions of mpreg (but not actual mpreg happens).

The doctor tells him it's just hormones, a combination of this stressful season finally being over and of the mating, and that he can't do anything about it, it will just go away on its own. Max tries his best to not roll his eyes at that, feeling like this was just an embarrassing waste of time.

The doctor tells him to keep hydrated, and that being close to his mate might help. And that a pump might help as well.

Max is not going to buy a milk pump, thank you very much. No matter how sore and full his chest feels, it's not going to happen. He's going to grit his teeth through it until his body remembers that he's not pregnant, and stops this lactation nonsense.

He gets out of the doctor's office in a worse mood than he went in with, which is made even worse when he realises halfway home that he's leaking through his shirt, the damp material rubbing against his already sore and swollen nipples.

Embarrassing, is what it is.

He's always prided himself with the fact that he's not a normal omega, he doesn't let his hormones and instincts control him, has never panted after an alpha. He's always wanted Daniel because he is Daniel, not because of his designation. He doesn't do silly omega stuff, like begging for pups, or getting pregnant.

Not that there's anything wrong with it, he loves pups, he just isn't that kind of omega. And yet here his body is, betraying him by producing milk that isn't even needed, just because he is finally mated.

Embarrassing.

When he gets home he has one email from Christian, one from the doctor's office, and three missed calls from Daniel. He wants to deal with exactly none of those things, so as soon as he's inside he strips off his top, glaring at the wet spots on the front as if they're personally offending him, which they are, grabs a towel because he is still leaking, and climbs into his nest.

Even with the comforting scents of home and Daniel wrapped around him, and the cats purring near his legs, he's still in a terrible mood when his phone pings again, with yet another call.

He knows that if he leaves Daniel without an answer for much longer he'll just worry him, and as upset as he is, he doesn't want to do that, so he forces himself to reach over and grab the phone, taking a deep breath before answering.

It's good, to hear from Daniel. Even when he's feeling like this, hearing his mate's voice is always good, especially since he's been in Los Angeles for more than a week, and Max misses him.

Misses him, but not enough to not feel horrified when Daniel tells him he's coming home early. Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow?" Max asks, hoping he doesn't sound as choked up as he feels. Tomorrow is not enough time to make his stupid problem go away. If Daniel really comes tomorrow, Max will have to tell him, and explain, and it will be embarrassing and horrible and...

"Baby? Are you okay?"

Max takes a trembling breath, blinking tears out of his eyes, realising he must have missed Daniel's question. He doesn't even know why he feels like crying now, yet another omega thing he doesn't want. Stupid body. Stupid hormones.

"I'm fine, just...the cats are fighting and jumping on things." It comes out weak, and Max doesn't blame Sassy for blinking up at him from where she's curled up with her brother next to his hip, perfectly calm.

It makes Daniel laugh though, and it gives Max an excuse to wrap up the conversation more quickly, even as guilt eats at him. He hates lying, hates it especially when it's to Daniel, but he just...he can't deal with everything at the moment.

As soon as he hangs up, dropping his phone somewhere in the nest, he feels more tears track down his cheeks, unable to stop them, as his chest throbs, heavy and painful.

He hates this. It's not fair. He wants to be happy to know his mate his coming home, he wants to enjoy the feeling of being freshly mated, he doesn't want to feel like this, sore and all over the place.

If at least he was pregnant...he doesn't want to be pregnant, but at least it would make sense, to be such a mess. But he doesn't even have that excuse. He's just fucked up.

--

Max doesn't go get Daniel at the airport.

He had half heartedly suggested it, but Daniel had told him not to worry, his voice a bit weird, and to just wait for him at home.

So that's what Max is doing, curled up in the nest, purring softly and tugging at his own hair, trying to self-soothe. His chest really hurts today, nipples sore and oversensitive, sending sparks of pain through him every time he moves and the material of his shirt drags over them. He has thrown one of Daniel's hoodies on top, one of the thick ones that are actually way too warm from him, hoping the added material will stop any damp patches to show through.

He knows he should get up, go to the living room, at least try to look normal, but he's upset, and he's hurting, and he's...scared. He's scared.

He doesn't know how Daniel will react to his body being so fucked up, doesn't know if he'll be disgusted, if he'll leave again, if he'll leave forever. He knows how much unmating hurts, he doesn't want to go through that. He doesn't want Daniel to leave.

He loses track of time, cuddling a towel against his chest, under his shirt, trying to breathe, and he jumps when he hears the door clicking open.

"Max? I'm home!" Daniel's voice rings through the apartment, and Max feels torn. A part of him wants to jump out of the nest, run to him, let his alpha fix this, but the other wants to hide, burrow further into the nest, curl up in a tight ball until nothing hurts anymore.

"Max?" Daniel calls again, and this time his tone is different, worry clear in his voice.

Max is not wearing any blockers, and he knows the stench of distressed omega must be sticking to every corner of the house by now.

He knows he won't be able to hide.

The bedroom door opens slowly, and Max looks up, feeling himself flush, knowing how he looks, curled up in his nest. A weak, scared omega.

Embarrassing.

"Baby," Daniel breathes, concern and confusion mixing on his face, "what's wrong?"

Max blames on the hormones the fact that he feels himself tear up again, sharply bowing his head to try and hide it, without much success if Daniel's punched out sound is anything to go by.

"Maxy, talk to me. Can I..." Daniel takes a step forward, stopping right next to the bed. "Can I come into your nest?"

Daniel usually doesn't ask.

He used to, because it was the polite thing to do, but he stopped after Max made it clear that he was always welcomed, in any nest, at any time. But he asks now, and it makes Max whine, feeling shaken and out of place.

He nods, and a moment later Daniel's arms are around him, humming deep in his chest, trying to soothe him.

"Your scent is different," he murmurs after a second, nose dragging along Max's neck, lips brushing over his mating bite, making him whine. "Are you sick?"

And Max could lie, he could make up an illness, send Daniel out of his nest, but he's just. Tired. And scared, and so so done with this.

So he shakes his head, gently pushing Daniel away.

He knows he will have to tell Daniel, and sooner is better than later.

"I am not sick," he whispers, hating how his voice trembles, "but there is something wrong with me."

He watches as Daniel's frown deepens, his hands twitching like he wants to reach out for Max again.

"I went to the doctor, and he said it will pass." The words taste bitter in his mouth, but he needs to say them anyway, needs to make sure Daniel is not feeling forced to stay. " I understand if you want to not be here until it's over."

"Max, baby, if something is wrong I will be here with you. Why would I leave you? You're scared."

Max closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the love and confusion on Daniel's expression. Daniel doesn't know what he's saying, but Max can appreciate it anyway.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Daniel asks, hesitant.

Max nods, but then he shakes his head. He can't say it. He doesn't know how to say it.

Instead, he just pushes further away, and takes off his hoodie and t-shirt in one move.

For a second, nothing happens.

Daniel looks at him like he's trying to figure out what he's supposed to be looking at, eyes moving back and forth between Max's face and his naked skin.

And then Max feels the now familiar feeling of liquid swelling in his nipple, and slowly trickling out.

He stops breathing, watching as Daniel's eyes, huge and unblinking, follow the drop as it tracks down his chest.

When it reaches the waistband of his sweats, disappearing there, Daniel looks up again.

"You're...pregnant?" his voice sounds hollow, all color drained from his face.

"No," Max manages to choke out, swallowing around the heart beating in his throat. "It's just...my body is fucked up."

Daniel just blinks at him, mouth still half open.

"The doctor," Max rushes to explain, feeling like he's running out of time before Daniel will just get up and leave, "he said it's just hormones. And it will go away. I swear, it's not...it will pass."

He knows he sounds like he's begging, a whine making its way into his voice, but he can't help it. He doesn't want Daniel to leave. He doesn't want to lose him.

"Max..." Daniel starts, but then he seems to not know how to continue. Max can't blame him.

He feels more liquid, milk he forces himself to think, dribble out of his nipple, and he instinctively brings his hands up to cup his chest, trying to alleviate some of the ache.

"Does it hurt?" Daniel's voice is rough, and Max can't bring himself to look at his face anymore, feeling already too close to tears to be able to bear any disgust.

"They are very sore," he nods, no point in hiding anymore.

"The doctor couldn't help?"

Max can just shake his head, shrugging a little.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." he doesn't know how to apologise properly for this. What do you say when your body betrays you?

Daniel shifts, and Max closes his eyes, not wanting to see him leave, but instead of moving away, he feels him come closer, his scent rich with something Max can't quite place.

"Can I?" Daniel asks, hushed.

Max nods, not really knowing what Daniel is asking for but knowing he would say yes to anything right now.

And then Daniel's cold fingers are on his chest, cupping it like...like tits.

Max shivers, but doesn't move away, feeling himself flush, unable to sort through everything he's feeling.

"Fuck, you are so swollen," Daniel says, his fingers still careful on Max's skin.

"The doctor said," Max swallows, shaking a little as Daniel's hands shift, "that a pump might help."

It's embarrassing to admit, to say it out loud, but Daniel makes another little punched out sound, breathing out another curse.

"Yeah, I bet it would. You're so full, baby."

Max swallows again, more shivers traveling down his spine. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if he has any word to describe what he's feeling.

"Would it help if I..." Daniel doesn't finish his question, but cups one of Max's tits with his hand, bringing his index and thumb next to his nipple, and then squeezes.

Max jolts like he's being electrocuted, milk spurting from his nipple with the motion, and it feels so good he can't help the moan that falls from his lips.

"Shit, does that feel good?"

Something in Daniel's voice makes Max's eyes snap open, and he shivers again when he meets Daniel's, his pupils huge. His scent is deep with arousal, and with a start Max realises he's getting wet too.

It's overwhelming, going from being scared to being so turned on, and he'll blame it on the relief, or on the hormones, but he just wants Daniel to do it again.

"Yes, I...please," he whines, bringing his trembling hands up to Daniel's wrists, pressing them harder into his chest.

"Fuck, I got you, baby. Shit."

Daniel shifts slightly, and then he's squeezing both Max's nipples, and the feeling is so strong he moans again, so loud it's almost a scream. He can feel his chest getting more and more wet, and the ache that has been plaguing him for days is less severe now, relief mixing with pleasure.

Then Daniel leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, tongue gentle on his oversensitive skin, and sucks.

And Max comes with a shout.

It curses through him, quick and violent, leaving him shaking and panting, dazed and confused. He's never come so fast in his life. He didn't even know he was close to coming.

Daniel is still sucking at his nipple, liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth, and all Max can do is writhe on the blankets, clumsy hands reaching for Daniel's waist, dragging him closer.

"Fuck," Daniel chokes out, letting go of his nipple. There's a sheen of milky white on his lower lip. Max feels like he's going to shake apart.

"You taste so good, fuck, Max."

Max moans again, tugging at Daniel's clothes, trying to get rid of them, wanting Daniel closer now.

"In me, Daniel, alpha, please," he's whining, babbling, torn between wanting Daniel to go back to his nipples and wanting him to get naked already.

Daniel solves the conundrum for him, getting rid of his clothes and tugging away Max's sweatpants too, moaning at the sight of the wet patch in his underwear.

"You're going to kill me," he groans, bowing down to bite at Max's thigh, making him jump again, hips grinding against nothing, before taking his underwear off.

"Inside. I need...inside, please," Max begs, feeling half crazed. His chest hurts again, and he is too empty, and he wants Daniel to fix it.

And Daniel does.

Daniel snaps his hips forward without teasing, sinking all the way inside in one smooth stroke, and then he gets his mouth on Max's nipples again.

Max doesn't know what to focus on. Daniel's dick inside him, grinding in an irregular motion, all his attention somewhere else. Daniel's mouth on him, sucking, his milk dribbling down into his beard. The pleasure and relief of finally having his breast emptied.

He doesn't know what sounds he's making, doesn't know if he's crying, or begging, or moaning, or everything at the same time. He feels like he's coming, over and over again, or maybe only one never ending time.

He feels it when Daniel comes, knotting deep inside him, and when he doesn't have any more milk to give. He feels light, for the first time in days, floating somewhere above himself, lost in a daze.

When he comes back to himself, Daniel is mouthing along his collarbone, his scent sweet and satisfied.

"We will have to talk about this," he says, voice slightly hoarse, "but I promise you, I will not be leaving until this goes away."

Max laughs, tired and spent. Yeah, he sort of figured that out already.