#this is my first blog to be typed on laptop-

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hello hello! i love your blog and it has been a fantastic resource for me. if i may ask, how does one go about writing music? my character is put in a situation where listening to a song is a large part of a scene, and i want to describe the song and music itself. while i would describe a guitar or drum, the song i have in mind specifically is mostly digital (think similar to edm) so i'm not sure how to do it. do you have any idea how i could tackle this?

thank you in advance!

Writing Notes: Electronic Music

Electronic Music - any music involving electronic processing, such as recording and editing on tape, and whose reproduction involves the use of loudspeakers.

It is produced from a wide variety of sound resources—from sounds picked up by microphones to those produced by electronic oscillators (generating basic acoustical waveforms such as sine waves, square waves, and sawtooth waves), complex computer installations, and microprocessors—that are recorded on tape and then edited into a permanent form.

Generally, except for one type of performed music that has come to be called “live electronic music”, electronic music is played back through loudspeakers either alone or in combination with ordinary musical instruments.

Musicians are always quick to adopt and explore new technologies.

The fast-paced changes wrought by electrification, from the microphone via the analogue synthesizer to the laptop computer, have led to a wide range of new musical styles and techniques.

Electronic music has grown to a broad field of investigation, taking in historical movements such as musique concrète and elektronische Musik, and contemporary trends such as electronic dance music and electronica.

The Art of Noises (1913) by Luigi Russolo is an important text in the history of electronic music, because it is the first attempt seriously to categorise all sounds and, indeed, to treat them as potential music.

Russolo wrote:

Every manifestation of our life is accompanied by noise. The noise, therefore, is familiar to our ear, and has the power to conjure up life itself. Sound, alien to our life, always musical and a thing unto itself, an occasional but unnecessary element, has become to our ears what an overfamiliar face is to our eyes. Noise, however, reaching us in a confused and irregular way from the irregular confusion of our life, never entirely reveals itself to us, and keeps innumerable surprises in reserve. We are therefore certain that by selecting, coordinating and dominating all noises we will enrich men with a new and unexpected sensual pleasure. Although it is characteristic of noise to recall us brutally to real life, the art of noise must not limit itself to imitative reproduction. It will achieve its most emotive power in the acoustic enjoyment, in its own right, that the artist’s inspiration will extract from combined noises. Here are the 6 families of noises of the Futurist orchestra which we will soon set in motion mechanically:

Rumbles: Roars, explosions, crashes, splashes, booms

Whistles: Hisses, snorts

Whispers: Murmurs, mumbles, grumbles, gurgles

Screeches: Creaks, rustles, buzzes, crackles, scrapes

Noises obtained by percussion: Metal, wood, skin, stone, terracotta etc.

Voices of animals and men: Shouts, screams, groans, shrieks, howls, laughs, wheezes, sobs

In this inventory we have encapsulated the most characteristic of the fundamental noises; the others are merely the associations and combinations of these.

Some Electronic Music Vocabulary

ADSR – Stands for Attack, Decay, Sustain and Release – refers to the envelope [i.e., characteristic of a sound (e.g. volume or filter) as it changes over time; can be used as a tool to shape a sound over time] applied to a sound to shape it over time. Can be applied to the volume, filter, pitch or more. Can make things sound plucky, soft, or ambient etc.

Aliasing – Subtle distortion that occurs in the digital realm when the input frequency is higher than the sample rate. The sample cannot be measured accurately and thus introduces imperfections into the sound.

Ambience – Can refer to a sound in a track which creates a sense of space or atmosphere – typically achieved by the use of time-based audio effects such as delays and reverbs. Also can refer to the level of sound in a recording that contains background noise, separate to the intended recording. Typically this background noise is undesirable, but sometimes it is an aesthetic choice.

Arpeggiator – A MIDI Effect that turns a static chord into an arpeggio. If that doesn’t make sense, it makes things go bleep-bleep-bleep.

Atmosphere – A sonic effect created by reverb, long tails and quieter sounds. Referred to as the background of a track.

Beat Repeat – A type of effect that takes audio as an input and repeats the snippet back at timed intervals to create a glitch effect.

Chill – A loosely-defined term to describe the sound of more relaxed, deeper and melody-driven music in electronic music. Sometimes people refer to this as a genre in itself.

Distortion – The processing of audio such that extra harmonics and loudness are added, creating a more fuller or aggressive sound. Distortion types include tube, clipping, tape, diode, overdrive, fuzz and many more.

Doppler Effect – The sonic effect of frequencies sounding higher pitched when moving closer to an audio source, and lower pitched when moving away. Like when you drive past a police siren.

Formant – A vocal quality of a sound relating to vowels, and a filter type that achieves a vowel-like sound. If you’ve ever heard an ‘oooh’ or ‘aaah’, then you’ve heard what a formant sounds like.

Gate – An audio effect that reduces the volume of a sound once it passes below a certain threshold. It’s good for reducing background noise or unwanted sounds in a recording or sample. Just like your gate at home stops unwanted people coming into your house.

Glide – Portamento—when the pitch slides evenly from note to note

Lazer – A type of sound made by a synth that features fast-moving pitch envelopes to create a ‘pew pew’ type effect.

Masking – A phenomenon when two sounds with similar frequency content cause one to become ‘buried’ due to phase cancellation or differences is loudness. For example, two piano sounds playing at the same time might cause one of them to sound less powerful and thin in the mix.

Normalize – Increases a waveform’s level to its highest before it becomes distorted

Panning – The process of moving a sound either left or right in the stereo field. Panning is a great mix technique to achieve width and space.

Polar Pattern – The way a microphone picks up a sound. Some pickup sound in many directions, others only in one direction, and everything in between.

Reflections – Part of a reverb that creates echoes based off sounds hitting walls and bouncing around rapidly.

Transient – The initial start point of a drum sound, where the audio goes from near silence to sudden loudness. Sounds clicky.

Voice stealing – When a synthesizer is programmed to play more sounds than accessible voices shuts down some present voices so new tunes can be played

Tips for Writing About Music

The most important step when writing about music is to write, read, and listen to as much as possible. Writing hones your voice, while reading exposes you to various styles and information that will shape your writing. The wider the range of music you embrace and study, the better your perspective and critical ear.

Read about music: Understand as much as possible about music, from instrumentation to how artists create their song lyrics. Reading also helps teach the technical vocabulary specific to certain genres. To help you gain a better command of music, use music writing reference books, such as A Short Guide to Writing About Music by Jonathan Bellman and How to Write About Music, edited by Marc Woodworth and Ally-Jane Grossan. Both of these works discuss how to research and write about music effectively, and are great resources for new music writers.

Stay informed: Develop an understanding of news, events, and cultural conversations that inform songwriters. For example, understanding the politics behind Russian feminist collective/punk group Pussy Riot is necessary if you want to write an informed piece on their output.

Learn music theory: The more informed your technical language, the better your music writing will be. Elements such as BPM, timbre, crescendos, adagio, and other music sounds will help you more deeply understand a particular piece of music and its relationship to other songs on an album.

Listen to music: Don’t only listen to genres that you prefer, but expand your ear to different types of music. Artists are inspired by music across time and genre, and the best music critics recognize those references.

Put work out: Whether you join your school’s paper, do creative writing, or start your own blog, getting eyes on your work is imperative to improving your music writing. There are also online resources that aggregate opportunities and writing prompts for writers of all experience levels, providing a great opportunity for new writers to get their foot in the door.

Pitch to publications: Online and print publications are always looking for new pitches from writers. The more places you pitch, the more likely it is that you will sell a piece. Don’t be discouraged if you pitch one outlet and never hear back. Lean into your passion, keep writing, and pitch some more.

Also describe the effects of the song to your character/s. The effects of music can be described using various adjectives like relaxing, calm, refreshing, soothing, etc.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Thanks so much, really glad to hear this! Choose which of these notes would be most appropriate to incorporate in your story. Do go through the sources as there are more information I wasn't able to include here.

Another reference on music-related terms, plus some great additions. And more resources that could help with describing sounds and scenes related to music in your story:

Words to Describe Sounds

100 Sensory Words

Some Percussion Instruments

Some Pop Music Vocabulary

Writing Template: Singing Scene

Finding the right words that could accurately describe the specific song you have in mind to your readers is one way to tackle this, but it's definitely a challenge. Hope you find the right words/references here!

[emmathemandelaresident]

My final statement on the Kister vs Ven drama.

I have read all of the documents word by word, and initially, I had nothing to say about it, but re-reading all of them again, even Ven's new document before they deleted their Twitter/X account, I now finally got something to say about it.

Just to note, this statement is my full over opinion on the Kister vs Ven situation. I'd love to hear what you overall thing about this drama that had been all going around for nearly a month.

For those who don't know:

On March 12, Alex Kister, the creator of one of the most popular and well known analog horror series, the Mandela Catalogue, as well as his other series called Mystifying Oracle, was accused of predatory behavior by Twitter user STIRRINGJUICE (or Ven). I am not gonna go into too much detail, but the doc mainly states the accused problems Alex did while he had been with them and been friends with other fans.

A week or so later, Alex Kister has made a long response towards the accusations. In the doc, he provided plenty of evidence to justify his claim that overall that the doc Ven made is moreover wrong, but at the same time, he admitted that he had been friends and boyfriend with the fans and even trauma dumped to them. I will tell you, person reading this blog, about my personal opinion on this kind of action Kister has admitted too.

Later on, Ven made a pubic apology about them making the doc and their wording, saying that it is "transmisogynistic" and that what they did to him as an actual person was "excruciating". A day after they posted this apology, they have since deactivated their Twitter/X account, thus possibly putting an end to this drama.

Now that you all know about the history of the Kister vs Ven drama, lemme tell you my final opinion/statement.

When I first heard the allegations, I instantly felt devastated and upset over this and I had thought that Alex Kister was a good being. As a result, I felt some sort of heavy resentment towards the dude, but I never stopped loving his series, the Mandela Catalogue. I still do and I continue to write it (Wattpad is emmathemandelaresident; I digress).

Later, I began to move on and when I saw Alex's response, I was initially unsure of what to say or what to feel about it, but I will admit though, the way he has written the doc and provided much evidence to justify his claim is not really that bad at all.

But lemme tell you my overall opinion with his admitted actions. Being together romantically with a fan is not a great idea at all! These are your FANS that love your work and you should appreciate them, not go too far to be together with them, and ESPECIALLY not trauma dumping towards them! These are people that look up to you and your work, and venting towards them as well as dating them is fucked up in my personal opinion. These actions Alex had are inappropriate and I hope that Alex learned a very important lesson over that!

Overall, I will admit that he proved himself innocent, but I was still skeptical about this, so I continued to have some resentment towards him (though by a little bit).

Then when Ven's document came up, I legit had enough of this shitty drama. I kept asking to myself, when is this gonna end? Then I decided to read their doc. I honestly had no idea who I can trust anymore, cause at this rate, it looks like Alex Kister has won against the allegations in the most impressive way possible.

But I do believe that Ven's actions to get back on the dude and deplatform him was wrong and it should never be taken this kind of way to make an accusatory doc. Also the sentence "I did not expect crew members would leave because of how some of them responded initially" is kinda stupid. Like dude, your document had a WHOLE LOT OF SHIT AND "EVIDENCE" AGAINST KISTER. How could you possibly not expect crew members and actors to leave the Mandela Catalogue!?

I feel like this whole thing should have been kept in private and behind closed doors to avoid any kind of drama and other problems that escalated into something big! This would've been simple and easy, but Kister and Ven didn't do it.

Now just like Alex's response to the situation, I didn't have anything else to say or feel with Ven's new doc. But now I know that what they did was wrong as Alex's admitted actions to his fans.

So overall, I believe that both sides are mainly at fault. Alex's admitted actions are inappropriate and wrong and Ven's "goal" to deplatform the former is abhorrent. Now do I still love the Mandela Catalogue? Of course I do and like I said, I continue to write my crappy fanfic on the series. I believe Ven's decision to delete their Twitter account was good enough considering his actions, but I also think that Alex SHOULD learn something from his actions of dating people who looked up to and venting towards them.

I will continue to be active in the Mandela Catalogue fandom without traces of the drama barging into my brain and my Wattpad life.

But that's all for this giant statement! God, this was a lot to type on my laptop but that's my overall opinion on this Kister vs Ven situation.

I'd love to hear what you think about this drama!

Okay, now time to go sink into a mud puddle.

[theunconcernedembalmer]

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

"Ah... Mr. Carl. It's a pleasure to meet another like myself." The incoming Aesop straightens his posture, checking and adjusting his uniform as if he were interviewing for some sort of job. "How has... our mission been going?" There is a notable hesitance, and the shaky eye contact is now entirely averted.

You must be new. Anyone who has bled out in enough matches will know that our mission is meaningless here.

[nigelspeaksonexpo2025worldsfairs]

World’s Fairs are still a thing?

As a kid, I remember being enamored by the fantastical technology showcased at World’s Fairs. Things like the Eiffel Tower being constructed for the 1889 World’s Fair, or the reveal of the Telephone at the Philadelphia World’s Fair captivated my young imagination. The idea of an event where you could see hundreds of crazy booths and international inventions sounded so spectacular and charming that young me was hooked.

But, of course, all those daydreams had to stay confined to the history books. Because after all, if there still was some sort of international gathering, where dozens of countries around the world cooperated, where new and exciting technology is unveiled, and where unique cultures are invited to socialize and explore, surely I would have heard about it… right?

Like there’s no way that I went through 15 years of School and just somehow never had World Expos mentioned to me. It just can’t be that I hear about the Olympics every 4 years but somehow missed every World’s Fair for the past century. That couldn’t have happened right?

It had happened.

Incase you didn’t know (like I hadn’t), they’ve been continuously doing World’s Fairs since the 1700s. That means that even in this century, there’s been plenty of World’s Fairs, and they aren’t just some bygone event that got canceled last century. Most recently, there was the 2021 Fair in Dubai, and in a year and a half from now, there’s one happening in Osaka, Japan. In fact, the one coming up has all sorts of crazy promises, like flying taxis,

translation tables,

and “The Forest of Introspection”???

Regardless, everyone I’ve personally talked to agrees that they thought these fairs died out in like the 40’s. But, as a disclaimer, part of the reason for this may be if you’re American like me. There could be a bit of “US” Education at play, but another variable is that everywhere else in the world actually calls them “World Expos”, not the World’s Fair. 

So, with my childhood fascination rekindled and the preamble out of the way, I made this blog to chronicle news, opinions, and history about previous and upcoming World Expos, and why you may have never heard of them. I've seen very little coverage of Expo 2025 in America, and very little education about the modern Expos at all. Additionally, I want to make it clear that as I go further down this rabbit hole, I am fully aware of the horrible and problematic components of previous World Expos. I intend to cover the good and the bad, for the hope of educating others on this topic I knew little about, and to hopefully promote the best parts of cultural exchange while not stowing ignorance of the past. Bye for now.

[bonbonly]

𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: heavily inspired by hannibal - after hearing tons of praise in regards to psychiatrist!max verstappen, you decide to test your luck and see what his true colors are 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you're not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following in this fic: dubcon, drugging/aphrodisiac, knife play, cunnilingus, p in v, character death, reader is not a good person, blood/gore, slapping 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i want to give a special shoutout to @gokyrts because look at the abomination she's made me write, oh my god...

"mr. verstappen's skills knows no bounds, but the only ones being bound under his spell are the countless patients he must've paid to spread his work as if it were a gospel," you echoed the words that you wrote onto your laptop, the rough draft being filled with small notes on the side of the document to remind you of any criticism of the man that you might've missed the first time. your fingers drummed against the keys of your laptop, your brows furrowed as you tried to find another sentence to add. to spite him. to inform him that he had to be a greedy, money hungry hoax. your friends always told you that his appointments were so relaxing, they were very helpful but you saw through his lies. you knew that something had to be up. working as a forensic scientist for the BAU, and secretly organizing a crime blog under a pseudonym, you've racked up enough credentials to be under verstappen's radar. perhaps he was the only one that knew about the blog, and it irked you.

he mentioned once after you stopped by his office to request his presence in the lab. direct orders from your boss, you stated, making it very clear with your tone that you didn't ask for it. you'd rather die than have him near the corpse, stealing all the credit that should rightfully go to you. the depths you went to find the real perpetrator days later was overshadowed by the single fact that verstappen had walked in and saw a petal of a rose just underneath the right calf of the corpse. a careless mistake, he told your boss, but one that could be easily tweaked if you had just scheduled an appointment with him so he could discuss parts of your childhood that you locked away, buried underneath your heels so that every time you stomped around, you imagined it to be the throat of your parents. you were told to accompany the psychiatrist back to his office, and when you dropped him off he merely smiled at you, his dutch accent infiltrating your ears, "you always miss the details, which is surprising because you never seem to do it under your blog, caroli- i mean, ms. (l/n)."

your blood ran cold at his words, and you stumbled out of his office with a hardened glare. he was reading your blog, and had somehow directed it to you. how did he know? there was no possible way for him to know. you worked for the fbi, for peter's sake, you knew how to tidy up evidence, to be careful when lurking through unclear waters. how did the bastard know about this? so, when you typed up the new article criticizing his work and suggesting that he might be behind the disappearance of a few colleagues of yours, you knew he would read it. with full confidence, you wanted him to read it and storm into your office ready to snap your neck.

but he never did. in fact, he never even looked at you at all the next day. or the day after. or the week after. he smiled at your associates, then locked himself in his room, welcoming in patients and booking appointments for the ones too timid to ask him for one. during a lunch break, you walked past his hallway and pressed your ear against his door to listen in to an appointment he had with your friend. the shattering of glass, a muffled scream, the sound of a bullet, metal cracking against her skull, any sound would do for you. you just needed one piece of evidence, but you received none. your friend walked out unscathed, a happy smile on her face as she greeted you back in the lab. your eyes cast down to your hands, a feeling of momentary guilt rising in your gut. you wanted to forge your hands into the fire for writing that article and painting him in a bad light; no favorable colors, no accurate brush strokes, a half-assed attempt where the paint bled through the canvas, seeping through the lines that you carefully concocted. it didn't make sense, you were so sure of it! all the victims -charles, lewis, carlos, daniel - your good friends who were missing had one thing in common: they had booked appointments with verstappen before their disappearance. they also were in contention to get a promotion, daniel had also been a psychiatrist, eagerly waiting for his new life to become the head of the department one day. it was a risky move, but you figured that if you pushed his buttons enough, he'd slip up. he'd expose himself, he'd make a mistake and then you'd have him trapped. the entire BAU would understand that they had a criminal right under their noses this entire time.

for this entire plan to succeed, you had to do a few things. your first plan was to write more articles on your secret blog. while the BAU was scratching their heads about how their confidential cases were being exposed so easily, you were dropping bombshell after bombshell on your blog, your finger always pointing to the psychiatrist that would now look at you across the room with a deadly glint in his eyes. his lips were always in a thin line, and occasionally you caught him smirking whenever you'd miss a detail during analysis. you were predictable to him, and you needed to find a way to defeat him at his own game. there was a reason as to why he hadn't exposed you yet, perhaps the lack of evidence but you realized that there was something about you that made him keep quiet. you had power over him, the thought of it made you giggle uncontrollably at your desk one day, spinning around your chair like a little school girl. the second plan was to use his own tricks against him, which meant finally noticing the smaller details, being smarter than the rest of the team and most importantly, being incredibly fast. whether it be responding to your boss, showing up to a meeting, scavenging a crime scene to find clues or evidence, you had to be first. this entire time the team thought of him as reliable because he was the first one present at all times. you had to change that, had to show the team that the tide was turning to your favor. you noticed the way he'd bite the inside of his cheek, the light illuminating from the side would highlight his cheekbones, the dent a shadow amongst the very little light on his face.

and then finally, the third part of your plan. book the appointment with him. this one hurt your ego the most, but in order to catch him you had to stoop down to his level. making him think that you were willing to open up to him should give him the opportunity to do the same with you, and once vulnerable you could easily coax the truth out of him. you sat across from him on a velvet chair, legs crossed as your eyes traveled around the room, memorizing the layout of his office and the objects that were on display.

"lots of cars i see here," you pointed towards one large model of an RB19 on his shelf. he buried his hands in his pockets, teetering on his toes as he let out a small chuckle,

"i like things that are fast. things that fly, speed through... run," the last word sent shivers down your spine, but you swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and forced a smile at him.

"care for a drink? i got some wine if you'd like?" he walked over to the stand of champagne bottles on display. the glass sparkled under the light, its contents swishing around with each step that he took closer. it reminded you of your guts wanting to spill out and as he grabbed the bottle's neck, you gulped and felt the ghost of his hands tightening around yours. with a cough, you shook your head but he rolled his shoulders in a way of disbelief and stalked over to you with a wine glass in his hand, "please, i think you need it. it's ok, it'll help you relax."

the liquid pooled down your throat, but you kept your eyes open in fear that he might take advantage of you like this. you couldn't let your guard down, not like this. you watched as he settles down on the couch directly across from you, his legs spread out giving you an ample view of what you assumed to be his cock fighting to be restrained in his pants but with a firm snap of his fingers, your eyes flicker up to his face and then you saw the smallest hint of a smile on his face. you hadn't seen one in weeks.

"so why exactly did you book this appointment?" he asked, tilting his head. his hands clasped together, the forefingers coming up to touch his lips. you shrugged in response, before quickly shaking your head. shit, you needed to follow along with the plan you made!

"just... just been having some bad nightmares about my past," you responded. the topic of your parents was sensitive, one that you kept hidden for many years after you graduated high school. their death was their own doing, but somehow you felt that you had a part in it. had the murderer been you, it would've made no difference because the guilt remained. the bystander was far worse than the actual criminal. your mother's head rolling down the hill as your father watched with a twisted back. you winced at the memories, the glass slipping from your hands, "fuck!"

max watched your reactions carefully. his eyes were drawn to the way your fingers hovered over the glass, almost afraid that it would grab you. you paid no mind to the wine stain, but the countless apologies that spilled from your lips was music to his ears. he wanted to hear you say them, but in a very different circumstance. he read every article you wrote, he noticed your shift in behavior around him. he was a psychiatrist; if you wanted to play mind games with him, he was already ten steps ahead. while guiding you to stand near the shelf of cars, he went over to his closet to grab the broom and dustpan. he took off his coat, rolling the sleeves of his shirt before crouching down to gently grab the large pieces of glass. he dragged his finger onto the pool of wine on the floor and licked a long stripe, "such a shame. i always hate seeing my appetite go to waste."

the appointment was cut short much to your chagrin. your carelessness, you thought to yourself, you just didn't understand why you kept making small mistakes like this. you had to train your mind to be better. you sighed and gave one last glance to the RB19 model when you noticed the initials D.R. in italics on the edge of the car. before you could step closer, you felt strong arms grab onto your shoulders, guiding you out the door, "ms. (l/n), i am so sorry about what happened here. i would love to hear more about your past, but perhaps in a setting that might not scare you too much. dinner at my house, maybe? would that be an offer you're willing to take up?"

you frowned at his words, wriggling away from his touch, "you invite all your patients to your house for dinner?"

"only the ones i believe i have a strong connection with," he responded, licking his lips as he leant against the doorframe. you tapped your heels a couple times, thinking the offer over. if you declined, you'd have to come back to his stupid office. but... but if you accepted, you'd be able to catch him in his environment - and while he had the advantage of home ground - he definitely had to be hiding things there.

"you mind if i bring a friend over?" you asked, and he smiled,

"the more the merrier, but i don't think we can talk about your history then."

"it's ok. we can talk about my life later."

"6:30 at my place, i'll send the address down to you shortly."

"oh, mr. verstappen, dinner is very lovely! did you make this all by yourself?" your friend asked while taking a bite of the lasagna. her words are tuned out as you shifted through your food with a fork. the darkness of the dining room did little to ease any of your fears. you had walked in feeling confident, ready to tackle the monster down with your bare hands, but his kindness. his professionalism. his unwavering stare. they all made you feel as if you were being suffocated. you didn't have much energy in you to continue with the fake conversations. excusing yourself to use the bathroom to then explore his mansion would be too cliche, he'd be waiting for you to do it anyway. being too predictable would bore him, which would mean the chances of you being killed would be higher.

"not liking the food, ms. (l/n)?" max asked, his eyes flickering down to the food he cooked being tossed around like a bird amongst hyenas.

"no, i'm just... not very hungry, unfortunately," you responded, grabbing the wine to drink.

"a bite wouldn't hurt. just one bite, i spent hours cooking for tonight," he chuckled, and your friend kicked your leg under the table, her eyes narrowing at you to take a bite. you could already hear what she was saying in her mind. the poor man went out of his way for dinner and here you are, being a rude guest! with a very reluctant sigh, you grab hold of the fork and let your teeth sink onto the lasagna, the flavor melting into your tastebuds as you let out a slow hum of approval. it tasted nice, very nice actually. so you took another bite, and then another. her appetite's back, your friend laughed and max nodded his head, smiling at you.

but when dessert rolled in, you felt uneasy. your insides felt empty, as if craving for something that you couldn't quite place. your thighs clenched together as your gripped onto the arms of the chair. you couldn't make out whatever max was saying. he was asking you if you were alright, but his eyes asked a different question. you hadn't noticed how big his eyes were before, or the fact that his pupils were so dilated. how did you miss that detail before? was he always like this? you quickly excused yourself, running to the bathroom but each brush of your thigh under the thigh made you choke on air, your mind hazy. upon locking yourself inside, you immediately collapsed onto the ground, your head in your hands. you felt strong pair of hands around your waist, groping at your tits that spilled out of your dress - or was it be ripped off of you? your pussy bare against the cold dampness of the room, your mouth propped open with fingers as the sweet taste of an apple made its way. your jaw was sore at how your teeth delved into the fruit and stood rooted there as your arms were bound above your head. was that the woody scent of a candle, or the fireplace that was underneath you? where was that burning sensation? under you... or inside you? your legs were being spread apart, the itchy rope curling around your limbs to make sure you wouldn't move. you opened your eyes lazily to see a figure with dirty blonde hair at the end of the table, his shiny teeth visible amongst the evil grin you saw.

"my favorite meal... all to myself." he whispered, letting his tongue rake over your glistening folds. your strangled moans are swallowed by the apple in your mouth, your body aching for more as his nose nudges your clit. his teeth nip at your labia, tongue invading your womanhood as you can't do anything but scream out loud, drooling from the corners of your mouth. his tongue rolls your clit around, lapping at any juice that seeps from your cunt. he wants to ensure your taste is on his tongue forever. the sweetest dessert that one would ask for. his fingers spread your mound to get a good look at his masterpiece and he lets his saliva stalk down to your pussy before harshly rubbing your clit. when you finally look past your tits to see who this figure was: your heart stopped at the sight of max staring down at you with a predatory look.

you screamed as you woke up in your bed, cold sweat dripping down your forehead. you glanced down to your hands, your feet, your clothes that covered your body. you looked around your room, unsure as to how you were back in your bedroom. it felt real... was it real? you couldn't tell. you pulled the waistband of your panties down, check to see if you were still a wet mess. nothing. laying back down on your bed, you placed a hand on your heaving chest and ran your free hand down your face. what just happened? what was going on? you had to find out, you had to get to the bottom of this.

which meant having to go back to his house. on guard, and once again with someone. you decided to bring a colleague that you despised, but it would be better to sacrifice her than your friend.

you sat across the dining table, and despite how predictable it was, you excused yourself to the bathroom, keeping note as to how his eyes focused on your ass. never miss the details, you thought to yourself. you headed to the bathroom, opening the door to turn the lights on before shutting the door. with a few fake thuds just outside the bathroom door, you took your heels off and carefully took them with you around the staircase. with the layout of the house, the dining room wouldn't give clear access to the left side of the kitchen. which meant that the pantry could be entered carefully without him noticing. your colleague was busy entertaining him about her vacation in milan, her loud voice thunderous enough to rattle the house... and enough to mask the creaking of the pantry door as you slipped inside. it was cold, almost like entering the arctic as you pulled out a tiny flashlight to guide you through the foreign place. the meat hung forlornly from the hooks, the torse of a pig on display. you frowned at the ink patterns on the meat, and you hesitantly turned it around. you'd seen these marks before somewhere. a vacation trip with your friends that you planned one evening. someone had dragged you into the pool as a prank and when you floated to the surface, spluttering out the chlorine water, your hands found the shoulders of a man inked with tattoos on his back. it was lewis. your flashlight slipped out of your hands and clattered onto the metal railings.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" you hissed, scrambling to grab the small material. you were delighted that your suspicions were correct, that this entire time you were right about verstappen. but you needed to get out. you could see the shadow of footsteps underneath the pantry door. there was a back entrance to the pantry, and you stumbled towards it. from the corner of your eye you noticed a bottle of liquid and you uncapped it with your teeth, chugging the liquid down. you really needed some wine to calm your nerves down at the moment. letting the bottle roll back onto the metal table, you ran out the door into the open woods. you'd have to go around the path to get back to your car in the front of the house. the more minutes you stood to think about a plan, the more time was being wasted. from the distance, you could hear the back entrance of his house being opened and you whined out loud, pushing your feet to continue running. you didn't want to die, not like this... no, not now, not ever!

and yet with each step that you took, you felt a strong pain inside you. that pain you felt when you had dinner for the first time at his house. you were craving for something, you didn't know. was it his tongue again? no, what? why were you thinking about that awful nightmare? you remembered the outline of his cock during your first appointment, oh it looked delectable. you could've gotten on your knees then and sucked him as payment for the appointment! as your mind was reeling with uncontrolled desire, your knees buckled and your leg caught onto a root from a tree. crashing forward with a loud groan, you struggled to get back up on your feet when you felt the underside of a boot press gently against your neck, pushing your face onto the ground.

"i told you before i liked things that run. at this point, you're just teasing me," a familiar dutch voice rang from above you. the boot nudged you over onto your back, causing you to hold back a whimper at the sensation. you were sensitive to everything, your skin on fire as he trailed his foot down your body and right below your heat. right below where your desire was burning.

"y-you killed them. i was right, you killed them all," you weakly laughed, "i was right this entire fucking time."

"round of applause for you, ms. (l/n), oh wait..." he paused, looking around the empty woods before he glanced down to you, "no one's here." he rubbed the toe-box of his boot against your clothed cunt, enjoying the way your back arched, squealing at the way your clit was being dragged along your damp panties.

"tsk tsk tsk," he circled to stand right in front of you between your legs, "you always missed the details. you could've made it, you know? you could've gotten to your car and made it back to your house, schatje. but it's your carelessness... what did you drink before you came out here?"

"w-w-wine?" you responded, tilting your head. you let out another moan as the boot dug deeper onto your mound.

"wine mixed into the aphrodisiac. which would've been my last resort if you had properly rescheduled the appointment that we never finished. details, ms. (l/n), always look at the details," he knelt down, letting his hand replace his boot. the warmth of his fingers made you whine, begging him to end your suffering. your mind was purely empty - save the thought of having him satisfy your primal needs. he bunched up your panties, tugging them up to see your pussy coat the fabric with more of your juices, "fuck... you're so wet. it must hurt doesn't it? you wish you had someone to help you, schat?"

"yes, yes, yes please... please!" you cried, bucking your hips up. max laughed, seeing the way your pussy was grinding against your panties. he ripped them off of you, throwing them over his shoulder as he picked you up into his arms, carrying you as if you were his bride.

"i think a change of environment will put you in your place." he mumbled, and while you didn't catch onto it at first, when he tossed you onto the metal table in his pantry, you felt fear course through your body. "such a nice suit i had on today, and now you made me ruin it."

he slips off his coat and vest, rolling the sleeves of his shirt that hugged his biceps. he searched around the pantry for a while before grabbing an apron, tying it around his slim waist. he gazed up at you as his chin tucked into his neck and he let out a dry laugh, "you know... if you had just stuck to your job, this wouldn't have been a problem. always wanting to be the hero, when you're the villain yourself."

he grabbed the butcher knife, tossing it in the air a couple times, "i used to keep him with a bunch of other knives, all neatly organized just like i love. had to use him so often these days that he gets his own special spot. what do you think? he's beautiful isn't he?" he holds the knife up to your hooded eyes, and when you don't respond, he uses the butt of the utensil to slap your face, beckoning you to respond.

"i-it's nice," you mumbled, and he nods his appreciatively, letting the sharp edge of the object gently kiss your skin before he cut away at your dress and bra, exposing all of you to him. he saw the lump in your throat when you swallowed, and he brought the edge of the knife to your neck, watching you crane around to avoid the sharp edge. he tossed the knife in the air once again, which caused you to shriek out loud in fear that it'll slice you but he caught it and tapped the butt of the knife on your lips.

"suck," he commanded, and still clouded by the aphrodisiac, you do what he asked and twirled your tongue around the tip before opening your mouth wider and letting it fully devour your throat. you caught your reflection in the metal, and you can't even believe how blinded you must be. the details, the details, the details. the body of daniel hanging above you, staring at you with closed eyes and parted lips should have you screaming as you rolled your eyes back, but instead you're feeling yourself growing wetter, eager to please max. the weapon hits your teeth as max trailed your saliva down the valley of your tits, over your navel and to your cunt that's been so desperate this entire time. he pursed his lips as if he was deep in thought and then brought his free hand to spread your legs wider, shoving the butt of the knife into you. the feeling of being stretched out, of finally being filled - even if only a little - had your back escape the confines of the metal table, your tits out in the air as you're sobbing in joy. max saw the way you're mewling, body contorting in pleasure and he left your cunt empty once again before slamming the butcher knife right beside your head. your breath hitched in your throat, the fear once again settling but it made your heart race in excitement. there was a small thrill present, maybe he was right earlier. you were the villain all along. you were worse than him. he took off the apron, unbuckling his belt and he snickered,

"you could've grabbed the knife and stabbed me by now, but you didn't... too desperate to get fucked, isn't that right, liefje?"

he let his cock spring free from the confines that tormented him since the day he saw you at the BAU. head held high, a haughty gleam in your eyes. the arrogance as you talked down to him, acted as if you were superior. he was waiting all along for this moment. his cock slid against your folds and when he pushed in, the tears that flowed from your eyes combined with the guttural moan made him smile. something was missing though, something that could make this so much more better for him. and as he began to thrust, he glanced up to see another corpse from a previous victim hanging to the side. a cruel idea formed in his mind and he grinned down at you,

"schatje, i don't think i could bring myself to hurt you... not when you're being such a good slut for me," he cooed, "but... but a man can't help but imagine..."

he grabbed hold of the butcher knife, slicing the corpse and letting the blood splatter onto the top half of your body. it trickled onto the table beneath you, the tiled floor now the canvas of a new twisted desire. he laughed out loud at the sight of half of your face covered in blood, and he brought the coated knife to your neck, continuing to thrust his aching cock into you as you screamed out loud in a horrid mix of fear and desire. you could feel your cunt clamp onto his cock, so close to cumming as his thrusts became more erratic.

"i knew you'd like this... you came all this way here to see if you could understand me. schat, but do you even know who you are?" he questioned, letting the edge of the knife kiss your neck. and as you came undone with a scream, your vision blurring at the intensity, you realized he was right all along. the details, you missed all the details. your parents death wasn't because of some man that had swerved the car late at night. it was you. you swung the sledgehammer at the car while they were driving down the highway, drunk out of your mind out of anguish from all the abuse you faced as a child. the man stopped to see the commotion and you sent his body flying down the hill. you'd done it, you were a murderer. you were twisted, you were... you were as bad as him. you glanced up to see max still bullying your cunt, pushing you to another orgasm before you could process the toll your body was taking in the process.

"your scent always drove me wild," he whispered, leaning down to bite your nipple, "fuck, schatje... i'll give you a deal." he lifted his head slightly to meet your gaze, "we can work together, you know? with your skill and this cunt of yours, i could keep you around. no harm to you at all, unless of course you'd like it."

"t-the blog... no, no, i can't... i'm better than you. i'm not you, i'm not fucked up like - oh fuck, don't stop!" your argument melts away with each snap of his hips,

"you have no other choice here. there's two ways this can go. you keep coming to my office, be my personal slut, trained completely to take my cock and i'll let you live... with the added benefit of working and helping me. and if you don't," the butcher knife digs a bit deeper into your neck, "i think you understand what i mean, right schatje?"

you nod your head, throwing your head back as you let out another visceral scream as your second orgasm rips through your body. he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, murmuring praises at how perfect you'd be, how you were always destined for this, no matter how much your ego told you differently.

and yet as you laid beside him on his bed that night, well-cleaned and taken care of as his new trophy, you secretly uploaded the photos of his pantry to your blog and slipped out of his house, past your dead colleague in the living room. he'd come after you, that was for sure. but he liked to hunt, and you've learned to run.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Little Love Notes | Bang Chan 

Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!Reader  

Summary: Chan's girlfriend likes to leave him little notes.  

Warnings: It just fluffy. I have written a little drabble similar to this but wanted to switch it around so it's reader leaving him little love notes. This is a repost from my now deactivated blog. More of an explanation in my pinned post.

Word Count: 482 

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Chan's heart swelled with warmth as he read the little note once again. The words are written on a bright yellow post-it note which was stuck to his laptop lid. It was a simple sentence, but it meant so much to him.  

"Have a great day, my love. Don’t be too hard on yourself."   

The last couple day’s he’d been a little hard on himself because he couldn’t get a part of the latest song they’ve been working on right. No matter how he mixed it, with and without Changbin and Jisung’s help, he couldn’t seem to get it sounding like he envisioned in his mind.   

Taking a moment before he goes back to the song that’s becoming a headache, he remembers back to when Y/N left him the first note she ever left him. They had just moved in together when he found a post-it note stuck to the screen of his phone, with ‘I love you’ written on it. From that day on, Y/N made it her mission to leave him little love notes around their apartment. Some days they just said I love you and other days they’d be a small paragraph reminding him how loved he is, or how lucky she is to have him. Sometimes they would be sweet little reminders for him to take breaks, or to go easy on the guys and stuff like that. When he went away, whether it be in South Korea or overseas, the little notes would continue. He’d find them on in his bag, in the pocket of a random hoodie or pair of pants, and on his electronics. He even found one wrapped around his toothbrush, one time.   

The guys often tease him about the notes, but he doesn't care. He loves these notes more than anything because they are a physical representation of her love for him. It’s his and Y/N’s little thing they have that doesn’t involve anyone else. He loves it and would be sad if she ever stopped writing them.  

As he opens his laptop, he chuckles to himself when he finds another note in his girlfriend's handwriting. ‘Can we please have McDonald’s for dinner?’  

He puts the notes somewhere safe so he can add them to the growing collection, filling his desk drawer at him. Grabbing his phone, he pulls up his messages with Y/N, and types out his reply to her notes.  

‘You have a good day too. I’ll pick up McDonald’s on my way home tonight. I love you so much x.’  

He puts his phone to the side and boots up his laptop to get started working on the newest 3racha song.  

It doesn’t take long before his phone buzzes, notifying him that he has a new message. When he checks it, he smiles, seeing it’s from Y/N.   

‘I’ll message you my order later. I love you so much too, baby xxxxx.’ 

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. 

©️ 2024 CRAZYFORMFICS. NO ONE HAS PERMISSION TO COPY, TRANSLATE AND/OR POST MY FICS ON HERE OR ANY OTHER SITE.

TAGGED: @staytiny2000 - @dancelikebutterflywings - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups

[itsnathateasy]

hiiiii!! i really love your blog and i was wondering if i could request aot characters being jealous?? 🫶🫶

Hiiii anon! 🫶 This was such a fun request to write, thank you for sharing it with me! Hope you enjoy this!🪷

aot characters being jealous 🤨

warnings: eren kinda needs to be slapped, alcohol consumption in mikasa’s word count: 4,1k includes: eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, reiner, bertholdt, hange, erwin a/n: idk why i decided to call bertholdt bertie, idk if i’ve done that before but in my head, that’s his name (apart from birth control, burrito, boruto, boomshakalaka and the lot)

You don’t need me to tell you that Eren will pick up a fight if he gets the slightest clue that he doesn’t have your undivided attention. You smiled at the waiter? What for? Was he to your liking? Why are you on the phone again? I’m here with you, no need to speak with anyone else. He’s too possessive and even though that’s a trait you liked at first, it was steadily choking you. It’s not that he wouldn’t allow you to do things like go out or be on the phone with people he didn’t know personally, but he’d made it his life mission to get to know all of your friends or to always check on you when you weren’t together. He did demand that you sent him pictures and videos of where you were or who you were with though. The final straw was when you caught him going through your phone. You’d spent the night together and you’d just woken up. But it felt too early. Your body was still stiff from not getting the rest you needed and your eyelids felt heavy. You lazily turned over and reached for his warm body, draping your arm around his waist. “You up, y/n?” You responded with a mumble that could mean anything, slowly drifting into sleep again. You were woken by the buzzing of a phone along with a constant turn on and off of a white light. You opened your eyes and realised it was just Eren on your phone… Going through YOUR messages! “Eren what the fuck?” You snapped awake and yelled as best as you could, your voice raspy with sleep. “No worries, y/n, you’re clean.” He said matter-of-factly, still checking some more messages. “What the hell? Of course I’m clean! Why would you do that?” You screamed and snatched your phone from his hands, practically stepping all over him in order to reach the device. “Just had to make sure, y/n!” “When you want to make sure you ask me, you don’t go through my private stuff!”

Armin is so the type to be silently jealous. He notices that you’re smiling while on your phone or that maybe you were extra careful about your hair and make up but he doesn’t voice his concern. He’ll simply compliment you on your looks and on the outfit you picked. He’ll even go as far as to wish you a good time. The entire time when you’re gone, he’ll check your socials, see if you’ve posted anything or if any of your mutual friends has posted you on their stories. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t text you any more than what he normally would. What if he made you suspicious of his behaviour? Then he wouldn’t be able to find anything out! When you’re finally home – much later than usual – he pretends to still be working on his laptop. Unfazed, he asks you about your night out, did you have fun? Where did you go? Did you like that place? The little shit will even ask you to cuddle him while you tell him all about your night. “You know what, I can’t keep it a secret any longer, Armin. I’m sorry you weren’t invited, but me and the girls were helping Ymir propose to Historia, she even hired a photographer and the lot! She’ll tell you all about it soon, I’m sure they’re busy having fun right now!” Armin looked back at you, startled. It all checked out! If Ymir had hired professionals for the proposal, then it’d make sense that you were too meticulous about your appearance or why you never posted anything about tonight. “Wow, y/n… I feel so stupid now… I literally thought you’d gone on a date, I was losing my mind over here!” He pulled you closer with his arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head. “First of all, why would I ever cheat on you?” You pulled away from the soft lock he held you in and removed his laptop from his legs to set it on the living room table in front of you. “And secondly, if I was to cheat, do you really think you’d be able to tell this easily?” You smirked at him and noticed the colour draining from his face. “Y/n, don’t say that, it’s not funny. How’d you do it then?” He requested to which you only laughed. “You’ll spoil the fun if you know beforehand! Let’s just say I’d be way more smart than getting ready for my lover in front of you!” “Y/n you don’t mean that! Say you don’t mean that!” He said, his voice annoyed but also not too confident. Were you being honest? He had to know!

You didn’t know Mikasa could get jealous, but you found out about it that one time you got monumentally drunk. Hanging out for a beer was normal for your friend group, even though it wasn’t always possible for all of you to actually gather. When you did, it was the best night out! Normally, you’d let Mikasa catch up with Eren and Armin while you focused on the people you didn’t get to see quite as often. It was a short break for you and Mikasa, a deal you’d both agreed to keep when you were with your mutual friends. You were catching up with Connie and Historia and lost yourself in your conversations, your laughters. You didn’t know what number beer you’d just chugged, but you three were ordering another round, cackling at one of Connie’s hilarious jokes as you raised your hand towards the waiter. You noticed Mikasa eyeing you from the table she occupied with Eren. She gave you a crooked smile and a thumbs up, but she seemed a bit weird. You completely forgot about the look on her face the moment your pints landed in front of you on the table. “Cheers to us!” Yelled Connie as he raised his pint in the air, clinking it with your and Historia’s. You were so giddy with the beer, your jokes and the laughs you were sharing that you felt like hugging them. Sliding your arms around their shoulders, you pulled them both closer to you, your heads banging in the process. “I really love you guys! We should do this more often!” Connie and Historia intertwined their arms as well, forming an odd three-way hug. “We really should, y/n! Mikasa! Come, join our group hug!” Historia exclaimed breaking contact with you as Mikasa slid in the narrow space between the two of you. “It’s time to go, y/n.” She said, not joining in the hug and reaching for the place where yours and Connie’s arm were touching to pull them apart. “Mikasa NO! Let’s stay, we’re having so much fun!” You offered her a sip from your beer but she only glared at you with red eyes. “Y/n. It’s late. You’re drunk. We’re going home!” She demanded. She stood up before you could say anything and helped you on your feet as well, moving a bit further from the table you were previously sat at. “I don’t wanna leave just yet, Mikasa! Why can’t we stay?” You felt yourself slurring the words. Maybe Mikasa was right. How many beers did you have anyway? “Y/n, you’re drunk and when that happens you start… Hugging people...” She fixed your hair as she asked Historia about your jacket and bag. “What’s wrong with hugging my friends, Mikasa? Just because you and Eren and Armin never hug, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna hug you know?” You protested as she helped you put on your jacket and awkwardly hang your bag on your shoulder. “Nothing wrong with hugging, y/n. But after that, you start making out with people and I’m not particularly fond of that.” You stood still as you realised what she was saying. “That’s unfair, Mikasa! That hasn’t happened since the night we got together!” “That’s my point, y/n! You made out with me because you were drunk! You said so yourself! You were too scared to ask me out!” She was being serious, that much you could tell. You smirked at her and she raised an eyebrow. “So, Mikasa… Is this your way to say you wanna make out or something?”

Connie doesn’t get jealous, not how you’d expect one to get jealous at least. He’s too cocky for this type of behaviour. Even if he had ‘signs’ that you might be unfaithful, he’d play along with you. Questions like “How’s that new man of yours been doing?” were a common occurrence whenever he thought he had clues pointing to that. You were fed up with his stupidity. Joking about it once was funny, but having him try to persuade you that you were having a secret affair was too much. It was getting rather annoying, so you confronted him about it, asking him if he really believed you weren’t loyal to him. Of course, Connie just laughs at this, which annoys you tenfold. “Why would you even cheat on me? I’m giving you everything you ask for!” Cocky. “That’s exactly my point, Connie! I’m not cheating on you, I’ve no reason to! Why do you go on with this stupid game of yours? Are you cheating and trying to pin it on me instead? This is too much of a mindfuck for me to fathom!” Connie’s eyes grew wider at your confession, he noticed how you were being serious about this, how you were actually upset. “Hey, hey… I just thought it was funny, you know? Just messing with you a bit… I never meant for it to get this far, I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner…” He pulled you closer and gave you a hug, then a soft peck on your temple. “Where did you even get the idea? What did I do?” You inquired, eager to properly sort this out. “Ah, I don’t know… You’re always laughing on the phone. But like too much… I usually brush it off, it might be some of your friends. But then you started getting annoyed at me whenever I commented on that, so I kept pushing.” You sighed, not yet leaving his arms as he rested his head on top of yours. “Well Connie, had the allegations been true, I’d be cheating on you with funny cat videos on TikTok.” You admitted and laughed with how silly you’d both been about this misunderstanding. “Wait, y/n, that’s actually quite the rival! You’re not allowed to watch any more cat videos from now on!” He joked and poked your cheek. “Unless we watch them together, of course!”

Jean gets jealous alright. The thing is, he’s having such a hard time admitting it. You’ve been spending extra time with some childhood friends of yours that were back in town for the weekend, so you told Jean you wouldn’t be much around. After all, you didn’t get to see those people often. What with living in different cities, working and the lot, it was difficult. Jean was understanding, of course, Jean is nothing if not understanding and loving towards you. But it was eating him from the inside out. It wasn’t even noon yet and you’d been with your friends for around 3 hours by now. No texts, no calls. Yet, you were extremely active on social media. And one of your friends looked really cute. The kind of cute you’d go for. After some digging – yes, he even checked your facebook page back from 2012 – he found out that you two had actually dated… For an entire year?? Why wouldn’t you mention that one of the people you were to meet was an ex? Sure, he’d mind it anyway, but he’d rather know in advance than have to find out about it himself! “Hey please call me when you see this y/n!” He texted. A few minutes passed and you hadn’t even read the text. “It’s urgent, please call me!!!” Still no response. After a series of emojis aiming to get your attention, you finally check your phone and let him know that you’d call him in a couple of minutes. As patient as he could be - he couldn’t. His foot was tapping like crazy, the nail of his thumb displayed visible damage from his insistent biting and nibbling. The phone rang and Jean had never in his life picked up as fast as now. “Hey Jean! What’s wrong? Everything alright?” You asked, still not quite sure what this was about. “Why didn’t you tell me you and that guy were dating when you were younger?” Your laughter was the only answer he’d get for a few seconds. “I’m serious, y/n! You should’ve told me!” “Jean, okay, how did you even find out about this?” “That’s what’s troubling you, y/n? I checked your facebook! I had to know who I’ up against!” “Jean, you’re being dramatic. Tell me, mr detective guy, why would I tell you about a guy I was dating when I was 15? That doesn’t even count as a relationship!” Jean didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t realised he’d scrolled that far back or that it might have been a minor thing. Realising he had no reason to be jealous, he apologised for the hundreds of emojis he’d sent you earlier. “No need to apologise, Jean! It’s fine, really! Just… Check the dates when you do your digging, okay?” “Hope I won’t need to again, y/n. Have fun with your friends!”

Reiner is the type of jealous person that kinda loses it and panics. He’s not even sure why he’s acting like this. You’ve reassured him close to a million times, yet he can’t shake the thought out of his head. The audacity of that person to comment an aubergine emoji on your recent post was simply the cherry on top of his list of insecurities. “Reiner! Snap out of it!” You had to actually snap your fingers and wave your palm in front of his face to pull him out of his trance. “Sorry, sorry, y/n, I just… That was so… I don’t know, it still bugs me...” Sighing, you leaned over him, placing your head on his shoulder. “I deleted the comment and blocked them. You can check my phone if it makes you feel any better. But anyway, that person had no reason to do that. I haven’t seen or spoken to them in years!” You quickly pecked his cheek, eager that the episode was over, but alas. “Apparently, it’s a lot different in their head, y/n! And that emoji very well indicates what kind of thoughts they were having...” He yelled at you, taking you by surprise. Sure, he wasn’t the most confident person, but this was unusual of him. You pulled up the chair and sat next to him, your arm on his lower back. “Hey… No need to worry, I promise you. It’s nothing serious and it means nothing on my end, Reiner. Do you understand?” He avoided your gaze and instead took interest in pinching the inside of his thumb. Placing your hand on top of his, you ceased his terrible habit. Defeat, he sighed. “Consciously, I know I shouldn’t be jealous, y/n. But then my thoughts start racing… What gave them the audacity to comment that? Have they been thinking about you often? H- Have they… Touched themselves to the thought of you? That makes me physically sick, I can’t stand it… And you can’t tell me people aren’t perverted like that, because you know they are… And then I can’t stop these thoughts from coming back to me.” You caressed his back, taking in his confession and understanding the depth of all he’d just admitted to you. “I can’t make the thoughts stop, but I’m here to remind you that this person is blocked. And every person who acts like this on my accounts is, also, automatically blocked. I don’t want that kind of attention from anyone else but you, okay?” He gave you a loving look as the words sank in. Moving his hand to your face to touch your chin, he softly pulled you towards him to kiss you. “From now on, that’s my mantra, y/n.”

Bertholdt is the one to mention you’ve been getting unwanted attention because, honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it! He doesn’t understand the concept of jealousy. Working as an events coordinator included having to talk to a variety of people for a bunch of things. It was a stressful job, but the fact that Bertholdt worked beside you made everything manageable. Today’s event was hectic: A live radio production covering a charity marathon. The streets were packed with people, everyone was loud and moving up and down like crazy. It must’ve been a solid hour before you last caught glimpse of your Bertie and that wasn’t usually a problem. But today, your biggest sponsor kept bugging you about everything. He wouldn’t let you breathe and actually followed you around as you were checking with your colleagues that everything was set to go. After trying to avoid him for the millionth time, your eyes finally landed on Bertie as he was giving the final instructions to one of the producers. “Let’s go talk to Bertholdt about your issue!” You grabbed the sponsor’s arm and literally dragged him towards Bertholdt. “There you are! Been looking all over for you two!” Exclaimed Bertie as he noticed you and the sponsor walking to him. “Mr Hoover, we were just wandering about this minor detail, would you mind going over it with us once more?” You asked, trying your best to give him an eye signal about the sponsor. You weren’t sure if he got it, but a few seconds later he walked with him to one of the promo booths and introduced him to someone. You saw them shaking hands, then Bertie came back to you. “Has he been bothering you long, y/n?” He asked kissing your temple. “Yes… He’s been insufferable… How did you know?” Bertie chuckled and leaned to reach your ear. “He’s been talking my ear off about you for days… Said he wants to ask you out by the end of the event!” That made the both of you laugh and hold your tummies. “You’re not serious Bertie, are you? We’re literally called ‘Hoover and y/l/n! Hasn’t he seen our wedding rings?” In-between laughter Bertie spoke. “No clue! But I couldn’t spill the beans! Not after he told me all about you, how sweet and pretty you are! I couldn’t bear to be so cruel!” Attempting to contain your giggling – with little success – you’re brought back to reality by the suddenly serious expression on Bertie’s face. “Shut up, y/n! Here he comes!” “We’re in for a treat… Shouldn’t we wait until the event is over?” The more you spoke, the closer the sponsor got to where you and Bertie stood. “Damn, y/n! And I thought I was being unethical for not letting him know about us, but you’re the real deal!”

Hange doesn’t get jealous, but because they don’t really see the signs? They’re so confident about you, they just know you wouldn’t do that. You’d been trying your hardest to make them jealous, as a game of course, but they never really got the cue! You and Historia had even set up a fake profile of a person texting you constantly, your final attempt to see how Hange would react. Your phone lit up with another two texts and a voice message from your admirer. Enough was enough so you decided to be vocal about the incident. “Ugh, I just can’t believe this person… I just don’t understand why they won’t stop texting me… They’re really bothering me, Hange!” At that, Hange’s face was instantly turned towards you from where they were brewing their coffee on the kitchen counter. “Who are we talking about, y/n? You’ve never mentioned them before, are they a friend of youurs?” “We used to date but they keep hitting me up every now and then… I guess they’re not over me yet...” Letting the spoon they were holding hit the counter, they turned fully and walked towards you. “Okay, y/n, this sounds serious. What do you need me to do? Track them down? Call the police? Go find them myself? How serious is this ‘annoying’ y/n? Let me see!” Before you could respond, they took your phone away from you and began scrolling up on your and ‘your admirer’s’ chat. “Y/n, why would you send them the droplets emoji? Isn’t that exclusive for our chats?” “That’s your only problem, Hange?” You requested, utterly disappointed that not even a fake profile sending you thirsty messages was enough to get them going. “Ugh, it’s not even real, Hange, don’t worry… It’s just this profile me and Historia created. I wanted to see if you’d get jealous, but, apparently, I’m incapable of it!” You exclaimed in defeat, face buried in your hands as Hange laughed it out. “Okay, okay, y/n, but let me get this straight… How did you expect me to get jealous over text messages that I didn’t even know existed – even if they were real - and secondly, why would I be jealous about you shifting your attention from me when you’re, quite literally, all over me all the time?” “Why are you the one complaining, Hange? Shouldn’t I be all over you?” “You very well should, but how can I be jealous of potential opponents when you always show me you love me?” You both fell silent for a few seconds, you at loss for words and Hange expecting a response. “I hate how you won’t fall for any prank, Hange!”

Erwin swears he doesn’t get jealous because “it’s not the right thing to do” and “he trusts you too much” anyway. But whenever someone looks at you a little more than usual, it’s game over. For them! You were having Sunday brunch at your usual spot. Enjoying your breakfast with Erwin was usually the highlight of your week, except for when he was in the mood to fight the waiters because “they were staring too long” or complimented you. “He wasn’t, Erwin. And besides, that was literally just Peter. We’ve been coming here almost every Sunday morning for two years. We know Peter and he knows we’re together! Or not to pick a fight with you...” You mumbled the last part, hoping it wasn’t audible, but Erwin’s eyes widening was proof of the opposite. “What was that, y/n? Why would he need to pick a fight with me?” You scoffed, determined to not let this outburst of his to last more than it should. It was your day together after all! “Peter has served us a million times, Erwin. You’re always equally nice to him, except for when he gives me a compliment!” “He has no reason to be giving you compliments, y/n. That’s for me to do.” He explained sternly, cutting one more bite out of his pancake. “He also complimented you, but of course, that doesn’t matter, does it...” You sighed, setting your cutlery down. “I don’t wanna fight about this again, Erwin. You’ve no reason to be jealous. It was just a compliment from a guy that means nothing to me.” Setting his own cutlery down, he reached for your hand and held it. “I just don’t like it when people look at you… Like that… Can’t blame them, you’re wonderful! But I’d rather they kept their thoughts to themselves… I don’t want to fight either, y/n. Are we good?” “We’re good! But you know that other people can like… Perceive me and stuff?” He chuckled at your words, satisfied that your little argument never escalated to anything more than that. “I know. Sadly, I can’t keep you all to myself.” He gave you a sweet smile and went back to cutting his pancake, offering you his bite. “Well, no need to worry about other people’s failed attempts to flirt with me. I’m ‘for your eyes only’, as the poets have said.” You smirked as you took the bite he offered you. “Y/n, I swear to god, if you keep on quoting One Direction, we’ll have to re-evaluate our relationship.” He said in his strict voice. “Aw, but you’re such a fast learner! So quick to pick up on my reference!” You giggled at his face, trying so hard to keep on playing strict but holding back his laughter to the best of his ability. “You’ll be the death of me, y/n.”

[muffinsin]

It’s time, everyone…

Happy 1 Year Anniversary to this blog!!🫀

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I can’t believe it’s been so long, y’all! A huge thank you to all who stuck with me from the start and support my works, to all who have joined me on this journey, to all my sweet anons and my lil lurkers and, of course, a big thank you to everyone actively interacting with this blog! And an especially big thank you! to my friend, who has made the awesome imagine above as a surprise present for me!! :)

┗━━━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━━━┛

And good news, everybody! With this post, the inbox is back open!

Below you’ll find some stats and fun facts about this blog and my writing! ;)

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

➼ I’ve made around 1.250 posts in 1 year

➼ I like to listen to quiet, slow music when I write, or write in silence

➼ The first mutual I’ve had was my girlfriend, @darkittensniper

➼ My first post was my first pinned, stating things like a blog overview, much like the current pinned post

➼ My first HC post was based on the levels of dominance and submission of the Dimitrescu sisters

➼ I have 4 moots XP

➼ I still don’t understand reblogs a year in, rip

➼ I've made a few OCs so far, though my favorite two and most popular ones are Ingrid and Lauren, both funnily enough OCs I've paired with Cassandra

➼ I've written two stories/fanfictions so far. One, the lost maiden, has been abandoned, even as I might return to it should I find the time. The other, Smoke and Mirrors, is at 97 chapters currently and is nearing its completion. Reaching that point I will begin to upload it, too

➼ One of my favorite posts was my feral Cassandra post. My favorite collection is the Halloween one due to how I got to include my fav 2 OCs in it

➼ Sometimes I lock in and write multiple prompts a day. Others take me days XP

➼ I haven’t got a favorite between the three sisters :)!

➼ One of the times I was most active was during the time of August 24 and December 24’!

➼ I write far faster when I'm on my laptop, but usually write tumblr prompts on my phone, as I don't always have a lot of spare time to actually get on my laptop. That's also why there's the occaisonal typo in my work, from the phone auto-correcting things or when I type too fast XD

On a side note- got a cute little Alcina as a present :)🙌🥳 considering painting her👀

[creativepromptsforwriting]

How to create an atmosphere: Coffee Shop

Sight

small tables with chairs

decoration

a cozy couch

the counter with the baristas

a big menu on the wall

people standing around, sitting down and going in and out

a dog lying under a table

small children running around

a person waiting for their friend or date

people drinking and eating while typing on their laptops

Hearing

the sound of the coffee machines

clinking of glasses/mugs

the moving of chairs

colleagues talking about their job and tattling about the boss

students frantically searching for this one paper they need right now

friends telling each other about their days

a young parent trying to calm down their crying baby

the barista yelling out names for whoever's coffees are ready

people in line trying to decide what they want to order

an awkward first date at one of the tables and both parties just ask each other weird questions

the sound of typing from the students and some business folks

the continued opening and closing of the front door

the cars and noise from outside when the door opens

Touch

the stickiness of the tables

the warmth of the mugs

the delicious treat eaten by hand

the gush of wind when someone opens the door

Smell

the smell of the coffee beans

the smell of different teas

the smell of fresh pastry

the smell of hand sanitizer

the smell of cleaning products after the tables were wiped down

Taste

coffee

tea

other drinks

fresh pastry

cookies and cakes

More

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[jenscx]

[04] tumblr girls — daydreaming

it was cliché; being in love with danielle marsh, the straightest girl on earth. you thought your feelings were hopeless, until you discover her tumblr blog.

you pace back and forth in your room, heavy footsteps thudding against the hardwood floors. the incessant buzzing of your phone is the last thing you’re thinking of. in your mind, there was only one person who resides there. danielle likes someone, she likes her project partner. she likes you.

but unbeknownst to her, you had betrayed her trust and invaded her privacy to feed your curiosity. a thawing pain in your heart continues. would danielle be upset if she found out? what if you don’t tell her at all? yet, it didn’t feel right to keep it a secret. if danielle truly liked you, would she rid those feelings when she finds out what you had done?

it wasn’t meant to be like this. danielle was just someone out of reach. someone unachievable. you couldn’t have her. she’s way out of your league.

a series of knocks on your door pulls you out of your reverie. alarmed, you quickly go to open it, only to find heejin staring at you, unamused.

“i don’t know what you’re doing but,” she starts, “stop stomping around! kim hyunjin’s over right now and she thinks we have a ghost in our house!”

“i’m just thinking!” you push heejin out of your room, “and who’s kim hyunjin?”

judging by heejin’s red face, you could see through your sister’s facade immediately.

“you have a girl over? at this time? what if mom finds out?”

heejin swats at you, “i’m not doing anything with her! she’s just here to look at my paintings.”

you shoot her a glare. what the hell was she talking about when you had told her of your feelings towards danielle? she literally had love problems of her own. maybe you shouldn’t take advice from heejin, she was an anime nerd for god’s sake. sometimes she would even naruto run in the house— oh my goodness, you really should not take her advice.

“whatever, i’ll be quieter. go play with your jock,” you shoo her away. heejin says incredulously, “hyunjin’s not a stereotypical jock, she’s smart too! good at basketball and academics—” you close the door in her face, leaving you in the solitude of your own room and your thoughts. a blank white canvas fills your mind, envisioning nothing but emptiness. danielle marsh, your crush of how many years, has feelings for you too.

what were you meant to do now? even if you did confess, you would have to tell danielle that you knew of her crush and it would kill you to see the disappointment evident on her face. you groan loudly, almost collapsing on the floor in your dilemma. maybe you should sit down lest you faint. you hesitate to take another step, fearing that heejin might come stomping up again, demanding you rid yourself of your legs.

sunshinesza. sunshine, like her. it’s cliche, but she lights up your day whenever you catch a glimpse of her. when you had first noticed her in the hallway, you took that same route every day to class afterwards, just to see her. minji and hanni obviously had no clue why you were so adamant on taking the long way, but you had so easily convinced them with some gummy bears. you glance at your own laptop, the google tab staring blankly at you. your fingers act before you think, typing in tumblr.com and danielle’s user.

no new posts. you shouldn’t really expect much. the last one was flooded with supportive comments and people urging her to confess. you scrunch your nose, pondering on how it would be like to receive a heartfelt confession from danielle. would she stutter through? would her cheeks be splashed with redness? would she buy your favourite flowers?

your finger ultimately scrolls back to the top.

a resigned sigh escapes your lips as you flop back onto your bed. tempted to just text danielle about it, you end up giving into your inner thoughts.

jeon y/n [10.16pm]:

hi danielle, ik it’s kind of late

but i was wondering

would you like to go to this dog cafe?

i heard you like dogs, so…

heard, yeah right. your stalking of her tumblr blog had revealed her immense love for animals almost immediately. supported by the numerous presentations she gave in class on animals, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

her reply comes almost instantly.

danielle [10.16pm]:

omg!

really?

yes!!!! <3

the heart. that emoticon. you feel your own heart seconds away from bursting with affection.

jeon y/n [10.17pm]:

okay!

we could go on wed?

school’s closed that day

minji told me ^^

danielle [10.18pm]:

sure!!!!

how does minji know?

i didn’t know u were close to minji..

jeon y/n [10.18pm]:

minji’s in stuco!

oh we’ve been friends for a long time

hanni joined us after transferring from australia

danielle doesn’t respond anymore, only leaving you with a ‘delivered’. you wonder if you said something wrong. was it about minji? danielle didn’t seem to like her that much.

she eventually replies before you start to wallow in your grief.

danielle [10.25pm]:

oh cool

so, see u soon?

you swallow up your anxiety and fear.

jeon y/n [10.26pm]:

see you! <3

your head falls onto your pillow pathetically.

danielle has heard the phrase ‘spring has arrived’ countless times in the various dramas she’s watched. it’s an extremely popular line that more often than not, is taken figuratively. of course it could mean literally that spring has arrived, but it’s more commonly used as a reference to when someone has experienced the first bloom of romance in their life. the swarm of butterflies attacking their stomach, the giddiness and immense sense of euphoria, the excitement and nervousness of it all. at least that’s what an intensive amount of shows and books told her.

she has never experienced something like that. countless boys, all awkwardly cute in their own way, stumbling up to her with roses and a stuttered out confession. she has never reacted to them with extreme happiness, only sending them a strained smile and a polite rejection. even in australia, no boy has managed to capture her heart. sure, some of them were good-looking and conventionally handsome. yet, she hasn’t found someone attractive. danielle never expected any differently when she moved to korea. after a hectic move, her mother had sent her off to middle school.

exhilarated eyes and a bright smile, danielle marched on in the hallways of her school, greeting everyone cheerfully. stares had trailed after her, wondering, who was this new kid?

maybe danielle had been a tad bit too excited on her first day. she just really wanted to make a good impression so that she could have friends! her mother reminded her to keep an eye out for any potential trouble. fifteen and carefree, danielle obviously did not heed her words and went about her day talking to everyone but herself.

“hi! i’m dani!” she introduced herself, a wide grin on her face. the girl looked up slowly, unimpressed.

“i’m haerin,” the girl, haerin, replied in awkward english. it was extremely butchered, but danielle appreciated the sentiment.

“my korean name’s jihye,” she smiles even bigger, “can we be friends? i transferred here from australia.” the cat-eyed girl nods, eyes glued onto danielle, as if scanning her.

haerin then gestures to the seat next to her, a small smile on her face, “you can sit next to me.”

she was danielle’s first friend, and the only friend she really needed (other than hyein, of course. danielle would be caught dead if hyein found out she said that). needless to say, the australian never found much purpose in befriending others when she had haerin. her best friend was a listener, an observer, perfectly contrasting danielle’s rapid fire rants. haerin and her fit perfectly, in her opinion. and no one really came close to rivalling haerin’s spot of being danielle’s favourite person.

yet, at sixteen, spring had arrived in the form of her literature classmate.

“who’s that?” danielle whispered to haerin. the girl wakes up from her nap, eyes roaming across the class before landing on the girl danielle was pointing at.

haerin, thoroughly disturbed by the interruptance of her nap, answered, “jeon y/n. she was from the other block.”

danielle nodded, eyes as wide as saucers and her gaze stuck onto her new infatuation’s back like bubblegum. your hair fell by the side, exposing your look of concentration. a pen was caught between your lips, nibbling it as your eyebrows furrowed. danielle didn’t feel any of the butterflies or immediate affection. this wasn’t the love she was taught. it was almost like time had slowed down, leaving her to bask in your afterglow. her throat dried up and feeling an intense need to hydrate herself, she did so. while gulping down her water, your eyes glanced back, meeting hers for a fraction of a second.

no, her version of love wasn’t like anything else. it was the crinkle in your eyes as she choked violently on her water and the amused look you gave her after.

spring had arrived for danielle at sixteen, and it wouldn’t leave for another few more decades.

throughout her school life, danielle had kept a watchful eye on you. sometimes, if she’s lucky, you might spare her a glance, but only for a second before looking away hurriedly. danielle thought you hated her guts so much you couldn’t even stand the sight of her. genuinely distressed by this, she had immediately claimed the seat in the front, hoping she might feel your gaze every once in a while, even if it was to look at the whiteboard.

even after becoming a cheerleader, which danielle guessed was a high rank in her school’s hierarchy, she still couldn’t help but let her gaze follow your strides through the school. you had never shown up to the games and maybe danielle was deluded to think you had no point to, not interested in any of the charming jocks on court. her mind had pointed out maybe you weren’t interested in cheerleaders like danielle either, but she focused on the positives.

her only chances to see you was during class or during lunch, neither of which were particularly viable for her long-term yearning but hey, she’s a cheerful girl who looks on the bright side. surprisingly, even with your features and sweet personality, no one really approached you. danielle counts that as a win. maybe it was because people didn’t really know what to expect from someone like you. quiet, yet extroverted with friends. smart, but silly at times (danielle really liked you when you were acting silly). was it a blessing for no one else to take up your time other than danielle?

she’s never felt this way before. definitely not for those boys with captivating smirks and dreamy eyes. she only feels the longingness to be by your side, she yearned to just be in the proximity of your comfort, to be on the receiving end of your endearing smile. she’s so incredibly curious about you. she wants to know everything that makes you you. she’s curious about your music taste. she’s curious about the way your mind works. she’s curious about your late night thoughts and how they make you feel. she’s curious about every single thing about you.

isn’t that what love is?

you make her so vulnerable without trying. has she ever crossed your mind at least once? danielle thinks her vulnerability means love. to submit wholly, with dedication and devotion. she wants to disclose everything about herself to you, just to feel the closeness of your soul. how will she ever know what love is?

maybe it’s the fact she doesn’t feel like she’s betraying a part of herself to keep pretending.

she knows how it feels to be looked at differently.

the thirteen year old girl in her heart remembers the look of disgust when her friends in australia saw two boys holding hands.

would she experience that again? even though she wasn’t on the receiving end, she still felt tears well up. she knew who she was. optimistic, sure, but if nature doesn’t have a single thing that blooms all year, how could danielle do the same?

you make her weak. she wants to know everything about you. and if receiving your affection meant revulsion and exclusion from others, danielle would gladly suffer for your hand.

she truly believes she hasn’t lived some of her life’s best days. she hasn’t seen it all, hasn’t felt it all. maybe that is what’s keeping her so upbeat all the time. the chance of experiencing something better tomorrow than today, the possibility that her life might change for the better in an instant. she wants to live all her best days with you.

maybe she wore her heart on her sleeve for so long because she knew that someone like you would be so soft and gentle with it.

you conquer all thoughts in her mind. she’s never met someone so alluring. maybe it’s the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you make her feel inside. maybe it’s your eyes or even your smile, danielle doesn’t know it herself.

she’s attracted to you like opposite poles of a magnet.

danielle marsh dreams of you, and only you.

you quickly swallow the piece of bread in your mouth when you spot danielle standing by your desk.

“danielle,” you call out, cheeks still stuffed. your face only heats up when danielle giggles, “morning y/n.”

she’s holding a lunchbox.

the same my melody lunchbox as before.

“i made dakgangjeong for you,” she mutters shyly, a bashful smile spreading across her face, “you mentioned that you liked it before.”

dakgangjeong, sweet crispy fried chicken. your crush made more food for you. was she an angel who came down to earth?

“really?” you ask, surprised and mouth agape, “oh my god, i could marry you right now.”

“oh!” she laughs, “i mean, we’re a bit too young to get married don’t you think?”

you facepalm yourself internally, wondering why you blurted out a marriage proposal to danielle. thankfully, the girl didn’t seem to mind that much, maybe it was a reach but she actually seemed to like it?

(she did. danielle was just a better actress than you).

“sorry, i was just— sorry. i didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

danielle only chuckles. you feel a bit guilty for knowing the true reason she’s been treating you so well. so maybe you weren’t so deluded after all. or maybe a mysterious genie is just granting anybody’s wishes now.

“uh,” you turn away to hide your blush, “what are you going to wear tomorrow?”

the girl pauses, thinking.

“i haven’t decided, but i’ll text you later?” danielle tilts her head like an adorable puppy. you didn’t realise how close she was before. her close proximity catches you off guard and you almost fling the lunchbox in the air when she leaves a lingering touch on your skin, making goosebumps rise across your arm.

“great, uhm, yeah— awesome,” you mutter. your friends stare at you, an apathetic and maybe sympathetic gaze.

danielle shoots one of her god gifted smiles, the one which exposes all of her pearly whites and a hint of her tongue. it stretches across her face and you’re left admiring her like she’s a deity.

“talk to you later? class is about to start.”

you nod, distrustful of your voice. if you weren’t careful, you might squeak at her or do something even more embarrassing. oh my god, what if you manage to humiliate yourself so badly danielle gets the ick and stops liking you? maybe you should shut up from now on.

the girl hops back to her seat. you’re rooted in the same spot, a hushed whisper from hanni asking you to sit down breaking your stare.

“you’re giving me second-hand embarrassment,” minji says, her face contorted into faux disgust. hanni’s own rivals hers.

you wonder how is it that even after knowing danielle likes you back, it seems like she still has the upper hand on you?

masterlist | next

[suguwu]

christmas countdown

Your company is taking on a new project and desperately wants the backing and expertise of retired CEO Jing Yuan. Dispatched out into the countryside to bring him on board, you find it won't be as easy as you think.

Jing Yuan strikes a bargain with you: spend the upcoming days with him, until Christmas Eve, and he'll tell you exactly what it will take for him to come back if you don't figure it out yourself.

Let the Christmas countdown begin.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

pairing: jing yuan x gn!reader

word count: 16k (whoops)

notes: this came about through dms with my beloveds @petrichorium and @lorelune! they both were invaluable, and lore also was kind enough to beta for me, along with another friend. this fic feels like it possessed me; i wrote it in just over a week.

fic notes: hallmark au, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), jing yuan is taller than the reader, age gap (jing yuan is in his early 50s, reader is in their late 30s), this is mostly just fluff.

divider by @/cafekitsune.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“This is the third Christmas you’re missing,” she says, voice thickening, and you can almost see the way her eyes are going glassy with tears, shining beautifully in the light.

“I know. But this project is huge and I’m so close to the promotion—”

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“This is different. The CEO herself asked for me,” you say with a sigh.

“When would you leave?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“That’s almost a week until Christmas! Maybe you’ll get back in time! Or maybe it can wait until the new year?”

“No, Mom. The project is waiting on getting this person on board, it can’t wait that much longer. It’s just Christmas, I don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

“It’s time with your family,” she snaps, the words shattering at the edges, honed keen with hurt. 

“I’m sorry. Next year, okay?”

“That’s what you said last year.”

“Mom.”

“Fine. But think about it, please. We miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you guys too.”

The conversation continues on from there; she tells you that your father has taken up gardening, renting out a space in a greenhouse nearby, coaxing it into a full lushness that has him coming home flecked with flower petals. He’s already plotting out a vegetable garden come spring. 

You listen as she chatters away, throwing in the occasional “uh-huh” as you scroll through your emails, typing as quietly as you can. You pause as she goes silent.

“Mom?”

“Are you working right now?” 

You wince. “I just had a few emails—”

The line goes so quiet that you reach for your phone to see if your earbuds have disconnected. They haven't. Your stomach roils.

“Mom?”

“We’ll talk later, then,” your mother says, and the pit in your stomach grows at the sorrow threading through her voice. “Good night.”

You hesitate. Then your email pings again.

“Night, Mom.” 

She hangs up, and the click of the line sounds like a dour bell, but it’s chased from your mind by the bright chirp of your email. You settle back down with your laptop, digging into work once more. 

When you finally glance up from your laptop screen hours later, your eyes stinging, you realize it’s snowing. 

In the orange glow of the streetlights, the flakes look like embers flickering through the sky, like the sparks of a bonfire on a summer’s eve. It’ll be stomped into slush tomorrow, trodden under so many boots, but for now the snow dances through the air, a ballet all its own.

It muffles the world, blanketing your apartment in oppressive quiet, and not for the first time you feel small in your own home. You shiver. The high ceilings of your apartment feel like a gaping maw, arching and empty. 

You shift uneasily and turn on a soft lofi playlist despite the headache that’s settled in at your temples. It fills the air, creeps all the way to the empty corners of your apartment and softens them with sound. 

You let out a gentle breath. Still, something cold uncurls behind your ribs, sinks its teeth into bone until it hits marrow. You pick up your phone, swiping up to your messages with your best friend, and you’re halfway through typing out a message before you catch yourself. A quick glance at the clock makes you wince. Your phone thunks against the table as you toss it down. 

It’s late and she has a new baby—she needs as much sleep as she can get. You can’t disturb her, not for something as silly as this. You scrub a hand over your face and get to your feet.

It’s quiet as you get ready for bed, even the soft music doing little to soothe you. You turn on every lamp in your bedroom, flood the room with light, until it’s as if the sun has risen and is cradling you in its warmth. You keep them on until the last moment, flicking them off only when you’re tucked in bed. 

That cold thing stays with its fangs sunk in until you fall asleep. 

***

The airport is nearly deserted by the time you land.

It’s late, night blanketing the terminal, held at bay only by the light pollution of the airport. Your shoes click against the linoleum as you hurry through the empty hallways, eager to be done with your exhausting day of travel. 

The taxi driver that heaves your suitcase into the trunk is talkative, but you’re too busy checking your phone, flicking through the emails that poured in while you were in the air. The car rumbles to life beneath you as you pull up an attachment, scanning over the analysis quickly, scratching out a few notes on a scrap piece of paper you’ve pulled from your bag. The countryside rolls by as you work, pitch black except for a few lit windows from passing houses, little lighthouses in the deep sea of the night. 

“Here we are,” the taxi driver says cheerfully, killing the engine in front of the inn. 

It’s clearly old but well-maintained, a piece of the past caught in the resin of time. There are fake candles guttering in each window. The wreath on the door is almost as big as the door itself, dotted with lights that twinkle like little silver stars and topped off with a perfect crimson bow. 

“Thanks,” you say to the driver, trading a tip for your suitcase before heading up the steps of the inn. The scent of pine wafts around you; you step inside before it can stick to your clothes. 

“Hi,” you say to the receptionist, who puts down her magazine. “I’m here to check in.”

“Name?”

You tell her. She nods and you check your phone again as she checks you in. Luckily, it doesn’t take long, because the long day is beginning to weigh on you, an ache deep in your bones. 

“Let us know if there’s anything you need,” the receptionist says.

“Thanks.”

You pay little attention to the room, simply stowing your suitcase before pulling your laptop from your carry-on bag. There’s a small desk that you settle at; your laptop screen glows brightly as you open it. The world blurs, smears like a watercolor. You blink the fuzziness away to answer a few more emails. 

A few turns into many, catching up on all of your current projects now that you have another project to take care of. The headache that slowly blooms is familiar; it lingers behind your left eye, throbbing like a wound. It’s what finally gets you to set down your laptop for the night. It’s late enough that when you peer out the window while getting ready for bed, even the stars seem to have gone cold, twinkling faintly. 

By the time you crawl into bed, you don’t even want to look at the clock. Still, you see it when you set your alarm, and you wince. You only have a few hours before it goes off. You curse yourself and roll over to finally, finally go to sleep. 

Tomorrow comes too quickly. You wake with the sun, before your alarm, watery light pouring into your room, pooling in soft gold puddles on the floor. It catches on the prism dangling from the window, throwing rainbows against the walls, a whirling ballet of color. 

You make a mental note to close the curtains tonight. You hadn’t even realized they were open, with how dark the countryside is around the inn, far too used to the ambient light of the city. When you peer out the window, all you see is woods framing a large, clear space still dusted with snow. 

In daylight the inn is even more quaint, brimming with Christmas decor: with thick garlands draped over the doorway arches, weighted down with golden ornaments that catch the light, sending it flickering like the flames roaring in the fireplace. Sprigs of holly are tucked among the garlands too, little fireworks of color. Add in the mounds of fake snow lining a sprawling ceramic village and it’s a picture-perfect display. You trace a finger over the tiny wreath on the village bakery’s door. 

“Mornin’,” someone says behind you, a deep rumble of a voice, shaking through you like thunder splitting the sky. You turn around and find a man beaming at you.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Looking for breakfast? It’s in the dining room, right through there.” 

“I was really just looking for coffee.”

“That’s in the dining room too,” he says. “I’m Lee. I own the inn with my husband.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s nice. It’s lovely. I’m sorry, though, I really have to get to work.”

He raises a brow. There’s a whole conversation in that brow, you think. One you’re not interested in having. 

You give him a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you say. “That coffee is calling me.”

“Sure,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

You trade nods with a few other guests as you get your coffee, but you’re in and out of the loud dining room in a matter of minutes. Your room, foreign as it is to you still, is a welcome respite from the chatter that fills the inn. 

The coffee is good. It’s rich and nutty, the warmth of it warding off the slight chill that lingers in the room from the large windows. You try to peer out one of them but it’s whorled with frost, ice spun over the glass like embroidery, just opaque enough to let in the light.  

You settle back down at the little desk and boot up your laptop. Your inbox has slowly filled up again, and you’re starting to work through it when your boss slacks you. 

Qingzu: You’re off your regular projects for now.

Me: ??? I’m almost done with the analysis.

Qingzu: Fu Xuan wants you to concentrate on bringing Jing Yuan on board. I’ll delegate your usual tasks. 

You wince. Your coworkers are going to hate you.

Me: I can still do the analysis at least.

Qingzu: What the CEO says goes. Focus on the job she gave you. 

Qingzu: Also it looks like the address we have on file for Jing Yuan is outdated.

Qingzu: You might need to do a little searching. 

Me: Okay.

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face before exiting out of your email. Not for the first time, you wonder why Fu Xuan didn’t reach out to Jing Yuan herself, considering she’d succeeded him at Luofu Corp. You’re not sure how negotiation from a stranger is the better option. And it would certainly have made your life easier. 

At least she’s given you a profile on him. The picture is unnecessary considering how many magazine covers the man has graced, but it’s there, and you won’t say no to looking at a pretty face. Even in his official picture, there’s a small, lazy smile on his face. He looks half-asleep, but his golden eyes are knife-sharp.

A tactician's mind, Fu Xuan said, and you believe it. 

You read through the profile carefully, taking in details large and small, trying to get a sense of the man you’re supposed to lure out of retirement. He’d retired early, barely into his fifties, and he’d only picked up a handful of projects in the last two years since, mostly charity work. You sigh, deeply jealous, and read on. 

The profile isn’t particularly helpful; to be honest, you hadn’t expected it to be. You’ll need to meet him and gauge him for yourself to see what the best avenue is.

You shrug on your coat before leaving the room, slipping past a ragtag group of children. They’re led by a little girl in a hat bigger than her head, the fuzzy flaps of it bouncing as she scuttles down the hallway, her face shining triumphantly, a mug of hot cocoa carefully balanced in her hands.

You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, glancing between the door and the front desk. You sigh and head towards the front desk. Lee smiles at you.

“Whatcha need?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone in town,” you say. “I was hoping you could direct me to them.”

“Sure. Who is it?”

“Jing Yuan.”

His smile shatters at the edges, a slowly spreading crack. He leans back on his heels and eyes you up and down.

“You a reporter?”

“No.”

He nods to himself. “Should have known. You look a little too corporate for that.”

You smooth down your coat self-consciously. Maybe you should have brought some more casual clothing for this trip. 

“Can you tell me where he is?” you ask.

“He’s not interested.”

“What?”

Lee shrugs, rocking back on his heels again. You think of a great pine tree swaying in the wind, bending, never breaking. “Whatever you want him for, he’s not interested.”

“How about he tells me that himself?”

“I’m sure he will,” he says. “If you can find him.”

“Which I assume you aren’t going to help with.”

“Sorry.”

You roll your eyes and stalk towards the door, wrenching it open and fleeing into the outdoors. The sun is shining but the air is frigid, the type of cold that sinks right through clothing and into your marrow. You shudder and pull up the collar of your coat to try and block the worst of the chill as you walk towards downtown. 

It’s an easy walk; you find yourself in the heart of downtown in just a few minutes. It’s just as quaint as the inn, the lampposts lining the street decorated with wreaths faintly dusted with pristine snow. You glance up at the lights strung between buildings, shimmering like the icicles they’re mimicking. 

It’s pretty, you suppose. You think people would flock here if they knew about it. Still, despite how small the town is, the streets are filled with people, some of them shouting greetings back and forth.  

You duck into the crowds and weave your way through them carefully, pausing just before a cafe. A thought occurs to you as you take a quick peek through the frosted window. You peel off your gloves, holding them in your hand as you step into Auntie’s. 

“Excuse me,” you say as one of the waitresses comes over to you, a tray balanced against her hip. “A man dropped these a block back and I thought I saw him come in here. I was hoping to return them. He was tall and had long white hair that he was wearing tied back. I think it was with a red ribbon.”

“Sounds like Jing Yuan,” she says. “You sure paid close attention to him.”

You cough, fidgeting with the leather gloves and she laughs. “Most people do,” she reassures you. You flash her a small, embarrassed smile. “He’s hard to miss, handsome as he is. I can give them to him next time I see him.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “If you know where he is, I don’t mind bringing them to him. I’m just enjoying wandering around town.”

Her eyes narrow; ice seeps into them, the slow creep of the first frost. Her grip tightens on the tray. 

You blink at her guilelessly, trying not to hold your breath. 

Her shoulders uncoil. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just—nevermind. I haven’t seen him today. I’d check along Aurum. That’s the main street. If you don’t find him, you can come back here and I’ll give ‘em to him.”

“I’ll just check a few more shops,” you tell her. “I’m on the lookout for Christmas presents, anyway.” 

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?”

“I know, I know,” you say. “I’m so bad about it. Thank you!”

“Bye.”

You hurry out the door, flexing your fingers against the cold as you keep your gloves in your hands. The second and third store yield the same results; the fourth shop is a bust too. The locals are more protective of Jing Yuan than you’d thought. You get a suspicious look every time you describe him, and that’s without even mentioning his name. 

You step outside the fourth shop with a huff. At this point, you’re worried that someone is going to insist on keeping the gloves. There’s only so many times you can spin the same story before it bites you in the ass. Plus, your hands are freezing; the sunlight is doing little to warm the day despite the rays bathing half the street gold. 

One more store, you think. Just one more.

You groan when you see the next store is a bustling toy shop. Children tug at their parents’ hands and smudge their noses up against the windows with gap-toothed grins. They spill out of the entrance like little ants, almost tripping over themselves as they babble excitedly to their companions. They part around you like flowing water as you make your way inside.

“Excuse me,” you say to the first person wearing a nametag that you see, holding out the gloves. “A man dropped these a few blocks back. I tried to catch up but couldn’t, but I thought I saw him duck in here. Have you seen a tall man with white hair tied up with a red ribbon?” 

“Funny,” a rich voice says from behind you. “I don’t think those would fit me.” 

You freeze. 

The man peers down over your shoulder; a few strands of fluffy white hair brush against you as he examines the gloves you’re holding. He tugs one free of your slackened grip and holds it up against his hand, which dwarfs the glove. His low hum resonates through you, a honeyed drip of sound, soft and warm.

“A little small, don’t you think?” he asks.

You turn around.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it. There’s a wicked amusement tucked up secret in the corner of his full lips; you try not to scowl. 

You see why Fu Xuan called him a scoundrel. 

Still, there’s no way out of this. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” you say with a shrug. “And I did find you, so.” 

He chuckles. “That you did.”

“I—”

“Uncle!”

You blink as a blond blur zips past you and almost crashes into Jing Yuan. The blur turns out to be a young boy—no older than twelve—carrying a sizable sword. It’s almost as big as he is. 

“Uncle,” he says again, tugging at Jing Yuan’s sleeve. “Look what I found!”

“It’s a very nice sword, Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, his smile softening. “But let’s wait and see what Christmas brings, hmm?”

Yanqing pouts for a moment before he glances at you. You realize he shares his uncle’s eyes, as golden as the sun. He blinks. “Are you another reporter?”

Jing Yuan leans down to be closer to his height. “Worse,” he whispers. “They’re corporate.”

The boy wrinkles his nose. 

Jing Yuan’s smile threatens to turn into a grin. “Go put the sword back, please,” he tells Yanqing, and you watch him dart off again. 

“Could I—”

“I’m afraid I’m busy,” Jing Yuan says. “And you may have heard that I retired.”

“I know, but—”

“Business has no place in a toy shop, you know.”

“That’s not what the toy seller would say.”

He tilts his head, a sliver of a smile unfurling on his lips. “I suppose so,” he says thoughtfully. “Either way, I am busy.”

“Fu Xuan sent me,” you try.

He sighs. “Yes, I had assumed.” 

“If I could just get a bit of your time—”

“Not now,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m with my family.”

“But at some point?”

“You’re at the inn, yes?”

“I am.”

“I’ll come find you tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Really?” you say and cough as he smiles, golden eyes twinkling like the ornaments decorating the toy shop. “I mean, that works. Here, here’s my card.”

He takes it; it looks tiny in his hand. He says your name, rolling it over his tongue like he’s tasting it, like it’s something to be savored. Your cheeks heat. A small smile plays across his lips. 

“Tomorrow, then,” you say.

He nods, his white hair swaying with it, like dandelion seeds caught on the wind. “Tomorrow. Come on, Yanqing.”

You start as the boy goes past you like a little darting fish, settling at his uncle’s side and tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go to the smithy?” he asks as the two of them turn to leave. “Please?”

Jing Yuan laughs, the sound rich, spilling over you like smooth chocolate. “Just to look,” he says, and they’re almost out the door when you realize—

“Wait!” you call out. “You still have my glove!”

Jing Yuan pauses and glances back, one golden eye rising like the sun over the mountain range of his shoulders. “Oh?” he asks, raising a brow. “I thought you said it was mine?”

Behind you, the employee stifles a laugh. Your cheeks burn. “I—”

He chuckles. “Here,” he says, handing it back. “I’d hate for you to be cold.” 

Then he and Yanging are out the door, leaving you standing in the middle of the bustling toy shop. You clutch at your glove; it’s still warm from his hand, like the soft heat that lingers in the hearth stones long after the fire has gone out. 

It occurs to you that you may be in over your head.

***

The feeling doesn’t go away the next day. 

“Where exactly are we going?”

Jing Yuan flashes you a smile; the edges of it curl into something smug. He’d called early and met you at the inn, coaxing you into putting your coffee in a to-go cup before shuffling you out the door with no real explanation. “Christmas tree shopping.”

“Christmas tr—I thought we were going to talk about the project!”

“We are,” he says easily, pulling into a gravel parking lot surrounded by towering, barren oaks. In the distance, you can see a grid of pines, laid out like an embroidery pattern. “But it’s Christmas.”

“It’s five days away.”

“That’s basically Christmas,” he says cheerfully. He slides from the pickup with feline grace, the flex of his thighs obvious even under the thick denim of his jeans. You stay put in the passenger seat. He raises a brow. “You don’t want to talk?”

That sends you scrambling for the passenger door. 

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother to hide the little smile that blooms on his lips, an unfurling flower. You scowl at him as you join him next to the pickup; it has no effect.

“Shall we?” he asks. 

You huff and follow him onto the tree lot. He clearly knows where he’s going, weaving through the pines with a dancer’s ease despite his size. You stop at a row of sizable trees, their blue-green needles rustling in the wind. They’re dusted in the lightest layer of snow, like frosting sugar has been sifted over them. 

You’re searching for the words to start your pitch when he hums. 

“What do you think of this one?” he asks, testing the thick branches of a plush pine, watching critically as needles scatter everywhere. It releases a waft of the sharp tang of pine. 

“It’s a tree.”

“Noted,” Jing Yuan says dryly. “Thank you for your input.” 

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” you tell him as he moves on to the next tree. “I thought we would go to your office.”

“I don’t have an office,” he says. “And the rec center needs a Christmas tree.” 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

He glances at you. His eyes are the color of amber shot through with sunlight, a deep, rich gold. His gaze is knife-edged, a flaying thing, and it sinks beneath your skin to open you on its blade. You fidget with your sleeve.

When he smiles, it’s soft and maybe a little sad. He doesn’t say anything; he just hums again and moves to the next tree.

“Jing Yuan!”

“Keep moving,” he says. “We have to deliver the tree too, you know.” 

“We have to what?”

He laughs, loud and bright. “You heard me,” he says cheerfully. “Now come on.” 

You follow him through the rows, giving him clipped answers when he asks your opinion about a tree. Finally, after several more trees—that all looked the same to you, tall and full of pine needles—he finds one that he’s pleased with. 

He tells you to wait with the tree and disappears down the row.

When he comes back, he has an ax.

“Um,” you say. 

“Hm? Oh. It’s fine,” he says, resting the ax nearby as he ties his hair up into a high ponytail.

“Is it?”

He hefts the ax up and motions you back before swinging. He strikes true, the trunk starting to splinter under the hit, and the next one is in the exact same spot. The tree groans in protest, but Jing Yuan doesn’t pause. His powerful shoulders bunch and flex as he keeps the ax in motion with ease, though he’s beginning to pant a bit by the time he’s halfway through the trunk. Sweat glints on his brow; it dampens the edges of his hair, darkening it to the silver of the moon. 

He swings the ax again, his biceps bulging, and a crack splits the air. The tree starts to topple, falling into its neighbor, which keeps it mostly upright. Jing Yuan wipes his brow, chest heaving, and belatedly, you realize you’re staring. 

Behind you, there’s the crunch of pine needles under boots. Two men wearing name tags stride by you and clap Jing Yuan on the shoulder. They confer with him for a moment before they pick up the tree and start carrying it back towards the parking lot.  

“There,” Jing Yuan says, sounding satisfied. “We can go now.” 

“Do you often just…cut down trees?”

“Only at Christmas.”

You snort. He chuckles before gesturing you back to the parking lot. You head back and come up to the pickup just as the two men finish tying off the tree in the bed of the truck. Jing Yuan gives them firm handshakes; you pretend not to notice just how much cash is transferred between their palms. 

The two of you climb back into the truck. You have to move your briefcase in order to sit comfortably and the sight of it sets you back on track.

“You said we’d talk about the project,” you accuse.

“You didn’t say anything,” he says, putting the truck into gear. “So there wasn’t anything to talk about.”

You scowl at him. He pulls out of the parking lot; the truck trundles down the road. 

“Insufferable,” you mutter, but from the way the corner of his lips lift, he’s heard it. 

Quiet falls. The radio is crooning a soft Christmas song, but it’s faint, like an echo of the past. The heater is on, and the truck’s cab is soft with warmth, like sinking into bathwater after a long day. You lean against the window. Your breath fogs over the glass, a marine layer, and you resist the urge to draw something in the mist. 

The rec center isn’t far; you pull up to it just a few minutes later. Your phone rings just as Jing Yuan hops out of the truck.

“I need to take this,” you tell him. “It’s work.” 

He hums, something flashing across his face. It’s gone quickly, rolling by like a summer storm, and you’re already picking up the phone, your coworker’s harried voice filling your ears. 

The phone call takes a while. At one point, the truck rattles around you—a quick glance in the rearview shows a group of teen boys pulling the tree free from the truck bed, leaving a sea of needles in their wake, a forest floor brought home. Their laughter fills the air, audible even through your earbuds. You turn up the volume.

Jing Yuan shows back up just as you’re finishing your call. There’s silvery tinsel woven into his hair, barely visible except when it catches the sunlight, a lightning strike gleam. “You must be cold,” he tells you. “Come inside.”

You shake your head. “I need to go back to the inn,” you say. “I have a project that just went sideways.”

He sighs. “As you wish,” he says, and climbs back into the truck. 

You flick through your phone as he drives back to the inn, answering emails and trying your best to put out the embers of the fire that had sprung up on your project. When you reach the last one, you click your phone off and glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye.

The cold wind has nipped at his cheeks until roses bloom on his pale skin. The tinsel in his white hair shines, the full moon draped in ribbons of silvery shooting stars, and he’s beautiful in an untouchable way, a statue come to life.

Except—there’s a small, lopsided smile tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. It sweetens his mouth and adds a puckish curve; it makes him real again. It’s a contentment that you didn’t know existed, a quiet happiness that radiates from him. 

Something in your chest goes tight.

You clear your throat. He glances over at you, that tiny smile fading into something more polished. 

“Something to share?”

“The project.”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

“Yes, that.”

“I suppose you have me trapped, don’t you.”

“For as long as the car ride,” you agree.

“Go on, then.”

You give him a basic overview, sweeping over the vast lay of the project, upselling things you’ll think he’ll care about while cutting out a few of the things you think he won’t. It’s hard to tell how it’s landing; you’re slowly realizing that Jing Yuan is a hard man to read. You suppose it makes sense, considering his years at the highest level in corporate, but it feels odd.

“I can see why Fu Xuan wants me on board,” he says as he pulls into the inn’s driveway. “And it is the type of project that appeals to me, which she knows.”

You let out a soft breath. “I don’t suppose that means you’ll come on board?”

He parks. “No,” he says.

You sigh. “I thought not. What would it take for you to come on board?”

“Don’t you think it’d be more fun to find that out yourself?”

You scowl at him, ignoring the way the corners of his lips lift. 

“No.”

Jing Yuan glances at you, his eyes gleaming, the sun come down to earth.“I'll tell you what,” he says. “Spend up until Christmas Eve with me. You can talk to me about the project until then. And if you haven’t figured it out by then, I’ll tell you exactly what will get me onto the project.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Deal,” you say, sticking out your hand. He shakes it, his grip firm. You can feel the heat of him even through your gloves. It’s soft like the early spring sun, a gentle warmth that blooms through you. 

“Not that I mind, but I will need my hand back.”

You let go immediately, snatching your hand back like you’ve been burned.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, eyes crinkling. 

“I have to go,” you say, scrambling for your briefcase. You think you hear him chuckle under his breath as you pop the door open. You don’t even say goodbye; you slam the door shut before striding off towards the inn, pretending your dignity isn’t lying in pieces. 

At the inn’s door, you can’t help yourself. You glance back.

Jing Yuan smiles and gives you a little wave.

Your cheeks go hot, a supernova burn. You retreat into the inn quickly. 

Lee calls out a greeting, but you ignore him and rush to your room. You curse Jing Yuan’s name as you boot your laptop up. Your cheeks are still warm. You scrub your hands over them as if that will help. 

Your email pings. With a sigh, you scrub at your heated cheeks one more time before you delve into your inbox. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and emails; by the time you look up, stomach grumbling, the sun has set, leaving behind only its reflection in the moon to lead the way. You push back from the desk and rub at your stinging eyes.

When you go downstairs to grab something to eat, the inn’s lounge is full of people. You balk, unsure, but your stomach rumbles again. You make yourself a plate and sit down at the edge of one of the crowded tables, picking away at the food as laughter fills the air around you. 

There’s a couple at the other end of your table, hands intertwined as they talk, pressing close to hear each other over the noise. The shorter woman smiles at her partner, quick and bright, a shooting star burning through the night sky, and you look away. 

Across the room, a group of teens are laughing among themselves, draped over each other casually. You watch them for a moment. They vie for the handheld console they’re playing with, passing it back and forth as they chatter excitedly.

Something cold slithers behind your ribs. It winds around the bones like ivy, sending roots down into your marrow.

You take the rest of your meal upstairs. 

***

The morning light streams through the frost on your windows, the feathered whorls of ice glittering as they cast dancing shadows on the walls. Beyond your window, the inn’s yard is full of bundled up families swooping down the slight hill in brightly colored sleighs, their whoops barely audible. 

You watch a little boy tug his father up the hill. He’s so wrapped up in layers that he’s waddling. He throws his hands up in the air as they coast down the hill, snow kicking up behind the sleigh, his father wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. 

Someone says your name.

“Sorry,” you say, coming back to yourself and the conference call you’re on. “Could you repeat that?”

They do and you refocus, tapping away at your keyboard as you sip at your coffee. You’ve stepped back into some of your usual projects now that you’re at Jing Yuan’s whim. He’s clearly a late riser, based on the time. 

He calls when you’re on your third cup of coffee. He tells you only to meet him in front of the inn in fifteen minutes. You’re out the door in ten, stamping your feet on the inn’s porch to keep warm, tucking your chin into your coat’s collar in hopes of keeping warm. 

Jing Yuan pulls up a few minutes later. He slides from the car gracefully, looking cozy in a fleece-lined bomber jacket. You tuck your chin further into your coat collar as the wind gusts. He eyes you for a moment.

“Do you have anything warmer?”

“I brought clothes for business meetings, not whatever you have planned,” you say irritably. 

He chuckles. “Fair,” he says. “Hold on.” 

He disappears to the trunk of the car. When he comes back, he’s got a thick scarf and hat with him, the knit of them full of lumps, clearly handmade. There’s a neon bright pom-pom on the top of the hat. 

“No,” you say flatly.

He chuckles. “Alright.” 

The wind chooses that moment to gust heavily, biting through every layer to kiss frigid against your skin. “Shit,” you bite out, and when Jing Yuan holds out the hat and scarf again, you take them.

You jam the hat on your head and wind the scarf around your neck before burying your chin in it, pulling it up over your mouth and nose. When you breathe in, the air is tinged with what can only be traces of Jing Yuan’s cologne, a faint hint of warm cedar and bergamot, woodsy and bright. Beneath that, there’s a hint of smoke, of woodfire. It drapes over you like a soft, warm blanket. You resist the urge to close your eyes to breathe it in again.

“Cute,” Jing Yuan teases. You glare at him, but from the smile he gives you, it’s not very effective. You glare harder. 

“Let’s go,” he says, urging you towards the car with a gentle hand at the small of your back. You can feel the weight of it even through the thick material of your coat. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. He chuckles as you glance away. 

“Where are we going?” you ask as you slip into the passenger seat.

He flashes you a coy little smile. “You’ll see.”

You huff; he just smiles.

It doesn’t take you long to get back to the rec center, but you make the most of it, chattering to him about the project, trying to figure out what to highlight based on his reaction. He responds amiably, even asks a few questions, but it’s not enough. You know it’s not enough. 

When you arrive at the rec center, Jing Yuan pulls around the back of the building. Before you can even ask, the answer comes into view.

“Oh,” you breathe, cutting yourself off mid-sentence about the marketing strategy, taking in the massive skating rink. The bleachers are covered with twinkling lights and pine garlands, massive red bows dotted along them like flowers. There are lights overhead, too, dripping down like icicles. A Christmas tree sparkles in the far corner of the rink, weighed down with ornaments and topped with a shining star. 

Jing Yuan parks and you balk.

“We’re not—”

“We are,” he says cheerfully, the corners of his lips curling up into a lazy smile. 

“What does this have to do with the project?” you ask desperately. 

“Ah ah, that would be telling.”

You gape at him. He chuckles and gets out of the car; you follow him after a moment. He guides you to the skate shoe rental hut and before you realize it, you have a pair of skates on and are at the edge of the rink. You’re not even sure how he convinced you. 

Jing Yuan is already on the ice. He moves like a dancer despite his bulk, swaying over the ice like kelp in a current, rippling and beautiful. There’s something utilitarian to it too, not a single move wasted. An athlete’s precision. 

He comes close to the edge and holds out a hand to you. “Ready?” he asks.

“I know how to skate,” you snap at him. 

“Okay,” he says, skating backwards to give you enough room to kick out onto the ice. 

It takes you a minute to find your feet, skates almost skittering out from under you, but you find your balance quickly and start to skate through the rink. The ice is smooth beneath you, perfectly slick, and you pick up speed. When you glance to your right, Jing Yuan is there, keeping up with you effortlessly, a small smile unfurling across his lips.

His hair is streaming out behind him, barely tamed by the thin red ribbon holding part of it back. You think of the pelting snow of a blizzard, beautiful and dangerous, and look away just as he turns to you.

“So shy,” he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest, and you consider how much it might hurt the potential of the project if you hit him. 

“I’m hardly shy,” you tell him.

“That’s true,” he says. “I don’t think anyone shy would have claimed their gloves as mine.”

The tips of your ears go hot. “I needed to find you.”

“I’ve heard that you can ask people things.” 

“I tried. They’re protective of you, you know.” 

His smile softens, goes tender at the edges. “More protective than I deserve,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the whipping wind. 

You bite at your lip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye; his smile is distant now, like the sun dipping just below the horizon.

“Jing Yuan?” you say tentatively. 

He blinks. “Hmm? Oh. Sorry.” 

You hum. “You skate well,” you say instead of the question that’s lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“So do you.”

“My mom was a skater,” you say, looping around a tottering child. “She taught me when I was little. I haven’t gone in forever, though.”

“How come?”

“Too busy.”

“Too busy working,” he says, and it’s not a question.

You think of the Instagram photos from a few weeks ago, all of your friends at a nearby rink, glowing under the lights as they pile into the frame, caught eternally in joy. The pictures of the food afterwards, of the drinks they used to warm themselves up, each one dotted with a little sprig of holly. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Too busy working.” 

He hums. 

You push yourself to skate faster. He keeps up with you smoothly, his footwork impeccable. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You glance at him; he meets your gaze steadily, his eyes the color of sunlit whisky, deep and rich. “I’m not upset,” you say. 

“Alright.” 

The two of you skate quietly for a long while, keeping an easy pace around the rink, avoiding the wobbling tots being coaxed by their steady parents. Teens spin around in circles until they’re dizzy, falling to the ice with a laugh. There’s a girl holding hands with another girl as she scrambles across the ice like a baby deer. You watch them bobble along, a little smile blossoming on your lips.

“Careful,” you hear Jing Yuan warn, and you look up just in time to see a teen boy windmilling his arms as he comes straight at you. Before you can even blink, there’s an arm around your waist, tugging you out of the way. The momentum sends you directly into Jing Yuan; he turns the two of you quickly and grunts as he hits the rink’s edge, taking the brunt of the impact. 

You end up pressed together. His arm is still slung low around your waist, holding you to him, the tips of your skates just barely touching the ground; you’ve fisted your hands in his coat to keep from falling. You can’t help but lean into the warmth of him. This close, you can smell his cologne more clearly. It’s different on his skin, the woodfire scent all but gone, while the cedar and the bright flash of citrus from the bergamot still lingers.

“You okay?” he asks, setting you down. His big hands are gentle as he steadies you, touching you as if you’re something fragile, something to be protected. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You still have your hands fisted in his jacket. You let go one finger at a time before stepping back. 

“I’m fine,” he says, straightening up. “Doubt it will even bruise.”

“Thanks,” you say. “For the save.” 

“You’re welcome. Think I’m done with skating for the day, though.”

“Me too.”

The two of you skate to the edge of the rink; Jing Yuan holds out a hand to help you from the ice. By the time you’re done returning the skates, the sun is setting, the fiery orange horizon giving way to the encroaching teeth of night. 

“I should get back,” you say. “I still have some work to do.”

Jing Yuan glances at you. His gaze is assessing, golden eyes keen, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be under his scrutiny when he was still a CEO. If other people felt his gaze like an autopsy cut, opening you for his perusal. 

“Sure,” he says easily. “If you have to.”

“I do.”

He takes you back to the inn. Your goodbye is quiet, though he takes one last jab at how you look wearing the hat and scarf as he insists you keep them for now. 

You watch him drive off, unable to shake the feeling that somehow, you’ve disappointed him. 

You work for a while, your room quiet, before you give up in the middle of an email. You shut down your laptop and get ready for bed. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

***

“Do you really get up this late?” you ask, checking your watch as Jing Yuan climbs out of his car. 

“No,” he says, sounding amused. “Do I give that impression?”

“They literally called you the Dozing CEO.” 

“There are worse things to be.”

“That’s true,” you say thoughtfully. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about the second stage of the pro—”

“Later,” Jing Yuan says. “Right now it’s time for coffee. Let’s go to Auntie’s.” 

The snow crunches under your boots as the two of you walk into town. The crowd is even bigger today, filling the streets. There’s a band at one end of Aurum, the musicians bundled up as they play lively Christmas music. They take a request from a passing child and they clap in delight as the band starts to play. 

“Is it always like this?” you ask.

Jing Yuan nods. “The holidays are a big deal around here,” he says, holding the door to Auntie’s open for you. “It’s a close-knit community.”

He greets the hostess by name and asks about her family; she chatters familiarly with him as she leads the two of you to a booth.

“I can tell,” you say once she’s left. “Is that why you came here?”

He pauses. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, giving you a little smile. It’s soft, that smile, and sweet at the edges. Your cheeks heat a bit. “But yes, that’s a large part of it. That and I wanted to be out of the city.” 

“Really? I thought you loved the city.”

He tilts his head in question.

You cough. “Most of the profiles I’ve read say you like the city.” 

“When I was younger,” he says. “But now, I find the quiet suits me.”

The waitress comes by with a coffee for him; he thanks her kindly before returning his attention to you. 

“The quiet here has been nice,” you admit.

“Would you ever leave the city?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve been there for almost twenty years now. I moved there when I was eighteen. Besides, that’s where my job is.”

He hums lightly. “So it is.” 

“Speaking of—”

He sighs, cupping his coffee between his big hands to warm them. “Go ahead,” he says. “I said I’d listen.” 

You launch into the second phase of the project, outlining the plans and how they’d be executed, as well as what his backing and involvement might look like. Jing Yuan drinks his coffee as he listens, only pausing you once so he can ask the waitress a question. 

You wind down and he smiles at you. “You’re very convincing,” he tells you. “I can see how you got Feixiao to come on board for the last project that Luofu did.” 

“But—” you say, knowing what’s coming.

“But I’m not sold.” 

“Of course you aren’t,” you grumble under your breath. Jing Yuan breathes out a laugh and your face goes hot. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re very tolerant.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.” 

He chuckles. “I suppose I am,” he says. “Retirement has taken much of the bite out of me, I’m afraid. Though I don’t consider that a bad thing.” 

“It’s not.” 

He rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you from under his long lashes. Only one of his eyes is visible; the other is behind the silver of his hair, a sun hidden by clouds. His eye is heavily lidded, but his gaze is as keen as ever. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” 

“Right,” you say, flustered and unsure why. “Me too.” 

“I find the best part of retirement is the softness,” he says. “It gives you room to be gentle. With yourself. With others.”

“You sound like a self-help book.”

“I do meditate quite often,” he says, eyes crinkling with his smile. “I would recommend it.” 

“I don’t have time to meditate.”

“All the more reason to find some time for it,” he says mildly, taking another sip of his coffee. A droplet clings to his lower lip; he catches it with his thumb before licking his thumb clean. You almost choke on air.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a coy smile unfurling on his lips. 

“F-fine.” 

That smile grows larger, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Alright. Let’s have a late breakfast, shall we?”

“Okay.”

The food comes quickly, filling the air with the scent of crisp bacon and the sharp, woody tang of rosemary. The eggs melt on your tongue, perfectly fluffy, and Jing Yuan smiles when you let out a pleased sigh.

“Good?”

You nod eagerly, taking another bite.

“Good.” 

You’re both quiet as you eat; when it comes time to pay, Jing Yuan doesn’t even let you reach for the bill, simply handing the waitress his card with a flick of his wrist. His playful glare silences you before you can even protest. 

When you stand to leave, he gestures you in front of him. He follows you out the door of Auntie’s and the two of you stop under the awning—hung with crystalline stars that catch the sunlight as they sway in the wind—to stay out of the way of the crowds. 

“Walk with me,” he says, tugging lightly at the end of your (his) scarf. 

“Okay.”

The two of you thread through the crowds; eventually, they thin out and you settle beside each other. You take in the quieter part of town, still Christmas ready, with fake candles flickering in the windows of the offices and thick wreaths adorning the doors. 

“Pretty,” you say absentmindedly, toying with a ribbon as you pass, the material velvety under your fingertips. 

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says, sounding fond, and he’s already looking at you when you glance at him. “Come along, we’re almost there.”

“Where?” you ask, but you round the corner and the answer is there.

The park is beautiful, even barren, with the tree’s empty branches reaching towards the yawning sky. A light dusting of snow covers the ground, though it’s turned to slush on the paths. You and Jing Yuan pick your way around the worst of the melt, until you find a massive gazebo. 

It’s a sight. It’s draped in garlands, each dotted with sprigs of holly and bright little lights that flash like shooting stars. Poinsettias line the gazebo, their stamen golden starfish amid the sea of crimson. 

“Wow,” you say. 

“It’s my favorite place in the park,” Jing Yuan says. “Though it’s normally a bit more subdued.”

“I would hope so.” 

“But it’s not what we’re here for.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he says, resting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you forward. “Let’s keep going.” 

You talk quietly as you wander through the park until you suddenly notice there are a lot more people than there were before. Before you know it, you’re in a line. You look at Jing Yuan, but he simply smiles.

“No,” you say as the horse-pulled sleighs come into view.

“That’s what you said about skating, too.” 

“Why is this town so into Christmas?”

“Why not?”

You sigh and let him guide you forward, abruptly aware that his hand is still at the small of your back. The weight of it prickles along your skin. He gives you a light push towards the front of the line. 

The sleigh that pulls up in front of you is large. It’s decked out in garlands and holly, filled with soft, fuzzy blankets that look like they would keep you warm on even the coldest nights. The mare in front of it nickers, her tail flicking from side to side. 

Jing Yuan slides into the sleigh with feline ease, though he’s broad enough to take up most of it himself. You hesitate.

He chuckles, patting the spot next to him on the bench. “Indulge me,” he says.

You sigh and slide in before sitting down. You immediately regret it. “It’s cold,” you whine, the chill seeping through your pants, but he simply tosses one of the blankets over you and tucks it in at the side, blocking out any chilly air. 

“There,” he says. “Ready?”

“Okay,” you say, and the driver flicks her reins, sending the mare into a trot. The sleigh starts to slide forward and you grab onto Jing Yuan’s arm without thinking, sinking your fingertips into the muscle of his forearm. 

He chuckles again and pats your hand. “You’ll get used to it,” he tells you. 

“And if I don’t?”

“You can always keep holding on to me.” 

You immediately let go. 

He gives you an indolent smile. His eyes crinkle with it, and you want to curse him for being so handsome. Instead, you huff and bury yourself deeper under the blanket, which has slowly been heating.

“I could be working,” you mutter.

“Would you rather be?”

You blink, not having expected Jing Yuan to be listening to you that closely. “I—It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.” 

“I just—it’s what I’m good at,” you say, and it sounds like a question even to your own ears. “I’m a good worker. A hard worker. I don’t really have much else to offer, so it makes sense to work all the time.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

“What?”

“You have much more to offer than just work,” he says gently. 

“I really don’t,” you say miserably. “I barely see my friends and I worry about overwhelming them, and my family is just—”

You pause. “And I also just said all of this to you, basically a stranger and also who I’m supposed to be recruiting, so this is just embarrassing now. Goodbye.” 

He catches you by the wrist as you start to throw the blanket off and try to wiggle away from his side.

“And here I thought we were more than strangers by now. I’m a little hurt.”

“Jing Yuan!”

“Alright, alright,” he says. “But it’s okay. I’m here to listen if you want.” 

“I don’t,” you say, refusing to look at him as he reaches over you to tuck the blanket back in around you. “Just forget I said anything.”

Silence falls, broken only by the steady trot of the mare and the soft jingling of the bells you hadn’t noticed on her bridle. 

“That’s part of why I retired, you know.”

You glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring off into the snowy treeline, his golden eyes hazed over, the sun under morning mist. “I wanted to be good at something other than work. And I wasn’t.” 

“That’s not true,” you say softly. “You and your friends—”

“Fell apart,” he says, and you subside. You know just as much about the group of company heads deemed The Quintet as anyone does, which is to say that you only know of their end. Their exploits, their dreams, all overshadowed. Companies—people—that rose into the sky and then fell, burning up in the atmosphere until they were meteors, destined to crash. 

Jing Yuan, barely out of his twenties, was the only one left standing.

“I put in years of work to try and get everything right again,” he says. “To acquire their companies and do right by them. I did it, too. And then I stayed. Because I was good at it. Because I didn’t know what else to do.” 

You chew on your lip before throwing caution to the wind. You rest your hand on his forearm and don’t move when he jolts. His eyes cut towards you, burnished amber, and the sharp edges of him soften. 

“You’re more than just work,” he says. “I can promise you that.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, because what else is there to say? “Okay.”

The both of you are quiet for a few minutes. You chew on everything that’s been said, careful not to sink your teeth into the meat of it. You’ll leave that for later, preferably in the dark of your own apartment. Next to you, Jing Yuan seems perfectly at ease, and not for the first time, you’re jealous of his composure. 

“Look,” he says suddenly, nudging you gently. He points to where the park meets true forest, where the saplings grow teeth. “Rabbits.”

“Where?” you say, leaning around him to try and see it. “I don’t see anything.” 

“Here,” he says, and suddenly you’re encased in warmth, his arms wrapped around you as he points. You peer down the line of one bulky arm and finally see a family of hares in the underbrush, their downy fur as white as the snow that surrounds them. 

“How did you even see them?” you breathe, watching as one of them noses at another, who shifts back into the brush. “They’re beautiful.” 

“They are,” he says.

The horse nickers and the hares freeze before darting off deeper into the underbrush. You watch until you can’t see them anymore. You settle back before realizing you’re almost in Jing Yuan’s lap, his strong arms still wrapped around you. He’s warm against you, his chest firm despite the slight softness around his middle, and you can feel his voice rumble through you as he asks the driver a question, one you can’t quite make out through the static in your ears. 

You push away quickly, settling on the far side of the sleigh. It doesn’t do much, considering his size, but at least you’re further away from him. Hopefully without alerting him to anything.

From the puckish curl of his lips, that hope is dashed. Still, he says nothing, continuing to talk with the driver as you stare out the side of the sleigh, huddling under the blanket now that you’re bereft of his warmth.

After he’s spoken to the driver, he turns back to you, that same little smile blooming on his lips, an unfurling flower. You brace yourself. 

“If you’re cold, the ride’s almost over,” he says. “And then I assume you need to go back to work?”

You almost say yes. You almost take the out he’s given you, but you look at him instead, at the way his expression crinkles his eyes and the way his aureate gaze has softened. You look at Jing Yuan and something behind your ribcage writhes, battering against the bones.

“No,” you say quietly. “I think I still have more time.”

He smiles.

***

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the park, meandering through the expanse of it and chatting the whole time. You only turn back towards the inn when it starts snowing, a light fall of fat, fluffy flakes. They catch in Jing Yuan’s lashes when he turns his face up to the sky, his white hair cascading behind him, a river of starlight. 

He’s beautiful. You’d known that before, of course—the man was a staple on magazine covers for a reason—but like this, it’s a different type of beauty. You wish you had words for it. Instead, you content yourself with watching him.

He cracks open an eye and sees you looking. “You’re staring,” he says, a small, sly smile blooming on his lips. “Something on my face?”

“Snow,” you say dryly. “You’re going to catch a cold.” 

“Ah, so you do care.”

“Maybe,” you say, and relish the fleeting look of surprise that he can’t quite hide. It’s gone as soon as it came, replaced by his usual small smile, but you think there’s a pleased edge to it. “Now hurry up, it’s cold.” 

He lifts his face to the sky for a moment more, letting a few more flakes drift down onto him. You wait for him. You’re cold even with the hat and scarf, but he looks so content that you can’t bear to drag him away. 

Finally, he strides to your side. The two of you head back into town, taking a route that extends the walk. You chat quietly for a majority of the time, though sometimes you lapse into a comfortable silence, simply watching the snow fall. 

He insists on accompanying you all the way to the inn’s doorstep, citing the icy path. You roll your eyes but don’t argue; his smile makes something in your chest twist. 

“Thanks,” you say at the doorstep. 

“For?”

“Everything,” you say, a little bit helpless.

He smiles again, gentle like the spring sun, and then says: “I’d like to take you to the house tomorrow.”

“The house? Whose?” 

“Mine.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” 

“You haven’t murdered me yet.” 

“True,” he says, that same little smile unfurling on his lips. “There’s still time, though.”

“Jing Yuan!”

He laughs, low and rich, more a vibration than a sound, as close together as you are. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” you say. “See you then.”

“Goodnight,” he says. But he stays until you give him a tiny shove. 

You go to sleep with a smile lingering sweet on your lips.

***

It’s still snowing the next morning. The flakes fall delicately, dusting over the trees like icing sugar, coating the inn like a soft blanket. You watch it as you sip your coffee. It’s slow and steady, like a snowglobe settling after a flurry. 

You can tell when Jing Yuan pulls up; your phone vibrates on top of your closed laptop. You gulp down the rest of your coffee before throwing on your coat. The walk from the inn to his car is short but cold. You shiver as you slip into the warmth of the car; he reaches over and tugs your hat down a little more firmly.

“Thanks,” you say. “Definitely couldn’t have done that myself.”

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s go.” 

The drive to his house is longer than you thought. It’s on the far outskirts of town, set back into a grove of pine trees, not at all the modern manor you’d thought it would be. It’s still large, but there’s a modesty to it that fits him.

He pulls into the garage and leads you inside, where you immediately hear running footsteps. Jing Yuan smiles as Yanqing rounds the corner, all but throwing himself at his uncle.

“You took forever,” he complains.

“I had to go pick up my friend here,” Jing Yuan says, patting the boy on the head. “We can get started now, though.”

Yanqing peers at you. “Are they helping?”

“Helping with what?” you ask, shrugging out of your jacket at Jing Yuan’s gesture. 

“Gingerbread, duh.” 

“Oh, um—”

“They’re helping,” Jing Yuan says smoothly, ushering you forward into what you quickly realize is the biggest kitchen you’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with sleek kitchenware. There’s already ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter, perfectly arranged.

“I’m afraid to touch anything in your kitchen,” you say. 

He laughs, rolling up the sleeves of his dark red sweater. You watch his forearms flex, the muscle rippling beneath his skin, the tendons in his hands cording. 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Now let’s get started before Yanqing eats all the chocolate chips.”

Yanqing pauses with another handful of chocolate chips almost to his mouth. He gazes at his uncle for a moment and then defiantly pops it into his mouth. Jing Yuan sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The boy chatters at the two of you as you measure out the ingredients for gingerbread, though he mostly speaks to Jing Yuan. For his part, Jing Yuan listens intently, paying as much attention to Yanqing as he would to any adult. He nods seriously when Yanqing complains about something that happened at school.

“And then they took away my sword—”

“Wait,” you say, stopping in the middle of mixing. “Sword?”

Yanqing stares at you. “Yeah. My sword.”

You look at Jing Yuan, who laughs. “He’s a fencing champion,” he explains.

“I’m the best in the region,” Yanqing informs you, his chest puffed up. “But one day I’ll beat Uncle.” 

You start mixing again. Jing Yuan is a former champion—that has been detailed in almost every magazine he’s ever interviewed with. With good reason, too. You’ve seen the photos of him in his fencing gear, his face mask by his side, his strong thighs outlined by the uniform. He’d been sweaty and smiling broadly, his senior Jingliu at his side, her lips pressed together sternly but her eyes gleaming. 

“Ah, this old man can’t keep up with you anymore,” Jing Yuan says, ruffling Yanqing’s hair. 

“Liar,” the boy grumbles. 

Jing Yuan laughs again. “That looks ready,” he says to you. “Yanqing, do you want to roll it out?”

“Nope.” He’s already sorting through the candy that’s on the other counter, unwrapping various ones. “I’m picking decorations.” 

“It’s up to you, then,” Jing Yuan says to you with a little smile.

“I don’t see you doing very much work,” you say. He’s leaning against the counter, looking half-asleep. 

“I’m supervising.”

You point your spatula at him. “You dragged me here. Come help.”

“Of course,” he says, pushing off the countertop. He pauses to stretch, reaching high, just enough for his sweater to reveal a slice of his belly and the tiniest hint of silvery hair. You almost drop the spatula. He grabs it before you can, a smug little smirk playing across his lips. 

But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to lightly flour the countertop and dump the gingerbread dough onto it. He flours the rolling pin as well, his big hand easily reaching around the fullest part of the thick pin. When he starts to roll it out, his hands and forearms flex with each motion, the veins protruding slightly from beneath his skin. 

You decide it’s better for you to look at something else. You focus on Yanqing, who is humming happily to himself as he picks out varying decorations. 

“Those would make good pine trees,” you say, pointing to the waffle cones. 

He eyes you. “How?”

“Like this,” you say, flipping them over so the mouth of the cone is against the counter. “And then you pipe on icing to make it look like a tree.”

He deliberates for a moment. “We can try it,” he allows.

“Okay.” 

He slips away to another counter that’s got piping bags and tips laid out all over it, along with several different colors of icing. You glance at Jing Yuan. “You really have everything, don’t you?”

He smiles, cutting out a few shapes from the rolled out dough. “Not everything,” he says. “But I do try to stay stocked for gingerbread house day.” 

“Do you do it every year?”

“Yup,” Yanqing says, sliding in next to you. “Since I was little.” He concentrates on the piping bag for a moment, pressing the tip down until it’s at the bottom of the bag and then grabbing a glass and pulling the edges of the bag over the edges of the glass. It holds it nicely and he starts to pile icing in.

“I can tell,” you say, watching his careful precision. He doesn’t reply, too busy piping on the first bit of icing. 

There’s a blast of heat at your back as Jing Yuan opens the oven to put the gingerbread pieces in. The pan clinks against the rack and then the heat at your back is softer, a gentle warmth instead. Jing Yuan leans over you to see what Yanqing is doing, his long white hair draping over your shoulder, a waterfall of moonlight.

“Clever,” he says. 

“Pretty sure I read it in a magazine.”

He hums. “Still clever.” 

“I guess.”

“Look!” Yanqing says. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Very good,” Jing Yuan says, and he’s not lying. Yanqing has an eye for details, swirling the piping to achieve a needle-like texture in the deep green icing. “Now you can put ornaments on it.” 

“Yeah!”

You watch him fish through the varying candies to find a handful of circular red and gold ones, which he starts pushing into place in the icing. He works diligently, setting them into patterns, but you’re distracted by the heat of Jing Yuan against your back. He shifts behind you and your fingers flex.

The timer saves you. Jing Yuan pulls away as it dings; you hear the oven open and close again as he sets the gingerbread on racks to cool.

“Make one,” Yanqing says suddenly, shoving a waffle cone into your hands. “We need more for the forest.” 

“Is there going to be a forest?” Jing Yuan asks mildly. “I thought we were making a house.” 

“We can do both!”

 “I see.” 

The three of you work on trees as the gingerbread cools. Yanqing chatters away, telling you all about his most recent bout and what he asked for for Christmas. It’s cute, really, watching him and Jing Yuan interact, his hero worship obvious even from such a short amount of time.

You’ve just put the finishing touch—a silver gummy star—on top of a tree when the doorbell rings. Jing Yuan pushes to his feet with a groan and goes to answer it.

When you look up from your tree, Yanqing is staring at you.

“Uncle doesn’t usually bring corporate people to the house,” Yanqing says. “So how come you’re here?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Yanqing’s gaze isn’t quite as knowing as his uncle’s, but it’s gutting in its own way. “I think it’s because you’re sad,” he tells you. 

“I’m not sad!”

“Okay,” he says in the way that pre-teens do. “Lonely, then.”

He grins in triumph when you can’t refute that. Then his brow furrows. “I think he’s lonely too,” he confesses. “He doesn’t want to say it, though. But he is.” 

Your stomach twists.

“Yanqing—”

He glares at you. “He is!”

“I’m not saying he isn’t,” you say softly. “I just don’t think you should be talking about it with me.” 

“But you understand!”

You sigh. “Yanqing,” you say. “If Jing Yuan wants me to know something, he’ll tell me himself, okay?”

“No he won’t,” he mutters.

“That’s his choice.”

His brow furrows; his lips twist, a sour lemon kiss. “Fine,” he says.

You bite at your lip but he doesn’t say anything else. “Let’s build the house?” you offer. 

“We have to wait for Uncle.” 

“What’s he doing?”

“Delivery, probably.” 

That certainly explains the scuffing noises that have been coming from the hallway. Before you can go investigate, though, Jing Yuan reappears.

“Did I miss much?” he asks, before looking at the still dismantled house. “Oh, you didn’t start.”

“We were waiting for you,” Yanqing says.

“Oh? So considerate.” 

“Let’s build already!” Yanqing says, practically bouncing in place. “Uncle, c’mon!”

Jing Yuan laughs and joins the two of you at the counter, looking down at the pieces of the gingerbread house. “Yes sir,” he says. “Where do you want to start?”

“Here!” 

It takes several tries to even get two of the walls to stick together. Yanqing makes you and Jing Yuan hold them together as he pipes in royal icing to be the glue; the two of you crowd together on one side of the counter to try and keep them upright. This close, you can feel how thick Jing Yuan’s bicep is as his arm presses against yours, courtesy of his broad shoulders. 

Finally, the icing sets. When you and Jing Yuan pull away, the walls stay standing, earning a cheer from Yanqing. He immediately picks up the next wall, gesturing for Jing Yuan to hold it in place. You take advantage of your moment of respite to pull up one of the kitchen stools, nestling into the plush of it. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Jing Yuan warns. “We’ll be putting you right back to work.” 

“Yeah,” Yanqing says. “You’ve gotta hold the next wall while the other one sets.” 

“Okay, okay,” you say, reaching for the next piece of gingerbread. You set it in place, holding it carefully, bracing the corner of it with your fingertips and the side of it with your other hand. Yanqing ices it quickly, and you wince as he manages to get a good amount of icing onto your fingertips. 

“Oops,” he says, looking abashed but not sounding particularly sorry.

“It’s fine,” you say, lifting your fingers away from the join of the walls, still bracing the wall itself with your other hand. You pop your fingertips into your mouth one-by-one without thinking, the sweetness spreading across your tongue rapidly, the sheer amount of sugar enough to make your teeth ache. 

Jing Yuan coughs. 

When you look at him, he’s already gazing at you, his eyes darkened to topaz, a deep, rich golden brown. For a second, his lazy smile goes knife-edged, something hungry tucked up into the corner of his mouth, but it’s gone when you blink, only a faint amusement remaining. 

“There’s a sink if you would find that more useful,” he says, nodding towards the farmhouse sink just behind you. “Though far be it from me to stop you.”

Your cheeks heat. You wait a moment, letting Yanqing take the brunt of the gingerbread wall before you pull away. You wash your hands as the two of them chat behind you, the water burning hot as you try to compose yourself. 

The little smirk Jing Yuan sends you when you turn around doesn’t help. 

You take in a deep breath before rejoining them, taking the final wall and putting it into place. The three of you continue building, chatting the whole time. Yanqing’s delight is infectious and you find yourself laughing with every mishap and quietly cheering each time a wall stays up. The roof is the most precarious part; it takes the three of you several tries to get it situated. 

“Now it just has to fully dry,” Yanqing announces. “Then we can decorate.”

“And in the meantime?” you ask. 

“I’m going to my room!” he says, taking off down the hallway. You blink and glance at Jing Yuan.

“He means he’s going to snoop under the Christmas tree,” he says. 

“Oh.” 

“He thinks he’s sneakier than he is.”

“Don’t all kids? Besides, didn’t you peek under the tree when you were a kid?” 

“I would never,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Who do you think I am?”

“The type to sneak under the tree. I bet you shook boxes and everything.”

He chuckles. “I stopped after I accidentally broke one of the presents doing that.” 

“You didn’t!”

“I’m afraid so.” 

You laugh, the sound bubbling from you like a spill of champagne. “Oh my god.” 

Jing Yuan smiles, his eyes crinkling with it. “Don’t tell me you never shook the presents.”

“Of course I did. I just never broke anything.”

He hums. “Of course not.”

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You’re so annoying.”

He smiles, popping a candy into his mouth. You watch the way he licks the residue of it off of his lips. “Now, now, be nice.” 

You pick up a candy too. It’s watermelon, the taste bursting over your tongue, stickily artificial. “Are we spending all day on a gingerbread house?” you ask. 

“There’s a Christmas market that I’d intended to go to.” 

You hum. “Alright.”

“No need to sound so excited about it.” 

“Excited about what?” Yanqing says, flouncing into the room. He’s pink-cheeked and looking pleased with himself. You assume the present shaking went well. 

“The Christmas fair.”

The boy’s face lights up. “We’re going, right? Right?”

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says. “After we finish decorating.” 

“Is the icing dry yet?”

You test the gingerbread house carefully, seeing how well the walls and roof hold up. They don’t move under your gentle prodding nor when you apply a bit more pressure.

“I think so,” you say. “Let’s decorate.”

The three of you set to work. You and Jing Yuan mostly follow Yanqing’s direction; you build a chimney out of non-pareils, the uneven sides like trendy stone work. The fir trees are sprinkled around the yard, each one more decorated than the last; the shingles to the roof are made of gingerbread too, carefully cut into a scalloped edge. The very top of the roof is lined with gumdrops, the rainbow of them like Christmas lights. Chocolate stones make the pathway to the house; the path is lined with little licorice lamps. 

Altogether, it’s probably the fanciest gingerbread house you’ve seen. Granted, Jing Yuan had clearly gone all out on different types of candy—so many types that you barely use half of them—but Yanqing’s eye for detail makes it all come together. 

“Wow,” you say, putting a final star-shaped sprinkle in place over one of the windows, where it joins a line of others, a draping of fake Christmas lights. “This is really good, Yanqing.”

The boy puffs up. “I’ve won my school’s decorating contest before,” he says.

“I can see why.” 

He beams and then turns to Jing Yuan. “When are we going to the market?” he asks.

“After we clean up.” 

A pout creases his face for a moment, his lips turning down in an admittedly endearing way. “Fine,” he sighs, looking at the messy counter. You’d tried to keep the mess to a minimum, but between icing and sugar-dusted candies, you hadn’t quite succeeded. As Jing Yuan and Yanqing start to sort the candies and put them away, you start scraping up the dried-on icing. 

For a moment, you think Jing Yuan is going to protest, but when you flash him a little stare that dares him too, he subsides without saying a word. You grin triumphantly and he smiles, soft and sweet. Something in you twinges. 

You push the little flutter aside, wetting a paper towel to scrub off the worst of the icing. The three of you work away, chatting lightly, until the kitchen is almost as pristine as when you got there.

“That’s good enough for now,” Jing Yuan says, taking in the kitchen with a critical eye. “We’ll get the candy in the pantry later.” 

Yanqing perks up. “Christmas market?” he asks.

Jing Yuan nods, a fond little smile unfurling across his lips. “Go change your shirt.” 

Yanqing looks down at his shirt, which is spattered with icing from when he got a little overenthusiastic with the piping bag. “Okay!” he says, running off. 

You head to the sink to wash your hands again; they’re sticky with leftover icing. Jing Yuan meets you there with a dish towel to dry your hands. His fingertips linger over your palm as he hands it to you. You take in a soft breath, but the touch is gone as soon as it comes.

Yanqing returns and the three of you bundle up—apparently the market is an outdoor one. Jing Yuan fixes Yanqing’s hat despite the boy batting his hands away. Then he turns to you and tugs at the end of your scarf. 

“Ready?” 

You nod. The three of you pile into one of Jing Yuan’s cars. The ride is mostly quiet, with Yanqing and Jing Yuan chatting here and there, but you’re busy looking out the window at the rolling countryside. It’s picturesque in a way no painting could ever capture, the trees lit golden by the setting sun, the snow glittering like stars as it sits heavy on their branches. The firs bend under its weight while the bare oaks soar into the sky, as if they’re painted in long, sweet strokes. 

You pull into a stuffed parking lot. You shiver as you get out of the warm car, burying your chin into the scarf as your breath puffs out in a gentle mist. 

The fair is stunning, little stalls lining the closed-off street, each decorated in its own way. Each of them is festooned with lights and garlands, with little stockings hung carefully from the tables. There’s a baker with bread shaped like wreaths, the crust of them perfectly golden-brown, tucked into star-patterned cloth; a weaver with stunning blankets with complex designs; a blacksmith with all sorts of metalwork, each more beautiful than the last. And those are just the first few stalls.

“Wow,” you breathe.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jing Yuan asks. “I hear it’s grown through the years. It seems to get bigger every year.”

“I’m surprised this place isn’t known as a Christmas destination.”

“It is,” he says. “If you know the right people to ask.”

“How did you find it?”

“A friend,” he says, and there’s something in the set of his mouth that keeps you from asking more. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

“I want to go to the blacksmith!” Yanqing pipes up.

“Go ahead,” Jing Yuan says. “Don’t go far, please.”

“Okay!”

The two of you watch him take off into the crowd, his golden crown of hair bobbing along, dodging adults and other children alike. Jing Yuan sighs, shaking his head, but gestures you along to the first stall. 

You linger over some textiles, including a beautiful tablecloth embroidered heavily with holly, each sprig carefully woven to look as real as possible. You can tell that love was stitched into it, and going by the stall owner’s gnarled fingers, she’s been doing it for a long time. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell her, stroking your finger over a holly leaf. She smiles and starts to tell you about her process; you listen intently, Jing Yuan lingering patiently at your side. 

When you finally move to the next stall, someone calls Jing Yuan’s name. He smiles as they approach. They chat amiably for a few minutes before he excuses himself. 

As you wander through the market, you notice that it’s a pattern. Multiple people come up to Jing Yuan, all full of smiles and good cheer, talking to him like he’s an old friend. Some of them eye you curiously, but just nod your way when you’re introduced, going back to catching up with some news they’ve heard or thanking Jing Yuan for a favor he’s done.

“You’re popular,” you tell him as you both step into another stall, this one filled with ornaments. They shine brightly under the twinkling fairy lights strung over the stall’s top. 

“Am I?”

“Mhm.” 

He hums, picking up a snowglobe ornament and giving it a little shake. You watch the fake snow settle at the bottom, revealing the little girl building a snowman, her figure exquisitely made. “They’ve been very welcoming since I’ve moved here,” he says. “I’ve been lucky.” 

“I think it’s more than luck,” you say quietly. “I think you give as much as you get.”

He flashes you a little smile. “Maybe so.” 

The two of you continue on before someone stops Jing Yuan again, this time near a stall that’s too full for the three of you to step into. You do your best to shift out of the way of the people making their way through the market, but it’s hard to do so with so little room. 

You’ve just been knocked into when Jing Yuan loops an arm around your waist and tugs you into his side. It pulls you out of the line of fire for the crowds filtering by. He’s a line of heat against you and you feel it when he chuckles, the sound rumbling through you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, cheeks hot. 

“Good,” he says, and leaves his big hand high on your hip, keeping you close. He goes back to amiably talking to the other person as if he hasn’t noticed. If you lean into him, just slightly, no one but you needs to know. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. You take him in, from the moonlight spill of his hair to his sunrise eyes, to the little smile on his lips as he chats away.

He belongs, you realize, watching him slot back into his conversation with ease. He’s a part of the town, and based on how many people have come up to him, an important one. You think of the way the locals had eyed you when you’d been asking about him. It makes sense now. The town protects him as one of their own because he is one. And he’s happy, a subtle glow to him, a type you’ve rarely seen and likely never achieved yourself. 

Something in your chest squirms, fluttering against the bones of your ribcage, trying to slip through the gaps. You resist the urge to press a hand to your chest. 

He pulls away from the conversation a few minutes later, the hand on your hip dropping to the small of your back as he guides you forward. He stops to talk to a few more people, his eyes crinkling with his smile each time as they come up to him. It’s mesmerizing to watch. 

And you’re asking him to give it all up.

Not all of it, you remind yourself. It’s a project, not a job, but something in you winces nonetheless. Your chest tightens, like a ribbon wrapped around it is cinching in. 

Jing Yuan glances at you as you step away from his warmth, his hand falling from where it’s been resting on the small of your back. His brow furrows, but it passes quickly, a guttering candle. 

You keep your distance for the rest of the fair. You’re still close enough to almost touch despite the thinning crowds, but the gap feels like a gulf between you, as if you’re oceans away. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you say, but from the way Jing Yuan eyes you, he doesn’t quite believe you. He opens his mouth, but you’re saved by Yanqing, who runs up with sparkling eyes.

“Uncle!” he says. “The blacksmith says we can go to the forge and watch him!”

Jing Yuan chuckles. “Did you badger him into it?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll set up a time with him later, okay?”

Yanqing pouts but nods. You hide your smile behind your scarf. 

“Let’s go home,” Jing Yuan says. Night has fallen, the sky velvety and dotted with stars. He glances at you. “Would you like me to drop you at the inn?”

You nod. He hums. “Alright.”

The three of you pile back into the car. The inn isn’t far—you probably could have walked, but the cold night has only gotten more frigid. Jing Yuan comes up to the inn’s doorstep with you, catching you by the wrist when you’re halfway up the stairs. You turn around and he looks up at you, his golden eyes shining under the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and it takes a moment to gather yourself, too focused on the way his thumb is rubbing small circles on the delicate skin of your inner wrist. You realize you’re leaning towards him, a flower to the sun. He smiles at you, eyes crinkling, and you see it again, that soft glow to him. 

Something clicks into place. 

“Nothing will make you come on board the project, will it?” you ask, sounding too calm even to your own ears. You shake off his hand. “There’s never even been the slightest chance.” 

Jing Yuan lets out a low, slow breath. “No,” he says. “There hasn’t been.” 

“Right,” you say. “Okay. Thank you for everything.”

“What?”

“My job is done,” you say. “If I can’t convince you, there’s no point in me being here.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say. Your chest hurts. Something sinks its teeth into your ribs, chipping away at the bone. “I came here to get you on board.”

“That’s not what the last day or two has been,” he says softly. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He reaches for you, brushing his gloved fingers against your cheek. “Yes, you do.” 

You pull away. “I’ve been here to get you on board, Jing Yuan. To do my job. That’s all.” 

“You—”

“I’ll catch a flight tomorrow,” you say. “It shouldn’t be hard, since it’s Christmas Eve.” 

He lets out a low, slow breath. He gazes up at you, his golden eyes flickering with something you don’t dare name. 

“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“It’s time for me to go,” you say. “It’s been time for me to go since I got here, apparently.” 

He says your name softly. It rolls over you like morning mist, blocks out the world. You take in a shuddering breath.

“Goodbye, Jing Yuan.”

He sighs. “If you change your mind, I’m having a Christmas party tomorrow. You’ll always be welcome.” 

You nod sharply, turning on your heel to go inside. Jing Yuan says your name again. You glance over your shoulder. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. And then—

“Travel safe,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say, and then you’re inside the inn, leaving Jing Yuan standing out in the cold behind you. You don’t wait to see if he lingers, ignoring Lee’s cheerful greeting to make your way back up to your room. 

You book the first flight you find. It’s late in the day, but that’s fine—you can catch up with your emails and calls. You’ve barely checked your phone today. You can’t quite bring yourself to do it now.

After your flight is booked, you close your laptop and fold your arms, resting your head on them. The fangs sunk into your rib bones dig deeper, hitting marrow. 

“Fuck,” you say, sitting up and scrubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck.” 

You stare out the window, into the deep bruise of the night. The woods rise beyond the hill, the trees skeletal as they reach for the sky, barely visible in the dark. Stars glitter coldly high above; the moon shines like a lonely mirror. It all feels distant, like a world you’re not part of.

You let out a deep, slow breath. It does nothing to loosen the string wound tight around your chest; if anything, it tightens. 

You get ready for bed slowly, that fanged thing still biting deep, leaving teeth marks that ache deeply. 

When you fall asleep, the last thing you see is Jing Yuan’s eyes.

***

The next day dawns too early. You once again wake with the sunlight, having forgotten to close the curtains as you drifted around the room last night. The watery light pools on the floor, sweetly golden. The wooden floor is warm under your feet as you cross through the puddles of sunlight. 

You get ready for the day quickly. You pack up carefully, rolling your clothes up so they fit better before you tuck your toiletries in. You keep your laptop out to answer emails as they come in. The sun stretches along the floor as you work, barely coming up for air.

You don’t dare give yourself time to think.

You check out in the early afternoon. The receptionist is the one who checked you in. She’s quick and efficient, and you find yourself on the doorstep of the inn waiting for a cab in just a few minutes. 

The taxi driver is quiet;  you find yourself wishing for the same talkative driver as before. At least it would fill the air, give you something to concentrate on beside the noise in your head. 

It’s all mixed together, a slush puddle that you keep stamping through, expecting to not get splashed this time. Jing Yuan, the project, your work, the promotion—it runs through your head non-stop, circling over and over again. Your work, all for nothing. Your possible promotion, just beyond the tips of your fingers. Jing Yuan with his golden eyes and his lips with a smile tucked up secret in the corner of his mouth. Jing Yuan with his laughter and his dedication to the town. 

You check your email but it doesn’t help.

You’ve already told Qingzu that you’ve failed. She had taken it in stride; she made sure you knew that no one was going to blame you. The project is going to go forward with or without Jing Yuan. You knew that, but the failure stings anyway. Fu Xuan had asked for you specifically; she must have believed you could do it. 

You should have been able to. 

Except—you think of the quiet glow that Jing Yuan had yesterday. The way he’d slipped seamlessly into the town’s community, how they treat him as one of their own. He’s happy in a rare way, deeply content with his lot. How you’d felt at his side in the last few days, even as he dragged you around. What it felt like to not be so focused on work all the time; how it felt to live life again. 

Something in your chest warms. It rises through you like sparkling champagne bubbles, fizzing across your nerves.

You think of the way Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

“Sir,” you call out to the taxi driver. “Can you please turn around?”

***

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. There are people coming and going; laughter drifts out the door every time it opens. The path is brightly lit, with Christmas lights lining the side and elegant wreaths hanging from posts, each big red bow perfectly tied. They’re glittering with tinsel, woven expertly in through the pine boughs.

You slip inside quietly. It’s completely different from just yesterday: there are tables set up inside, piled high with an entire array of hors d'oeuvres, from tiny little tarts to a bacchanalian cheeseboard, overflowing with plump, glistening figs, wine-red grapes, and fine cheeses. The decorations have multiplied. There are fairy lights everywhere, twinkling merrily. They’re tucked into vast, lush garlands that drape along the tables; there are candles flickering in their ornate holders, little wisps of smoke dancing from the flames. 

It's easy to find Jing Yuan; he’s holding court by the Christmas tree, perfectly visible from the doorway. He’s chatting away with the small group that’s gathered around him, but there’s something different about him. Something you can’t quite name. 

He looks wilted, almost, like the flowers in the last days of summer, still thriving but sensing their end. He smiles at someone and there’s nothing tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. Your chest aches, something howling between the gaps of your ribs. 

He glances up and your eyes meet. He goes still, and then there’s a brilliant smile spreading across his lips, the sun come down to earth. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over to you. 

“Hi,” you say as he draws near, a little bit breathless.

“Hi,” he says.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words rushing from you like water. “The last few days haven’t been nothing. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m sorry that I led you astray.”

“Why did you do it?”

He sighs. “I remember what it was like to work like that. To give up everything for the job. No one should live like that. And you seemed so lonely.” 

You wince.

“Sorry,” he says. “But it’s what I saw.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like you were wrong. And you made me less lonely, Jing Yuan.”

He reaches out and sweeps his thumb over the apple of your cheek. You sway into the touch, turning until your cheek is cradled in his palm. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “All I want is for you to be happy.” 

Someone whistles. You balk, starting to step back; Jing Yuan catches you before you can go far, pulling you in close.

“You’re under the mistletoe,” someone calls. 

You look up, and sure enough, there’s mistletoe hanging innocently above you, the tiny flowers white as snow. It’s tied off with a perfect red ribbon.

“We don’t have to—”

“It’s tradition,” you say, and then you’re surging up to kiss him. He meets you halfway and as his lips brush yours, warmth blooms inside your chest, embers stoked to flame. He cups the back of your head to pull you closer. You make a little noise; he swallows it down. 

There’s a certain greed to the kiss; a longing, too. He steals the breath from you; takes in your air and makes it his own. You kiss him harder, as if he might disappear. 

When you break apart, he leans down to press his forehead against yours. You close your eyes. You can hear people murmuring, but they seem far away. Only Jing Yuan feels real. You open your eyes and glance up at him. He smiles at you, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges. Your heart flutters behind your ribs, beating against the cage of them like a bird’s wings.

“Merry Christmas,” you breathe. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says softly.

He kisses you again and this time, it feels like coming home. 

[cheriden]

˙ . ˚ ₊ 「 HOW TO FIND OUT IF YOUR ROOMMATE IS A VAMPIRE 」 ꜝꜝ

── your new roommate has been acting weird, and you've taken it upon yourself to get to the bottom of it

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ 。。。

pairings 。best friend!yeonjun x reader x friend!soobin

.ᐟ genre 。suggestive at most? crack & fluff

.ᐟ tags 。vampire au, blood sucking?? feeding?? idk, they're both kind of dumb but not really just kind of, erm nothing else i think

.ᐟ status 。oneshot | masterlist

✎ ๋࣭ ⭑ kind of corny and cheesy but idgaf it’s my blog!!! i totally forgot about this but it was at a point where i said yeah sure what the hell and decided to post it. another roommate hyuka au bc my schedules never go as planned so i just cut it short...i'll post an nsfw addition if people want it though

You tap your pen against the counter as you watch your roommate do his “work,” typing away at his remote job on his laptop. You narrow your eyes at him with a pout, drumming the writing material faster on the surface. Kai sighs and looks up at you, mirroring your investigative expression. “Are you alright?”

You narrow your eyes further, nodding slowly. “Yeah, just finishing the points for my project.” He turns back to the screen, humming absentmindedly. “What’s it about?” You freeze, stuttering over yourself. “It’s—uh, about…Global warming.” He doesn’t seem convinced, raising an arched brow at you, but he lets it pass anyway. “Well, good luck on that.” 

It’s been a few months since the boy had moved in with you, and fewer when you began to realize his strange patterns.

You look down at your notes—and in bold, underlined writing are the words “HUENING KAI IS A VAMPIRE (proof).” If anyone were to ever see this pad, they’d call you comically insane. However as previously mentioned, you have proof. First, he never goes out during the day. Granted, he has a job and takes night classes—but other than that, he’s never gone on a grocery run with you or exited his room on the weekends unless the sun sets. Second, he always drinks from an insulated tumbler. It even stays by his side at the dinner table, opting for it rather than the rest of the glasses. Third, he never cooks with garlic. He’s pretty much the cook out of the two of you, recalling the incident of you somehow setting fire on the stove. Who cooks without garlic? A vampire, that’s who. Third, he always disappears at dawn. You’re not insane enough (yet) to follow him, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open after midnight. Sometimes you hear the front door and peek at his silhouette, a large duffel bag in his grasp—but your conscience (your laziness) forbids you from leaving the place unattended for the sole purpose of following him. Lastly, he’s unbelievably pretty. This point has a really large question mark on it in red ink, but you’ve never seen someone look so angelic, as if he would glimmer in the sunlight. Not that you would know, he mostly wears baggy clothes that are long in sleeves and pants. Like what? A vampire!

What would you even get out of this? He would’ve sucked your blood to death by now—but maybe splitting rent was just easier for him. If he was a vampire and he had no intention to murder you in cold blood, then you suppose you would let him stay.

What? He’s a great roommate, great cook, tidy, and fun to be around. Every time you think about it, it comes to a point where you realize he would make a great significant other. But that’s ridiculous, he's a vampire after all, so you conclude that you were just curious about him and his weird habits.

──

For step one, you decide to check for his reflection. Throughout your five second internet search along with your film viewing, you know for a fact that vampires do not have reflections. “Kai! Grab me a towel please!” You plead, voice shrill and loud as you patiently wait in the shower. Truthfully, you forgot your towel. But why not take this opportunity to test your hypothesis? Kai fumbles with the door knob as you peek through the corner of the curtain. “A-are you naked? My eyes are closed!” You turn to the mirror, fogged up by the steam. You tut in disapproval, wiping it away to reveal Kai’s apprehensive form. You pout, snatching the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself. “You can look now.” He peeks through his fingers and gasps at your still half-naked self as you sulk out of the bathroom. 

Admittedly, you almost quit after that encounter altogether. But one evening, Kai worked an odd shift, rendering him unable to cook dinner and leaving the meal up to you. He walks out of his room to a suspiciously clean and hazard free area, with food set on the table. “This looks… Edible.” He says shocked, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you not trust me to make dinner?” The other looks down, scratching his head. “Well, the last time you cooked I had to replace my nonstick pan. That thing’s been with me since elementary.” You huff, taking your seat across from him. “Whatever. I ordered it and put it on one of our plates. Happy?” He sits down as well, taking a serving for himself. “I'd be happier if you learned how to cook without burning the apartment down. It’s a very important life skill, you know.” You make a sound of annoyance, picking at your food. “I do other things—like cleaning. Besides, if I had skill, we wouldn’t be having garlic soy chicken.” The other freezes for a while and slowly looks up at you from his plate. “Does this have garlic?” You nod, pointing at the box over by the trash can. “Yup, it’s their most popular flavor. Honestly I like their other ones better—”

Kai spits the foot out and wraps his hands around his neck, dropping to the ground. “Holy shit!” You chant over and over, flailing around in circles as he lays on the floor. “In my room—desk drawer!” He hisses, and you frantically run across the place. You aren't even sure what you’re getting, but once you see a stack of epinephrine injections, you grab one and stab him with it. 

You kind of feel guilty for a moment, because you thought he was actually a vampire who couldn’t eat garlic. Turns out he just had an allergic reaction to garlic, which was rare but apparently not impossible.

──

The following morning, you meekly knock at the door to his room. Today is his free day, and you wanted to make it up to him. You bring him flowers and a new EpiPen injection, smiling at him when he opens the door. “I’m sorry for poisoning you yesterday.” And for trying to prove you were a bloodsucking supernatural immortal. “We can go out today if you want? My treat.” His smile forms the shape of a box with his eyebrows upturned, and you know he’s about to reject you. “That’s fine, but I’m really not in the mood for—” — “Come on, Kai! We can do anything you want, please?” You plead, leaning over and pouting at him. He sighs in defeat, straightening his posture once he realizes your words. “Anything?” You nod fervently. “Anything.”

“Then,” he starts, fidgeting with the ends of his hoodie, “it’s a date.” You blink up at him, thinking for a moment. Oh like a friendly date, bonding together! You nod again, grin wide and bright. “Okay!”

It was after the park walk and arcade that you realized it may be more than a friendly date. You’re shifting uncomfortably in your seat, watching Kai order something in French you won’t even try to pronounce. “Kai, I don’t think I can afford any of these.” You whisper, to which he shakes his head. “It’s alright, I got it. You must be sick of my home cooking by now.” — “That’s not true!” You exclaim rather loudly, “I love your cooking.” He giggles at you, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm lighting against the other’s complexion or seeing him in something other than sweats that makes you anxious all of a sudden. “I’ll pay you for this, I swear.” Kai pushes his hair back and rests his face in his palm. “You can pay me back with another date.” Another date?! 

Your thoughts are cut by the smell of the food set in front of you, and you spare no time in stuffing as much as you can into your mouth as the other watches you in endearment. 

──

When you get home, he stops at the front door and stops you from pulling out your keys. You raise an eyebrow in question, while he laughs awkwardly to himself. “Today was really fun. I’m almost entirely glad that you decided to almost kill me yesterday.” You grin sheepishly at his words, “Again, I’m so sorry.” You’re about to continue rambling, but the other is staring at you so intensely you quiet down. “...What is it?”

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you answer yes, and you cup your cheeks in your palms in an attempt to hide the blush forming underneath—but it’s no use. He grabs the end of your fingers and replaces your hands with his, inching his face closer to yours. His lips move slow and calculated, rhythm steady as you let him work his way through your mouth. Just as you reciprocate his movements, your tongue is nicked by something sharp, making you jolt upright. But Kai doesn’t let you go, instead he crashes himself deeper into you, sucking at the surface of your tongue and separating with a resounding pop. The both of you take heavy breaths for a while, your hair disheveled and his bottom lip coated in crimson sheen. “I knew it!” You exclaim, before shrinking within yourself. “You’re—uh, you’re a…” You trail off, body pressed against the wooden panel. “I’m a vampire.” He breathes out, “Wait, you knew?” 

You’re trembling, panic-stricken as you nudge the doorknob over and over. “That’s not gonna turn without the key.” He mumbles, and you point your key at him in an ill attempt at self-defense. “Are you gonna eat me?!” 

“Eat—what? No.” He says, using his own key to unlock the place. You squeak as he maneuvers you into the apartment, and he settles you down on the couch across from him. “But how?” You start, “I can see your reflection?” — “Uh, yeah? I’m a vampire, not a figment of your imagination.” You deflate at his words, leaning forward. “But all the novels say—” He cuts you off with laughter. “All the novels? Do you read supernatural romance?” Defensive, you raise your arms. “It’s more drama than romance! They say vampires can’t see their reflection because they have no souls.” The other raises a brow, “Ouch. What does that even mean?” You shrug, completely lost. 

“So what’s true? About like, myths about you?” Pursing his lips in thought, Kai settles against the cushions. “The mirror thing is just stupid. I guess the garlic thing is true.” You blink, dumbfounded. “That’s real?” The other nods. “If convulsing on the floor was any indicator, then yeah.” You furrow your brows, “What kind of old vampire ailment gets cured via EpiPen?” — “I mean—it kind of works like an allergy anyway. Contact dermatitis and whatnot.” You scoff. “And whatnot,” you mock, “what about going out at night and wearing baggy clothes outside? What about sneaking off at dawn?” Tilting his head, he replies calmly. “I told you, I have work during the day and I work out at night—what are you doing?” You reach for the notepad stored in one of the drawers, twirling your pen as you go through every item on your list. “What about the tumbler?” Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “The tumbler?”

“What’s in your tumbler? You have it with you at all times, hell you even took it out today! Is it blood?” You ask as if it were scandalous, voice low and in a whisper. “It’s really just water.” He replies, “I feed through a network of fully consenting humans.” 

You put the pad down, crossing your arms at him with a glare. “You’ve never asked me to help you. Is my blood not good enough for your bourgeois taste buds?” Confusion paints his face, quick to dispute your statement. “No, and believe me, your blood has been really tempting. It’s just that, well, I like you—and I thought maybe you would hate me or something.” 

“Oh.” Your palms turn clammy as you shut them on each other, thinking of more questions. “So how long were you—like were you always a vampire?” He shakes his head in disagreement, answering, “I turned a few years back actually.” You gaze at him empathetically. “I’m sorry.” He laughs, indifferent. “Sorry for what?” You return the laugh nervously, “I… Don’t know.” A few beats of silence pass before you speak up again. “Well! At least now your skin is glowing and—” “Oh that’s not a myth…” He admits, “I’ve always looked like this.” Clearing your throat, you reply: “Well, you’re very pretty.” This coaxes a genuine smile from him. “Thanks, you’re very pretty too.” The both of you stay completely still again, though this time Kai breaks the silence. “Was all this an attempt to find out if I was a vampire?” You chuckle lightly, half humiliated. “No… I kind of gave up when I saw your reflection. I promise I didn’t mean to give you an allergic reaction.” He disregards your apologies lightly with a raised hand, still in thought. “About the date…” You’re quick to explain, “Honestly I didn’t think it was going to be a date date.” His frown and the dent between his brows deepen. “So you don’t like me?” Picking at the fabric of the couch, you stammer through your words.“I don’t—not like you? I just haven’t thought about you like that until recently, I guess.”

“So what do you think now?” You gaze up to see him staring at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “As long as you don’t kill me I’m fine—I think.” He follows up immediately, “Does that mean you’ll feed me? I’ll just take a little, I swear.” You wince at his eagerness, rubbing the skin of your nape. “Does it hurt?” Kai draws back at your reluctance, feigning nonchalance with a dismissive wave of hand. “A bit, yeah. But! I heard it makes some people feel good.” — “Good how?” The other shrugs, lips forming into a line. “Not sure.” Your curiosity has always led you to uncomfortable positions, this being the most life threatening one so far. Honestly, you should just drop this whole thing altogether.

“You’ll stop when I tell you to, right?” His face lights up again, jumping over to your side of the sofa. “Of course.”

Hesitant, you move away the hair behind your neck and Kai takes it as a sign to move even closer. He grabs your waist and hoists you up to straddle him, cheeks flushed when he looks into your eyes and realizes he’s gotten ahead of himself. After you reassure him with a peck on the lips, he dips his head over to the junction between your shoulder and face, looking up at you for a signal. Milliseconds after you nod, he sinks his teeth in slowly, rupturing the barrier of flesh. He halts for a minute before taking, as if the slightest movement would set you off. He can feel a squeak vibrate through your throat and your thighs tense against his hips, slightly trembling.

True to his word, he lets you go once he feels your grip tighten at his arms. He licks over the wound he created and kisses it, meeting your eyes again. You’re stunned in place, the only movement coming from rapid blinking and taking in breaths.

“Woah.”

He cups the sides of your face, searching your expression for discontent. “Woah? Woah bad or woah good?” You lean your head back and stare into the ceiling, lightly gripping the collar of his shirt. “As in I feel lightheaded—and weird. Feels super weird. Like I’m tipsy.” Gasping, the other fidgets in place, your weight keeping him down. “Oh no.” He starts to panic, but you shut it down by smiling at him, albeit loopy. “Don’t worry, I’m fine—great even.” You assure him, covering his face in short kisses before resting your cheek against his chest. Sighing in relief, Kai plays with the top of your head for a moment, before you grab both his wrists and look at him with sparkles in your eyes. “Can we do that again?”

halloooo i took a long break and this is kind of a warm-up back hehe i have like 3 fics in active development (plus one of the two/three part-ers i started last year, but it iz what it iz!

tag .ᐟ @hyunj00

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

IM UNSHADOWBANNWD AH. I’ve been so excited to post this story it’s been in the works and it’s the THREE HUNDRED follower special first of all i do not deserve you guys at all thank you for all the support you show me i hope you enjoy this as much as i did hehe MUAH

DISCLAIMER: This is an 18+ blog! If you are underaged or don’t have an age indicator in your bio, please don’t interact!

afab reader x Pornstar! ID Leon

Warnings: Smut- just pure porn with a plot. PORNSTAR LUIS TOO HEHE.Slight (very) slight mentions of being obsessed/ watching reader, leon eats pussy (ofc he does) and fucks reader stupid.

Word count: 3,169

———-

knock knock

“What?”

Why did he sound so annoyed? Your fist stalled against the door as you paused your knocking.

“Um- Greg told me to introduce myself. Sorry if you’re busy.”

Just try and sound sweet, don’t be a pushover. You had barely just stepped onto the set, still in the clothes you wore to your psychology class. The room ran silent, your eyes reading over his name on his door continuously before it swung up, your hair moving from the gust of wind.

His arms were so toned, his hand gripping the handle of the door knob as he leaned against the door frame. Incredibly toned, his shirt off and his hair laying against his face so perfectly. His steely eyes scanned you up and down, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he saw you holding your Psych 200 book.

“Leon.”

He mumbled as he watched you scan over his arms. He was cocky; you could tell. Before you could even introduce yourself, the door slammed in your face, your hands gripping your bag as you sighed to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief.

———

“She shot with Sera like a month ago. The video is still up on the front page too.”

Leon’s makeup artist spoke as she rubbed the beauty blender against his forehead. Leon stared at himself in the mirror; he felt terrible for slamming the door in your face. He really did. He has been in the industry for too long, and he has never had anyone come and formally introduce themselves before filming, so seeing you stand there not being able to say a complete sentence to his face just irritated him. He was also just surprised you didn’t know him; he owned this whole set, his manager is the one who makes his booking, or he definitely wouldn’t have picked you of all people.

———

After shooting with Luis, the two of you became very close friends; when you got to your small studio room, you threw your bag and book down, dialing his number on your phone as you pulled your laptop out, sitting on the desk.

“Hello?”

Luis' voice rang through your ear as you sighed in frustration, instantly communicating that something was wrong.

“He slammed a door in my face when I tried to say hi to him, Luis.. why does he have such a big ego? Sure is heavy for a man I've never even seen before.”

Your fingers typed his name into the search bar, clicking on the first link to come up as you listened to Luis ramble about how this is just how it’s going to be and how lucky you were to get him as your first shoot, your mouth ran dry seeing the cover photo of one of Leon’s hundreds of videos, his cock barely pushing into some girl, his hair covering his face so perfectly and his lips parted so slightly.

“Mama, what did I tell you? Do not google.”

Luis scolded as he listened to you close the laptop.

“I don’t know, Luis, maybe I should just leave- I have to go; makeup’s here.”

Hanging up on him because of the slight knock on the door. It must have been noticeable that you were in your head, the pretty makeup artist wiping at your cheeks with a light bronzer to grab your attention.

“You don’t need much makeup, and you’re naturally very beautiful.”

She smiles softly as she reaches for the mascara. You smile back at her as she tilts your head around.

“That’s very sweet of you, thank you.”

You laugh as she turns your chair around, smiling as she pushes your hair from your face.

“Gorgeous, they want you in this. Whatever you wear under is completely up to you.”

The beautiful woman rambled as she pulled the light blue sundress from the bag, handing it to you. No matter what they said to you, you couldn’t get out of your own head.

————

The wall had a weird pattern. It wasn’t like standard white paint but was super grainy, you sat further back, watching as the director checked all of his cameras, fixing the lights, and reading over signed paperwork. They never handed you a script, though, which left you lost. Luis’ crew had a script. It was easy to remember, but maybe only Leon had one. Right when you think about him, he comes walking in from the main door, a smug smile on his face as he grabs hands to shake. If he weren’t in the industry he would make a wonderful bodyguard with broad shoulders, strong arms, and confidence. He wore a black long-sleeve shirt accompanied by a pair of dark denim jeans. It sucked; he was such an asshole, he was handsome. It suddenly made you feel so self-conscious, remembering the cover photo you had seen on your laptop. You specifically specialized in actual content, genuine emotions, and honest reactions, and the people love it. You started on your own, only fans, to be specific, and it makes you laugh out of embarrassment when it’s brought up. Your eyes follow Leon as he grabs a cup of water, leaning on the table as he talks to the makeup artist, who, for some reason, points over to you. Your eyes drop to your lap, your legs crossed as you play with the soft material of the dress. Your heart began to race as you saw his shoes directly in front of you. His presence was so heavy. Your gaze shifted up to him, his hand touching the arm of your chair.

“Sorry for slamming the door on you, I’ve had a long week, and I forgot I was shooting today.”

Hearing him talk in a complete sentence now was weird, his voice rough yet deep. You nodded your head as you shrugged.

“I can’t blame you; I would slam the door on me too.”

You smile, but it quickly drops once you notice what he said; how could he forget he has a shot? He just called you easily forgettable. Leon’s eyes trailed down to your thighs, smiling to himself as your leg bounced up and down. The two of you stood in your silence before Greg walked over towards you two, grabbing your shoulders.

“Leon, Y/N, Y/N, Leon. I know this piece of work doesn’t introduce himself for shit.”

He laughed, pointing towards the bed in the middle of the room; Leon’s eyes squinted at the minor insult before both of your eyes shifted to the bed. He had explained some shitty plan that had the two of you bored. He sighed before he looked at Leon, touching his arm.

“Just do whatever you want. Why do you pay me?”

His foot turned to walk away from you two as Leon still stared at the bed in the middle of the room. He turned back to you, putting his hand out, your eyebrow-raising in confusion up at him.

“Leon Kennedy.”

Your hand pulled from your lap, shaking at his, both of your grip on each other strong as you nodded your head.

“Just call me Y/N.”

You spoke sheepishly before he helped you up from the chair. Was he going to listen to what the director said? This was an extensive movie set, the bedroom, and then the small room apart from the bedroom that seemed to resemble a hallway.

“I know we stepped off on the wrong foot, but can you trust me? Just for the next hour?”

Leon leaned down to your ear as the two of you walked towards the hallway set. You nodded your head as the lighting changed to a darker yellow.

Leon’s head turned towards the camera as he put his hand up

“No cuts.”

He yelled out as he turned back to you.

—————-

Felt awful slamming the door on her pretty face.

Leon’s grip on the door handle grew tighter by the second as you rambled on about trying to introduce yourself. The room shook as he slammed the door, a strained groan leaving his lips as he looked down at his sweatpants. You had knocked at a horrible time, Leon’s laptop on display with your video with Luis flashing on his screen. He was obsessed with you. Obsessed with how your lips parted before you moaned or how easily sensitive you were. You didn’t need to introduce yourself. He already knew. So when he called his agent asking him to call your agent to see if you were booking, he was more than excited when they said you were open. He pumped himself for almost an hour, soft moans leaving his lips as his eyes squeezed shut, trying to think about how it would feel to have you squeezing around his cock.

———

“Action!”

Greg screamed, your eyelids heavy as you looked up at Leon. It was crazy how fast you could switch moods like that. Leon's hands were immediately all over you, pressing you into the wall by your waist as he hungrily peppered kisses against your jaw. And suddenly everything felt so much hotter? His hands dragged down your skin, and his lips burned into the soft skin of your neck, a whine leaving your lips as one of Leon’s hungry hands brought your leg to his waist.

“There you go, honey, relax for me..”

He mumbled into your skin as his hands lifted you into his arms. You were surprised at his strength as he held you with one hand, his other pushing the door open. He made you feel so small, throwing you down onto the plush mattress, your chest rising and falling as he softly nipped at your collarbones. You weren’t this nervous with Luis, your hands shaking as you pushed some hair from Leon’s face as he kissed the small space between your chest, his hands carefully rubbing up your thighs, his fingers resting against your stomach as he pushed himself down the bed. He needed more. The way you shook under him only encouraged him, his head nuzzling so perfectly between your thighs, smirking up at you as your eyes fluttered away from you, avoiding his stare. The pressure in his pants grew more intense, listening to the hiss pull through your teeth as he held onto the fabric of the sundress, licking over your pretty black panties.

“Damn..”

He grumbled as he lifted your hips, pulling the panties off you, bundling them up in his hand, and pushing them into his pocket as he moved the dress's material again. Scooting in closer to you, laying your knees over his shoulders as he looked up at you through heavy eyelids, his tongue laying a long strip over your folds. You couldn’t help but squirm in his grasp, his hands flying to your waist as you let out that shaky whine again that drove him fucking crazy. You tasted so unbelievably good on his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he hungrily lapped at your folds, pulling you closer like somebody was trying to take you from him. You were so dazed, your back arching as the cameraman squatted beside you and Leon, trying to get the perfect angle. You didn’t even care about his presence, caught up in crying out Leon's name as he repeatedly lapped at your clit, a loud whimper leaving your lips as you sat up, tugging at his hair. Leon could stay between your legs all day, but he needed more. He pulled away from your still dripping core, his face glistening with your slick as he took advantage of you sitting up, pulling the dress over your head. He couldn’t help but groan, finally seeing you bare beneath him, his hands pushing down against your chest, your back laying flat against the mattress yet again as you stared up at him, watching with sparkling eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head. He was sculpted so beautifully.. and it hit you, this is why he’s so popular, he’s a walking god.

“Been waiting on this part all fucking day..”

Leon’s lips parted as he yanked his jeans down, along with his boxers. He let out a sigh of relief as his cock pressed against his upper stomach, his hand reaching down to pump himself as he kicked his jeans off. And suddenly you felt like that girl on the cover of the video you saw, Leon’s hair sprawling perfectly against his face as he leans his body down, tearing your thighs open as his thumb lazily rubs small circles against your clit, smirking as you jolt forward. He continued to pump himself as he reached over, grabbing at the baby pink silk pillow at the edge of the bed before he shoved it under your hips. What a gentleman… you thought to yourself before your thighs were pressing together at the feeling of his cock pressing into you. He was so thick, your walls having a hard time adjusting to even just the tip of him. Leon’s lips pressed together as he let out a quiet “fuck..” His hands holding your legs open as he put more pressure on your clit, your core growing soaked again assisting him in sliding so perfectly into you. If he weren’t getting paid for this, he would’ve just came then and there, watching your pretty face scrunch up in painful pleasure, your legs kicking in his grasp slightly, and your painfully tight walls squeezing him.

“Fuck.. relax, baby, let me in.”

Leon whispered to you as you nodded your head, allowing your hips to rest against the pillow as he cooed down at you, leaning down against your much smaller form and forcing your legs over his broad shoulder. His thumb is still rubbing at your clit to ease the pain of him stretching you out. Leon’s jaw tightens as he pulls his hips back, letting out a shaky breath as he slams back into you, smiling as the small “Mmph!-“ Left your throat involuntarily. So fucking precious. Your soft thighs brushed against his chest as he fucked into you, his body weight lifting off you as he grabbed your ankles, staring down at where he pushed into you. Even the director looked surprised as Leon let out a long moan. It rumbled through his chest as he continued to fuck into you, your hands grabbing at the bed sheets. Leon mumbled a few words to himself before he grabbed at your body, flipping you on to your side as he threw the pillow to to other side of the room. He crawled behind you, lifting your leg before he pushed into you again, causing you to let out a loud whine, your head leaning back into his shoulder as his thrusts somehow became deeper- more meaningful. Leon reached over, pushing some hair from your face as he looked down at you.

“Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes for me.”

His lips touch the shell of your ear as he whispers to you. You were in bliss; he rubbed against your walls so perfectly it felt like your skin was on fire. Your eyes fluttered open, looking at the camera hazily. Leon shook his head, grabbing your jaw and turning your head towards him.

“Don’t look at them.. look at me… it’s just you and me right now, baby, just you and me.”

He groaned down to you as a loud cry of pleasure left your lips in response, your orgasm crashing through you. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you in closer to him as his hips snapped into you faster.

“That's a good fucking girl- mm.. fuck keep squeezing around me like that, honey..”

Leon felt his hips stuttering as he looked down at you, fucked out in his arms. A shaky moan left his lips as his hips stopped, his cum spurting into you, causing loud cries to leave your lips. Leon laid out of breath before he pulled out of you, smirking as he tilted his head at the cameraman to bring him in closer as he spread your lips, his fingers spreading your folds as his cum dripped out of you, the biggest smirk on his face.

“Cut!”

Was all you heard as the bed dipped beside you, your body still trying to recover as you sat up, your hair messy and your mascara running down the side of your face as Leon laughed, looking over at you.

“You okay, sugar?”

He asked sweetly as he grabbed a water, opening it before handing it to you, pushing some hair from your face as you took a small sip.

“Yeah.. just was a lot.”

You nod as he watches you; he clears his throat, handing you the sundress from the ground as he stands, pulling his pants up.

“Listen. I know you don’t know me, but, are you busy tonight? Let me take you out for dinner.”

He wasn’t asking; it was more of him letting you know he was. Your arms go through the holes before you look at him, nodding your head.

———-

You were the current talk of the industry.

Everyone was so curious how you broke Leon, making him utterly different from any video he’s ever shot.

Your face scrunches as you look at yours and Leon’s page on the front cover of the site, that smirk on his face as he spreads apart your folds. Your knee is pressed to your chest as you scroll through the comments, flinching slightly as you feel pressure at the top of your head.

“Morning.”

Leon grumbles as he sips his coffee after kissing the top of your head. His eyes follow yours, seeing the “uploaded two months ago” in the corner as he whistled

“Gonna win awards for that one.”

He winks at you, your arm swinging at him before you shut the laptop on the table.

[lovesickpvppy]

FREAK SHOW 🩰

^ྀི plot: your best friend finds your tumblr where you’ve been posting…questionable things about him

^ྀི warnings: fem!reader, she’s like just weird and sensitive ??, smut, friends to lovers, oral (r!receiving), reader posts about wanting to be used by suguru, no use of y/n .

^ྀི wc: 1.2k

^ྀི notes: this one is for the sensitive chronic tumblr posting girlies!

you’re tumblr was your safe space, you could post whatever you wanted there without anyone knowing . you posted your outfits and your random thoughts . it was truly a place where you could be yourself, all your mutuals were just as raw as you

your best friend, suguru, was oblivious to it . he had no idea you even had tumblr . even though you two were as close as can be you really couldn’t show him your tumblr, why? because over the past couple months you’d been posting rather questioning things, thoughts but they were—sexual, and to be specific they were about him

you would rather die then let suguru know you had a raging crush on him

it was a quiet tuesday, suguru was hanging out on your couch with you, your head rested on his shoulder as you scrolled on your phone, his arm around your shoulder . you opened tumblr and suguru noticed, to your knowledge he had no idea you had tumblr, but turns out you were wrong . he knew and he was determined to get your user, he needed to know what you were posting

he paid attention to your profile, he saw your theme, god it was so you . he tilted his head and finally got your username, now he had something to do tonight . you noticed his eyes glued to your phone, “hey! are you spying on me?!” you lifted your head to look at him . “no!” he raised his hands in defence

“you were! what did you see?” he shook his head at your question, “i saw nothing! i swear!” you narrowed your eyes at him . “fine, i believe you” he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair . the rest of the night was peaceful, suguru went home and practically jumped to his laptop . he sat down on his couch and typed in “tumblr.com” in google

he singed in and now he could finally see what you were posting, he put in your username and found you, ha! you used a fake name so no one would find you . yet he did . he stared at your page for a while, looking at your intro and your theme . everything was really like your personality, he scrolled down and the first post was just you talking about new clothes

as deeper he scrolled he got to the darker stuff, well maybe now dark but the…horny stuff . whining about being sexually frustrated or in your words “needing dick”, specifically your best friend's, but he hadn’t gotten to that yet! it looked like your posted a lot so it took him a while to scroll down to when he finally saw the first hint of who you liked

“i want him so bad”

was all it said, who? who did you want? and why did he feel a bit jealous . as he scrolled he saw more and more about “him”, one post caught his eye “i wish my best friend would just use me:<“ something he never would have expected from you . he scrolled a little more before accidentally liking a post from months ago, panic set in and he immediately took the like off

you got the notification that “sugu00” liked your post and you knew it was him, then you received a text from him

sugu🫶

“sorry”

fuck . you were in deep shit

the next couple of days there was no interaction between the two of you, he didn’t text you and you didn’t text him . he kept stalking your blog, he even had your notifications on . he noticed that you posted less, but you still made sure to rant at least two times a day . he watched you change your theme to something slightly different almost twice a day . his blog was blank, he didn’t have “time” nor the will to change it

everything was going well till suguru suddenly got the urge to talk to you, not text you, but to talk to you . so he made his way to your apartment, he had a spare key so he just unlocked the door and stepped inside . he shut the door behind him, he immediately noticed his dimly lit your house was and how your door was closed . he called out your name once . then twice . he heard shuffling from behind your bedroom door and it clicked open

he stood in front of you . your hair was dripping wet from your recent shower, you pjs sticking to your damp skin . “hey” he coughed out, “hi” you said in a weak tone, as if you didn’t want to talk to him . “i saw your post about…me” your breath hitched, “oh…i figured” you cleared your throat, “can i come inside your room?” you nodded and stepped aside

he walked in and noticed the only thing on was a couple lamps, your room like the rest of the house was not very bright . had you just been sulking these days? he sat down on your bed, “so...” he trailed off . “i’m sorry you had to see those posts” your voice cracked mid sentence as you felt tears well in your eyes . his head perked up, “hey don’t worry, i knew that you—had feelings for me, i just didn’t know they were so…extreme”

you started to sob, your freshly done makeup going to waste, “i’m sorry” you chanted, he walked over to you and brought you into a hug . “you want me to make you feel better? to make it all go away?” you looked up at him and nodded

he brought you to your bed and laid you down, he tugged on your pj shorts, “can I?” you just nodded, “words, baby” he taunted, “yes, you can” he pulled them down and your lacy panties with a little bow on them caught his eyes, “awh” he looked up at your embarrassed face, “oh c’mon, i think it’s cute” he placed a kiss on your clothed cunt, the feeling earring a whimper from you

“so sensitive” he teased, he oh so slowly pulled your panties down, your dripping pussy coming into sight, “there we go” he licked a stipe from the bottom of your slit to your clit, “ngh!” you moaned out, “sugu don’t tease me!” you whined and he chuckled . “you ever had someone fuck you?” you shook your head, he nodded in an understanding manner

“can i be your first?” you giggled, “yes, please” you practically begged . he kissed your clit before attaching his mouth to it, sucking on it harshly . your head flew back and you moaned, “sugu!” his fingers made they’re way to your hole, he slipped one the two in . your warm gummy walls wrapped tightly around them, he curled them as his tongue flicked your clit . he pumped his fingers in and out of you, with every movement a small noise escaped your throat

you felt a feeling bubble up in your stomach, “so close” you mumbled, he continued his pace, flicking his tongue . you felt yourself clench around his digits and cum, your eyes shut tight and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth . “that’s it” he praised, your legs shook as you came down from your high . you felt tears sting in your eyes and suguru put your clothes back on

“what’s wrong?” he whispered as he cuddled up against you, holding you tight . “i love you”

you confessed, “like a lot” you sobbed into the sleeve of his sweater . “hey it’s okay, i love you too” he placed gentle kisses on your head as your crying slowly stopped and was replaced with a light snore

[foreverdolly]

Is this the end of savage bonds? 😭

hey there, angel. this is the first message to my inbox that I’ve come across so i’m going to reply to this first! i’ve still been writing every now and again…

however- someone sat on my macbook and completely broke it. i’m talking this shit is gone, guys. thank god i don’t save my fics straight to my computer and rather type it all up on google docs (i’m bad with technology and don’t know how to ‘back anything up’. what is this cloud that you all speak of.)

so i’ve been saving up for a new computer (praying that friends and family will help me purchase one for a christmas present). as you can imagine, writing and editing fics is incredibly hard to do on my phone. i’m so sorry for disappearing as well. i think the lil bit of shit i was getting from people around the time of my dad goin’ “poof” kinda made me anxious about coming on this site, and after my laptop broke i was like… “well hell, they’re going to give me shit for this too”.

anyways, i’m still going to continue savage bonds! whether anyone is interested in what i write a month from now or not, i still plan on completing my ongoing fics. it feels good to have something gain traction and popularity for sure, but this blog originally started as a way to make friends and to write smut purely for my own enjoyment. i had no clue that anyone would give a shit about my writing, so to have so many people love what i put out means the world to me.

thank you! now it’s time to brave the rest of my inbox and delete any undesirables.

[febuwhump]

febuwhump stickers and notebooks now available on redbubble!

you read that right! now available for purchase are the first batch of febuwhump designs as voted for by the followers of the blog!

the batch contains:

all previous parody posters as stickers, including the 2025 revenge of the sixth which comes as a sticker and notebook (but is currently being copyright striked despite its nature as a parody!)

the 2025 febuwhump skull notebook for all you febuwhump handwriters out there (spiralbound and hardback options), and the febuwhump skull logo comes as a sticker

all previous years of completionist badges as stickers, for those of you who want to decoate your laptop with your wins

two types of voter fraud stickers, one of which comes as a pin badge in case you want to wear that to your local election poll (which i do not recommend doing)

and a handful of requested whump and febuwhump memes, including 2 types of "applesapplesapples" to appease those who were dismayed by apples not appearing in the poll, and "she febu on my whump til i bees" for anyone who just hates me personally i guess

more stickers will come out closer to february, and the blog is still taking requests for sticker designs that were missed this time around!

i will also provide updates for if this year's poster makes it through the copyright notice or not - if it doesn't, then it will tragically not be available for the foreseeable future, so everyone please prayer circle for me and my poster in the mean time