#also? the sorrow in her voice when she tells you this?

[code31-onthedancefloor]

what do you think dros was thinking when he first saw the phasmid? was he experiencing wonder; serenity? did he feel the world was still playing sick tricks on him: did he believe he was going insane from isolation and this was one of the symptoms? was it helplessness - that even though this miracle of nature stood before him, his beliefs prevented him from telling anyone about it? did the phasmid stand over iosef, watching him watch martinaise through his scope? did he feel her eyes on him for hours, until he forgot the eyes and the pheromones burnt a hole in his brain where she used to be? is he in a kind of grief over her absence in his head? is it a coincidence that the character who is most unable to move on from his past is on an island where the only other living being tells the player to turn from the ruin and move forward? that the most self-appraisingly noble and hopeless of causes has looked at the future for too long, and it is destroying him...

#this too is yuri #i find it funny and heartbreaking. maybe he did love the bug - in a way. #companionship. he never shot it. it just stood there and watched him until his mind eroded... #also? the sorrow in her voice when she tells you this? #she cared for him in a way that the future might take pity on the past. but ultimately it washes away. #into the wild pale yonder. because the people of the present cannot dwell unless they crave stagnation #and the other two stagnated men - stagnated socially; financially; ideologically; occupationally - capture a piece of something beautiful #while the man who sat and dwelled until that miracle next to him dissolved into mundane fractures falls apart himself in grief #and confusion. the world truly has no place for him anymore. #in other words: #get stickbugged #<- that is their ship name now #txt #disco elysium #insulindian phasmid #iosef dros

[just-aake]

Detecting Love

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A person with the power to detect lies meets the spy who has been trained to lie her entire life.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 6169

You have the power to detect lies. 

Now, it’s not exactly strong enough to be a hero, but you can honestly say that it has been useful in your life. 

Sure, it gets annoying at times, but one of the many lessons you’ve learned is to ignore minor instances of dishonesty — white lies or small things like that — since it helps reduce unnecessary confusion or chaos with others.

People lie. That is an undeniable fact of life.

And while one may believe that being able to detect such things is great, the truth is there are times when you find yourself resenting your power. 

Because, of course, everyone experiences moments when they wish that someone important to them isn't lying.

Like when your fiancée tells you she loves you.

There wasn’t really a malicious reason behind why a usually affectionate statement suddenly became so hurtful.

There was no cheating.

There was no fighting.

It was just another one of the many lessons you’ve learned in life.

That sometimes…a truth can also become a lie.

It’s just unfortunate that this lesson happened to you in such a way.

These kinds of moments make you wonder if maybe it’s better that people shouldn’t always know when someone is lying to them.

Then they don’t end up alone, drinking at a bar late into the night, trying to numb the pain of a broken heart.

You let out a heavy sigh as you stare at the pair of rings resting on the bar top, remembering the conversation that ended with one of them being returned to you. 

It was a heart-wrenching discussion where your fiancée confessed her steadily changed feelings for you, leading to the resolution to remain friends. 

And while neither of you is completely at fault for why things ended, you can’t help but blame your stupid power for putting you in the situation in the first place. 

You sigh heavily once more before swiftly downing the glass the bartender had set in front of you.

At least your current attempt to drown your sorrow is going well, judging by how the rings start to blur in your vision.

With a sad sigh, you reach for the rings to put them away, but in your clumsy state, one slips from your grasp and tumbles to the floor.

Just as you move to retrieve it, a hand beats you to it. 

Looking up, you find a red-haired stranger standing before you, offering the ring to you with a charming smile.

She looks familiar but the drunken haze in your brain makes it hard for you to remember where you’ve seen her before.

“Here, you dropped this,” she says, her voice low and smooth.

She’s beautiful and her voice sounds perfect. You think to yourself as you take the ring from her.

She chuckles lightly, “Thanks.”

Oh, did you say that out loud? You must be more drunk than you thought.

The woman offers her hand to you in greeting, and with a confident smirk, she introduces herself.

“My name’s Natalie. Natalie Rushman.”

Immediately, a red aura surrounds her, causing you to roll your eyes and return your attention back to the bar. 

“Liar,” you mutter tiredly as you gesture to the bartender to close your tab, not really in the mood to deal with any more lies tonight.

At the corner of your eyes, you see the stranger give you a slightly impressed look.

Ready to leave, you stand up quickly from your seat.

However, the action makes the room suddenly spin in your vision, causing you to stagger backward. 

A hand steadies you, resting gently on your back, and you unconsciously lean back against her surprisingly strong frame for support.

There’s a soft chuckle near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Let me try again,” she whispers smoothly, guiding you upright and turning you around to face her.

Offering her hand once more, she reintroduces herself.

“My name’s Natasha Romanoff. I’m here to recruit you to work for the Avengers.”

You blink slowly, trying to comprehend her words through your drunken haze. You wonder if the alcohol is affecting you more than you thought when no red aura appears this time at her words.

Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head in disbelief, unfortunately worsening the pounding in your skull. 

Work for the Avengers? That has to be a lie.

Before you can think about it any further, you feel yourself falling once more, unable to remain upright.

Strong arms catch you, and as your consciousness fades, you see a blurry glimpse of her striking green eyes before succumbing to darkness.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You wake to the pounding in your head and the bright sunlight streaming through your window. Turning away, you groan into your pillow, remembering that your fiancée – your ex-fiancée – would typically close the curtains before leaving for work.

Now that she’s gone, you’re going to have to adjust to living alone once again.

A cup being placed on the nightstand startles you into sitting up, as you turn in surprise to find the beautiful red-haired stranger beside your bed.

“For your headache,” she explains, placing some medicine next to the cup.

Your mouth hangs open as you struggle to remember the events of last night, some of which are honestly a blur. 

You examine yourself, checking your clothes and finding them unchanged from the previous night, and then you scan your surroundings again and realize in relief that nothing was out of place.

Well, except for the presence of this stranger in your home, who’s patiently waiting for you to gather yourself.

Searching through your drunken memories, you think you vaguely remember meeting her last night. She had mentioned her name was — Nata…? 

“Natalie?” you ask with uncertainty.

At her raised brow, you quickly apologize, feeling bad for not remembering correctly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember, but did we…did something happen between us last night?” you ask hesitantly.

Her face twists in genuine sadness and disappointment, causing a panic to run through you as you struggle to recall what could’ve possibly happened between the two of you for her to have such an expression.

“I’m hurt,” she finally says, placing a hand on her chest, “And after you even said that it was the best night of your life.”

Seeing the familiar red aura appear around her at her words, you let out a brief sigh of relief before realization sets in, and you give her a hard glare.

“You’re lying.”

Her hurt expression quickly morphs into an impressed look, and you are slightly startled at how effortlessly she was able to shift her emotions. 

The woman straightens her posture and crosses her arms, adopting a commanding stance that seems more likely her typical demeanor.

“So it’s not just luck,” she remarks, studying you curiously. 

At her words, you quickly rise from your bed in confusion.

However, the action causes you to wince in pain at the pounding in your head. 

Shutting your eyes tightly, you hold your head in comfort and lean lightly on the nightstand for support. 

As you do, your hand brushes against yesterday’s newspaper that you had been reading moments before your ex said those fateful three words that led to the heartbreaking conversation between the two of you. 

When the pain subsides, you slowly open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the front page before doing a double take.

The front features an article about the opening of the new Avenger Compound, including a photo capturing the Avenger members posed in front of the completed building. 

What catches you off guard is the uncanny resemblance between one of the Avengers in the picture and the woman standing before you.

Pointing at her in disbelief, you stammer.

“You’re…,” then, gesturing at the newspaper, you continue, “…her?”

She doesn’t respond to your question but instead nods toward your other room, inviting you to follow.

“Let’s talk,” she says, heading toward your door, then gestures at the medicine on your nightstand. “But drink those first.”

After freshening up in your bathroom, you take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the remnants of last night’s tears in your slightly puffy, red eyes. 

Sighing, you brush away the depressing thoughts of your failed relationship before taking the medicine and exiting your room.

You are greeted by the sight of your unexpected guest comfortably seated at your kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine with casual disinterest.

“You’re Black Widow,” you say confidently this time, positioning yourself on the opposite side of her.

She closes the magazine with a snap, placing it on the table before clasping her hands atop of it and meeting your gaze.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects you, before nodding at you. “And you’re Y/n L/n.”

“How did you…?”

She holds up a wedding invitation draft, displaying you and your fiancée’s names printed in fine lettering. 

Realizing that she must have been snooping around your things, you give her a disapproving glare, snatching the card from her hand and hastily stuffing it into a drawer.

Feeling a mixture of emotions—irritated, sad, hungover—you turn to the fridge, deciding to make breakfast to give yourself some focus. 

After you retrieve the eggs and other ingredients, you heat the stove before glancing at Natasha briefly, asking, “So, what does an Avenger want from me?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her resting her head against her hand, watching you with interest.

“I told you yesterday,” she replies.

You roll your eyes, giving her a deadpan look, knowing she’s aware that you don’t remember.

“Remind me again.”

Natasha gives you an amused smirk, straightening up in her seat. 

“Alright, I’m here to recruit you, more specifically for a sort of managerial position at the new Avenger Compound.”

Furrowing your brows, you question, “Why me? I don't have experience with that sort of thing.”

“But you can tell when someone is lying, can’t you?”

Pausing briefly in your cooking, you contemplate her words and its possible implications. Not many people know about your ability, and you don’t think you did anything to reveal it to the spy who’s currently staring expectantly at you.

So, in response, you shrug, replying as casually as possible. 

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people…psychology degree and all.”

A silence ensues, broken only by the sizzling of your cooking, until Natasha finally nods, seemingly accepting your explanation.

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, returning your attention to your current task.

But then she pulls out a folder filled with documents and places it on the counter, causing your nerves to rise again.

“Well, you’ve helped solve hundreds of cases with your interviews of the suspects,” she remarks casually, flipping through the folder before glancing up at you through her lashes. 

“100% accuracy rate in the information that you provided to the detectives,” she continues, nodding at you in acknowledgment. “For a part-time profiler, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” you respond with a polite smile, but beneath the surface, a hint of suspicion creeps in as you begin plating the meal you made.

Natasha closes the folder with a definitive snap, making you look at her. 

“You could say it’s almost impossible,” she muses, before a confident smirk forms on her face, and she tilts her head at you with a raised brow in challenge. 

“Unless there’s some way you can guarantee that they’re telling the truth.”

Honestly, you should’ve known better than to think that the experienced spy hadn’t already completed thorough research and investigations into you and your powers before meeting with you.

If anything, this was likely just a test for her to confirm what she already knows about your abilities.

Sliding a plate across the counter to Natasha with a pointed glare, you relent, deciding there’s no point in denying it anymore.

“Fine, what do you know?” 

Instead of responding, Natasha’s gaze lingers on the plate before her, a hint of confusion in her expression. 

Her plate holds a fluffy omelette accompanied by a side of crispy bacon and a slice of golden-brown toasted bread.

As she glances back up at you with a questioning look in her eyes, you take a seat across from her, setting down a similar plate in front of you before also placing a stack of fluffy pancakes at the center.

“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the meal.

“Breakfast,” you reply bluntly, taking a bite from your plate.

Natasha raises a brow at you, remarking plainly, “It’s noon.”

“Brunch then,” you correct with a roll of your eyes.

Natasha's lips quirk up in amusement, and she shakes her head.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.” 

The red aura appears around her, and with your mouth full of food, you give her a pointed glare.

“Right,” Natasha says in realization, remembering what you can do. She pulls the plate closer to her with a soft thanks. 

The atmosphere that followed was unusual but surprisingly not awkward. Despite being practically strangers, you find yourself slightly comforted by Natasha’s presence. 

If she wasn’t here, you probably wouldn’t have dragged yourself out of bed today after what happened yesterday.

After a moment of eating, Natasha breaks the silence.

“So, how can you tell when someone’s lying?”

Pausing to contemplate your answer, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before responding. 

“Well, when someone lies, there’s always this rush of chemicals that happens in their bodies,” you explain. “It ends up causing the typical indicators — things like fidgeting, sweating, or tone changes in their voice.”

“I didn’t do any of that, yet you still knew I was lying,” Natasha points out.

“No, you're right,” you admit, nodding. “You’re a perfect liar.”

From what you have seen so far, every expression and comment of hers appears genuine and honest, and if it was anyone else, they’d probably believe anything she says.

However, thanks to your ability, you know better. 

Gesturing at her, you clarify, “You still give off the same chemical reactions though, and I have the ability to see that.”

Natasha leans back in her seat, crossing her arms as she processes your explanation.

“It’s mainly visual then,” she concludes before asking curiously. “You don’t even need to hear what they said to know that they’re lying?” 

You nod, ruefully adding, “Yep, my world’s just filled with people glowing red at random.”

“And how long does this ‘glow’ stay around them?”

“Depends,” you reply with a shrug. “Usually not long, maybe a few seconds.”

Natasha hums in interest, tapping her chin, her brows pinching lightly in thought.

You can’t help but smile amusedly at the sight. 

For a person who has such an intimidating reputation, the spy in front of you right now looks kind of cute rather than scary.

After a moment, you break the silence this time.

“So, what’s the job?” 

Natasha’s eyes focus back on you at your question.

“Nothing too complicated,” she assures. “You’ll be in charge of interviewing the new employee candidates and conducting continuous reviews of the current ones.”

“You mean like screening them?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion, already aware of the rigorous and difficult process required to work at the Avengers buildings. 

“Don’t you guys already do extensive background checks before hiring people? Why do you suddenly need me?”

At your question, a charming smile appears on her face, effortlessly shifting her expression like before, though now you understand she’s just hiding her true feelings about the situation.

“That’s confidential.”

You scoff in disbelief and cross your arms.

“You do know that just makes it harder to trust you, right?”

Natasha mirrors your posture, her pretty grin still in place, masking any other emotions.

“Fair point,” she admits. “But to be honest, you should never put your trust in people like me anyway.”

“People like you?” 

“Spies,” Natasha clarifies as she begins to gather her empty plate and utensils. “Which is one of the types of people you’d be looking out for in this position. Their deception skills would be on a similar level to mine.”

You chuckle at that, causing Natasha to pause in her actions, raising a brow at you in question.

“Sorry, but everyone lies, whether you’re a spy or not,” you tell her, standing and taking the empty plate from her with a small smirk. “You’re just slightly better at it.”

A tiny offended look slips through Natasha’s expression at your little jab, her brow furrowing for a brief second.

Your grin widens at the sight of seeing a glimpse of her real self as you turn to place the dirty dishes in the sink.

Natasha quickly regains her composure, moving around the counter to lean back against the table next to you.

“In any case, the decision is still yours. I’ve already confirmed your abilities. It’s up to you to decide if you want to accept.”

At her words, you pause to consider your options. 

A new job working with the Avengers is a great opportunity, but it would be a significant change in your life. 

Then again, you’re already facing a huge change.

Your eyes unconsciously drift to the drawer next to where Natasha is leaning, where the wedding invitation draft remains, and your face twists in sadness at the memory. 

You guess it wouldn’t hurt to add a career change alongside your new relationship status.

At least this way you can still earn a salary while also distracting yourself from the depressing thoughts of your failed engagement. 

“Okay,” you decide, meeting Natasha’s gaze with a sigh, “I’ll take the job.”

“Great, I knew you would be agreeable,” Natasha remarks, extending her hand to you.

A red aura appears around her, causing you to huff and roll your eyes.

You take her hand in yours, giving her a tiny glare.

“Liar.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

You say that as you dodge another swing from Natasha, ducking under her arm to get behind her, only for her to twist her body around and deliver a kick that you narrowly block with your arms. 

Still, the impact has you stumbling back.

“Really?” Natasha asks with an innocent tone as she circles you. “I thought I mentioned to you that training was a part of your employment.”

A red aura begins to appear around her, but you don’t have time to comment before she swings her leg at you again. 

You catch it against your side with a small grunt of pain.

Having been a profiler for criminal cases before, you do have basic defense training, and you always believed that you could hold your own against most aggressors. 

At least you used to.

This current fight is making you reconsider your skills.

With her off-balance position, you attempt to throw her to the ground, but Natasha swiftly regains her footing, catching herself on her hands and executing a fluid movement to flip upright. She then bends low, sweeping your legs out from under you.

You land on the mat with a groan, feeling the impact reverberate through your body. Another pained breath escapes you as Natasha expertly pins you down.

You catch the faint red aura fading from her before throwing your head back against the mat with an exhausted sigh.

“You’re such a liar,” you breathe out, your voice tinged with both exhaustion and playful accusation. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to catch your breath.

Natasha's laughter fills the air, resonating above you, her amusement infectious and drawing a small grin from you. You peek open your eyes, watching as she disengages from atop you and heads over to her water bottle at the side.

“I’m a spy. It comes with the job,” she says casually, taking a sip.

“Okay, and I’m basically just HR,” you counter, pulling yourself upright into a sitting position. “So how does combat training fit into that?”

Natasha gestures towards you with a sweep of her hand.

“You need to be prepared to defend yourself if you ever expose someone dangerous and find yourself without backup,” she explains.

“That’s unlikely considering I haven’t even encountered anyone suspicious since I started,” you remark with a sigh.

It's been a month already, and you're starting to question if your presence here is even necessary.

Before you can dwell further on your thoughts, the cold touch of a metal water bottle against your cheek startles you.

Recoiling, you look up to see Natasha holding it out to you.

Raising a brow, Natasha waves the bottle lightly in offer.

You snatch the bottle from her with a tiny glare, but she only smirks in response.

Apart from the new job, the other surprising addition to your life is your budding friendship with the Avenger. 

After the whole recruiting ordeal, you honestly expected to only have passing encounters with her at the compound.

However, to your surprise, on your first day here, Natasha was the one who volunteered to give you a tour of the place, and in the days that followed, the two of you would often share coffee and chat before you had to head off to your respective jobs.

Those regular interactions with her also earned you a fearsome reputation among the other workers, which actually works out in your favor since they’re already nervous by the time you call them in for a review. This way they are more likely to slip up and reveal anything they may be hiding.

But, like you said, you haven’t found anything substantial yet.

With a heavy sigh, you pull your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, feeling the weight of failure bearing down on you.

Then you hear Natasha plop down beside you.

“Back when we met, you asked me why we needed you,” she begins.

Curious at her words, you turn your head slightly to glance at her, waiting for her explanation.

Natasha leans back on her hands, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she continues to speak.

“A couple of months ago, our surveillance revealed that someone within the compound staff was plotting an attack during the opening ceremony of the new building. However, we couldn’t confirm who it was without risking exposing that we knew of their plan."

Your eyes widen in confusion at the revelation. From what you remember, the opening ceremony was a success. There hadn’t been any news of an attack that day.

“But you caught them, right?” you inquire.

“No,” Natasha responds, shaking her head before meeting your gaze. “You did.”

Surprised, you straighten up, giving her a questioning look.

Natasha offers a small smile, elaborating, “You had recently interviewed him as a suspect for another case, and in your notes, you labeled him as dangerous and untrustworthy, despite everything about him proving otherwise.”

“And you believed me?” you ask incredulously.

Natasha shrugs, “Well, I had no other leads at the time anyway.”

You scoff in exasperation at her teasing, playfully pushing her away.

She chuckles softly before adopting a more serious expression.

“Trust in your abilities, Y/n,” Natasha says with a genuine tone. “If it’s you, not finding anyone suspicious is a good thing.”

You watch her closely, waiting for the red aura to appear.

But as a couple of seconds pass and nothing changes, you tuck your forehead back against your knees, this time to hide the smile threatening to spread across your face.

“Alright, break’s over,” Natasha announces, giving your back an encouraging pat. “Let’s go again.”

You groan in reluctance, remaining in your curled-up position.

“Come on,” Natasha urges, her tone coaxing. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”

You don’t even need to look up to know the red aura is surrounding her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“What’s this?”

Natasha's voice draws your attention away from the task of pouring cooked popcorn into a bowl.

She's sitting on your sofa, examining a small, elegant card that you had accidentally left on the table.

Widening your eyes in realization of what she’s found, you hurry over to her, but her narrowed eyes tell you that she has already read the names on the card.

“She’s inviting you to her wedding?” Natasha exclaims, disbelief coloring her tone. “It’s only been a year since your breakup, and now she’s already getting married?!”

Sighing in disappointment, you had hoped to keep this information from Natasha, who developed a strong dislike for your ex after you shared the details of your breakup during one of your girls' nights.

Placing the bowl of popcorn on the table, you take the invitation from her hand and head to the kitchen, intending to tuck it away in a drawer. 

As you slide it open, you catch the sight of the old wedding draft buried at the bottom, which causes a tiny pang of sadness in your chest at the memory of that time, of how everything changed so suddenly.

You can't help but wonder how your life might have unfolded if your engagement hadn't ended.

Would you still have accepted Natasha's offer if you hadn't been seeking a distraction from your failed relationship? 

“You’re not thinking about going, are you?” Natasha's voice interrupts your thoughts. 

Glancing up, you notice a peculiar look in her eyes, though it quickly shifts to a neutral expression at your gaze.

After a whole year of spending time together, you could tell underneath her impassive expression that she was upset about something; though, you figured it was just outrage at the situation.

Tossing the invitation into the drawer and shutting it, you offer her a small reassuring smile before returning to your seat beside her to start the movie.

“No, of course not,” you tell her.

As the opening scenes play, you maintain a normal, nonchalant expression, aware of Natasha's gaze still lingering on you even as the red aura fades from around your body.

After a while, Natasha huffs in disbelief before finally settling into the sofa, pulling the bowl of popcorn into her lap.

“You better be sharing that, Romanoff,” you tease, your eyes fixed on the screen.

Natasha scoffs before tossing a piece of popcorn at you.

“Of course, I will.”

Just as you're about to turn your head to look at her and confirm her honesty, she swiftly shoves a cushion pillow to the side of your face, blocking your view.

After a few seconds, she releases it, fluffing the cushion casually before leaning her head against your shoulder and tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

You chuckle at her antics, amused by her playful behavior, before returning your attention to the screen.

A few days later, you find yourself standing on the outskirts of the wedding area, observing as servers and workers hustle to complete the finishing touches.

A sad, bittersweet expression tugs at your lips as you recognize familiar details chosen by your ex, mingled with hints of a stranger’s preferences in the decorations.

To be honest, you don’t intend to stay for the wedding. You're just here to confirm something for yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, conjuring your ex’s face in your mind, and whisper to yourself. 

“I’m in love with her…”

Opening your eyes, you exhale slowly, a content smile on your lips as you notice the red aura surrounding your skin. It's a relief to be able to find closure regarding your feelings for your ex.

“You know, I don’t need powers to know you were lying,” a voice remarks from behind.

Startled, you turn to find Natasha approaching.

She stops beside you, her gaze fixed at the scene ahead as she accuses, “Saying that you weren’t going to come here.”

You look at her briefly before returning your attention to the field.

“I got curious about something,” you admit. “Figured that this was one way to confirm it.”

Excited and happy chatter fills the air as your ex appears, surrounded by friends and family.

Suddenly, thoughts of what-ifs from the other night resurface, prompting you to ask out loud unconsciously before you can stop yourself.

“Do you think I should’ve just pretended that she was telling the truth at that time — when she said she loved me?” you ask Natasha. “Maybe it might’ve worked out between us if I just kept my mouth shut.”

There’s a beat of silence before Natasha finally responds, her tone tinged with wistfulness.

“From my experience,” she begins, “I can tell you that living a lie would not make you happy…no matter how much you wish for it to be true.”

You chuckle lightly, “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am,” Natasha says confidently.

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both observe the preparations from a distance.

“She is a fool for letting you go, though,” Natasha suddenly adds, her tone casual.

You laugh softly, gently chiding her, “You can’t call the bride that on her wedding day.”

“Alright then,” Natasha concedes, turning to you. “You’re an even bigger fool for coming here by yourself.”

She returns her gaze to the field, muttering under her breath with a hint of irritation, “…still visiting the one who broke your heart.”

Amused, you tilt your head to catch her eyes, chuckling at her words, as you tease, “You know, it almost sounds like you’re jealous.”

When Natasha doesn’t respond or look at you, you raise a brow in surprise and poke her side. 

“Wait, seriously, are you jealous?”

She swats your hand away.

“Stop that,” Natasha reprimands, before gritting out, “I’m not jealous!”

A small grin forms on your face as you notice the red aura appear, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and walk away.

“I’m leaving,” she declares firmly.

“Aww, come on, Natasha,” you call as you trail behind her.

Glancing back at you and seeing your pleased expression, she points at you in warning.

“That smile better be off your face by the time I pull up, or else you’re walking home,” she states before continuing on her way.

Watching her go with a fond smile, you find yourself softly repeating the words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Looking down, your smile widens when you don’t see the red aura appear, confirming what you already knew about your feelings for the red-haired spy.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As you sit in your office at the Avenger compound, you feel a sense of fatigue wash over you at your busy schedule of back-to-back interviews.

Across from you, the final candidate squirms in her seat, clearly nervous under your scrutinizing gaze. 

A chill sweeps through the room, courtesy of the cold blast of air from the AC, and you can't help but regret your decision to have it set so cold, a choice originally intended to maintain an intimidating atmosphere during interviews. 

With a sigh, you reluctantly pull your hands from the cozy warmth of your hoodie pocket and turn to the next page of questions.

"Let's talk about handling confidential information," you begin, your voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Can you share a time when you had to ensure the secure handling of sensitive data?"

The candidate responds with some slight hesitation, but you sense it’s more from her nerves than any dishonesty, so you continue, moving on to the remaining questions.

Luckily, the rest of the interview goes by quickly and smoothly with her answering the other questions without any problems.

However, now comes the final question of the interview.

“Among the Avengers, who do you consider to be the hottest?”

Clearly caught off-guard, she stumbles over her words, “W-what?” 

Maintaining your serious demeanor, you repeat the question.

“Who do you believe is the hottest Avenger?”

After a moment's pause, she softly answers, “Black Widow..."

Setting your clipboard down, you extend your hand.

"Thank you for coming. It was nice meeting you," you say, signaling the end of the interview.

As she thanks you and leaves, you flip to the last paper on your clipboard, revealing a sheet with tick marks beside the names of your Avenger friends.

With an amused smile, you add another mark at the end of Natasha’s already leading line.

“I don’t think that last question was approved by Steve,” a voice accuses from the doorway.

Glancing up, you see Natasha leaning against the frame, her arms folded.

You shrug in response, “Makes it more interesting though.”

Natasha hums curiously before moving to your side, perching on the edge of your desk. Her narrowed eyes fix on you.

“Is that my hoodie?” she asks in suspicion as she tugs at your sleeve.

“Maybe,” you reply, hastily pulling the hood over your head to conceal your guilty eyes.

Natasha had left the piece of clothing at your place after her last visit, and given the chilly room, borrowing it seemed harmless enough.

“Don’t you have a briefing to get to?” you deflect, attempting to change the subject.

Natasha huffs knowingly before responding, "I had some spare time, so I came to bother you."

"I’m honored," you quip sarcastically, though inwardly your heart warmed at the fact that she thought of you.

Natasha chuckles lightly, then gestures towards your clipboard.

"Ask me some questions," she prompts, her tone playful yet eager.

Deciding to indulge her, you reach for your clipboard and adopt a serious demeanor.

“Name?” you begin.

Natasha shoots you a deadpan look, prompting you to show her the document with the question written on it.

“If they lie about their name, then that’s a red flag already,” you defend, giving her a pointed look.

“Natalie,” you mock.

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head at the memory before extending her hand.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects, playing along.

Skipping past the other general questions, you delve into more targeted inquiries related to threat assessment.

“Have you ever been associated with any extremist or radical groups or organizations?” you ask.

“If you consider working undercover to gain intel on them, then yes,” Natasha responds without hesitation.

“Have you ever participated or been involved in any violent behavior where someone was hurt?”

This one makes her pause for a moment before she finally admits softly, "…yes."

As the questioning continues, Natasha's playful demeanor gradually fades, replaced by a rueful tone.

By the time you reach the final question, she places her hand on your clipboard, gently setting it down on the desk.

"Maybe these questions aren’t meant for people like me," she says sadly, her tone filled with regret.

Observing her disappointed expression, you scoot closer and rest your hand on hers to draw her attention.

“Do you still want to hear my final assessment?” you ask gently.

After a contemplative pause, Natasha nods, curiosity evident in her eyes as she gestures for you to continue.

“Well, based on your answers,” you say with a dramatic pause, flipping through the papers before shaking your head firmly.

“Absolutely not. Extremely dangerous. Definitely a high-risk candidate.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your teasing and gives you a playful push. As your laughter subsides, you soften your tone, meeting her gaze sincerely.

“But…I’d trust you,” you admit genuinely.

Natasha's eyes widen slightly before she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. Her fingers toy with the clipboard, flipping to the last page and seeing the score sheet, before chuckling in amusement.

Turning back to you, she tilts her head with a raised brow.

“I don’t get the special question?” she asks.

You take the clipboard from her, offering a knowing look as you begin to organize the documents on your desk.

“I think we both already know your answer to that question,” you reply.

“Then ask me another,” Natasha insists.

Her request makes you pause as you ponder what to ask. Only one thing comes to mind, the question you’ve been hesitating to ask her for a long time.

Meeting her expectant gaze, you find yourself wanting to know the answer, despite the fear in your mind at the possibility of causing another big change in your life again.

Summoning your courage, you face her directly.

“Would you…,” you start, faltering momentarily before gathering yourself with a deep breath.

“...would you say ‘yes’ if I asked you out on a date tonight?”

There's a moment of silence, and just as you consider retracting the question, Natasha reaches out and adjusts the hood atop your head.

Perplexed by her action, you watch her suspiciously. Then, in one swift motion, she pulls the hood down over your eyes, obscuring your vision.

“No,” her voice responds to your question.

Hearing her stand, you quickly remove the hood to see Natasha already making her way out of the door, but before she disappears from your view, you catch the red aura surrounding her slowly fading away.

As an excited smile spreads across your face at the revelation of her true answer, your phone on the desk pings with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you see a text from Natasha.

I’ll pick you up tonight. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading! I know I said I was going to take a little break, but I had some time so I ended up finishing this and decided to post it now instead of later.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

[sgrplumditz]

You had his baby and he didn't know (Pt. 2)

A/N: Thank you for all the positive feedback! I am so beyond grateful that you guys enjoyed the 1st part. I never fathomed to get this much attention from my first post, which means I didn’t really intend on making a part 2. But with such gratitude and motivation… here it is!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She had told him everything, and through it all he did nothing but soothe her, keeping her small hands in his as her soft voice filled their ears. It wasn't until now that she had realized how absurd it was to feel nervous to tell him the story of her unaccompanied pregnancy, and her introduction to motherhood.

Like herself, he also held no resentment, or distaste toward the secrecy behind the conception and birth of their beautiful baby girl. Simon's only intention was to understand her and her decision to keep their child a secret from him, but in the midst of her reminiscent disclosure he couldn't help but feel alienated, guilty and a rollercoaster of many other emotions revolving her and his daughter.

His usually hard, and stoic gaze had softened for her -- which wasn't an unusual occurrence for him when it came to her, the mother of his child. "Hey, you're alright" he soothed when he noticed a stray tear race down her soft cheek. His thumb instinctively coming up to stop the salty drop of emotion in its track, and likewise she instinctively leaned into the feeling of his large hand that cupped the side of her face.

The moment was tender, intimate, comforting -- it was everything that she craved from him from the moment she found out she was carrying their child. Their baby girl seemed to be emotionally connected to her mother. The sound of her fuss and whimpering coming from the playpen where she had been placed to rest. Both her and Simon's attention was drawn to the infant the moment her restful cooing was replaced with the sounds of discomfort. Her mother knew that she was most likely hungry, but her father, Simon seemed to only be alarmed by the sudden crying. It was evident that his protective nature had taken over -- a quality of his that could not be tamed or ever be put to rest.

"She's just hungry, Si" she spoke, breaking the silence between the two. The melancholy aura of the room immediately being lifted as she chuckled softly at his high alert behavior as it only reminded her of the first few nights that she was home from the hospital with her daughter.

As she normally would she gently picked up their daughter, making sure to keep a firm hand on the back of her neck to support it. Her maternal nature was in full effect as she spoke sweet and soft words to the baby girl. Her cries being soothed, and her simple mind now distracted at the sight and sound of her mother. Simon watched this all divulge in front of him. He didn't know whether his heart ached because he had missed hundreds of moments like these or if he felt such sorrow because he didn't share the same bond with the tiny being that he helped create.

He let his the thoughts and endless "'what if" possibilities consume his mind while she prepared a bottle with the infant still resting in her arm. She was small, measuring out the length of her mother's forearm. Normally she would make the bottle with ease, but as time went by and the baby girl grew, the process slowed down. She was careful and calculated making sure that the baby was always safe in her arms.

"I can take her if you're alright with it" spoke Simon in a mildly nervous tone. “It’d make it easier for you to prepare her bottle, yeah?” he spoke again, using the feeding time as an excuse to finally hold their daughter. But he was nervous? Simon doesn’t get nervous. He has always been incredibly calm and collected to the point of mastering stoicism. He wasn’t nervous to hold the infant — that was the less of his worries.

There were so many special events that he had missed while he was away. Core memories that he doesn’t have with her or her mother. He missed the pregnancy, the first kicks, the birth, the first powerful cries from her little lungs, the first feed from her mother’s full and lactating breasts, the first skin-to-skin contact —which he read was essential for bonding in newborns, the dad walk out of the hospital after being discharged as a family — the one where he knew his overprotective nature would automatically take over.

So many factors playing into the aggregation of his nerves, but there was a single one that was keeping him on edge the most. Simon was nervous that he wouldn’t be able to bond with the small and fragile being that shared half of his DNA. Being absent for so many critical events made him doubtful in his ability to be and feel like a genuine father. All of his nerves dwindling down and relying on this very moment.

But none of it mattered. The pessimistic thoughts that lingered in his brain practically disintegrating. As if the warmth of his daughter’s small body destroyed every doubtful fiber in his own. She was no longer just his biological daughter, but a part of him. His soul was tied to hers, his emotions was connected to hers, his breath was for her. His entire being was engulfed by her.

The baby adjusted herself in his broad, tattooed and muscular arm by leaning her small face into his chest, as if she sensed some sort of familiarity in him. Like mother like daughter.

She watched their entire interaction curiously. She saw his hardened exterior breakdown at the moment their daughter’s infant body fit into his arm like a puzzle piece. It was obvious. Just like she felt her daughter was made for her, she was just as equally made for him. The instant connection between the father and daughter was electric. This was everything she had wanted and more.

She always knew Simon would be a great father — he was a great guy after all — he was attentive, protective, polite, masculine, and so much more, but she never fathomed that it would have been as magnifying as she felt it to be.

Simon’s gaze turned to her and she swore she saw his eyes glistening, tears threatening to spill. No words were exchanged between the two, but she knew exactly what he was feeling and thinking. As their daughter’s mother, she felt those exact emotions as well.

She was then engulfed by his scent. His arms embracing the two most important girls in his life, but it was not just a typical embrace of joy — it was firm, passionate and filled with urgency. He needed them.

With their daughter still resting in his arm, he used his free hand to remove a stray strand of hair from her face before he firmly cupped it. A soft kiss landing on her forehead.

He pressed his forehead to hers and exhaled softly before breaking the silence, “I am so proud of you” he said — his english accent thick and correlating respectively with how emotional he was.

“I am so proud of you” he repeated again, “but you are never doing anything like this alone. We do it together. As a family”.

#simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #dad ghost #cod fanfic #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #fem reader

[schwarzkatje]

dark!orphan!ellie x nun!reader

disclaimer: i don't ever write notes but this smells like too much blasphemy not to put some warnings and disclaimers. so, this contains ellie being still in an orphanage BUT i obviously changed the age so that she is of age because it goes without saying that p*dophilia is not contemplated here. also, "sister" is used as a synonym for "nun", not with the meaning of "family member". lastly, it does contain smut even though it's not so detailed.

> for part 2 click here || for part 3 click here

ellie didn't wake up one day choosing to be mean. in fact, if you ever asked her why the rude behaviour, she would simply laugh it off and tell you to shut the fuck up with a bitterness so unlikely for such a young girl.

ellie thought it was her god given right to do whatever she wanted, having being already stripped enough of the pillars of her life, namely a happy family and a place her heart could call home. that resulted in her receiving reprimands and punishments from the nuns more than any other kid in the orphanage.

and you, the youngest of the nuns tasked with the upbringing of the kids and the newest addition to the orphanage, seeing how ellie behaved, decided it was the perfect opportunity to enact the knowledge you had acquired during your noviciate by devouring books about dysfunctional behaviour, specifically in orphans. you were positive people could change if showed how.

what you would invoke the lord's name for to swear was your entire and firmly believed doctrine, came to a brutal halt the very moment you came to the realisation of what ellie's bad reputation really was about.

it wasn't just a typical scenographic display of childish behaviours like refusing to attend class or the occasional smuggling of cigarettes that concurred to tear apart your good intentions. these were merely common patterns studied throughout the years by psychologists and educators, and the main topics in all of your books.

no, what made you falter was the fact that ellie seemed to relish being mean. if others acting the same way sported an inconsolable sorrow in their eyes, ellie's green ones would glow with the eagerness that came with the raising of the voices of the nuns, the laughable detentions and the yet unexplored range of just how far was too far.

it didn't help that ellie had learnt from the older kids all the gross vocabulary she has now assimilated, repeating the filthy words as a sort of statement to maintain the hierarchical status she has fought for and ultimately achieved among the majority of the orphans.

so it caught you off guard only the first time ellie fiercely exclaimed that "if you care so much about me maybe you should suck my dick tonight," as you apprehended over time that this wasn't and wouldn't have been an isolated incident, rather an infuriating routine that seemed only to increase the more you showed ellie how much it pissed you off.

of course, that time your cheeks were burning red and your brain was at war with the mortification of having received such a vulgarity in front of other pupils, alongside the humiliation that ticked with each second you spent silent, at a loss for words to properly tackle the problem at hand.

the best thing you managed to come up with was the most generic and fruitless "go out," pointing at the class door.

before ellie could walk through the door, she turned to you, smirking like you had just made her day, and slurring a sultry "don't get so wet when you scold me," after which she left, winking at you.

your hands were tied. you understood that you could inform the other sisters of what ellie was making you go through, but you understood just as well that it would be no to avail since the other nuns were there way before you and knew to a greater extent the amount of work needed to be implemented when dealing with ellie.

after the heat of the moment had died down, you gathered all of your strength, prayed hoping to receive some mercy, and recited like a mantra that you were the bigger person and couldn't possibly let your purpose go to waste.

the fact was that you realised too late that the presence of what you called the devil had certainly been lurking around and now manifested itself in the obscene form of ellie fucking two of her fingers inside of you from behind in the scriptorium, something that dealt the final blow to any hope of creating the optimal conditions to demonstrate the good of your heart.

ellie and her breath, together with her hands, were four fiends cooperating under the same objectives, being disrupting you, disrupting everything you represented and disrupting everything you stood for.

"no one has ever made you feel so good," ellie was insane herself for needing to hear you say it "otherwise, you wouldn't be needing to play the part of the perfect little sister who thinks she can fix everyone to compensate how empty she is," and no matter how desperately you tried and tried and cried out while doing so, your pussy was glistening with slick, feeling euphoric and on the brink of madness with how enticing the sensation and the blasphemous words that left ellie's mouth were. "you would be too cock drunk and stuffed with cum to care about anything else".

the ink and quill you were previously using laid on your desk where they shouldn't, spilling the black liquid and dirtying everything they touched. ellie could be compared to the two items, given how many times the sisters told her how harmful her tainting existence was. and maybe that was the reason her brain clicked and gave the command to her right hand to gather some of the ink and write "ellie's cum dump" on your ass.

as soon as your breathing quickened, ellie grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanked it throwing your head impossibly backwards and let you ride out the hardest orgasm of your life. the gesture wasn't just a display of dominance but it served as a lever to push you flat against the desk, treating you like a discarded toy.

"next time you come for me, expect me to fuck your ass. and it won't be with my fingers only"

#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x reader smut #ellie williams smut #ellie x y/n #ellie smut #ellie x you #the last of us smut #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou

[we-stan-cale]

I wanted to talk a bit about how TCF is the kind of story where you have to pay attention.

For example, Cale is almost always described as uncaring. Stoic. Almost all his smiles are scammer smiles.

And yet...

Mary said this:

And from Mary >>> She shared her honest thoughts about Cale. She said it in an innocent way because she was an innocent person. ‘That person is always looking at everything.’ He was meticulously caressing all of his group’s pains. He may come off as indifferent, but it was always done in a gentle way. His heart seemed to be as tall as a mountain. He had healed Mary’s pain that way as well.

We saw this even earlier, though I'll cut the irrelevant parts to make it more clear:

Cale nodded his head at Hans’s statement while observing Choi Han. He had a nostalgic look in his eyes. ...

Cale started to frown as he called Choi Han over. “Choi Han.” “…Yes?” “Hurry back.” .... “Yes sir. I will be right back.” Cale motioned as if he was annoyed, but Choi Han bowed before quickly starting to walk toward the village with Hans. Cale, who preferred this focused Choi Han to the one who had a blank expression, continued to watch him before suddenly starting to frown.

Cale is always paying attention to the people around him, and even when he says he doesn't care, he's always paying attention to the people around him. To their moods and needs.

Which they see and recognizes. Mary's not the only one who has said something about that.

Or who mentions Cale's facial expressions when dealing with death. They can tell that Cale does everything he can to preserve life, and even when it's enemy dead, even when he chose to fight, it still noticeably affects him. Like here, after he led the fight at sea against the northern invasion.

Choi Han called out toward Cale as the representative. He could see the ocean that Cale was currently looking at. There were corpses floating up next to the debris. Choi Han slowly approached Cale. He could see the frown on Cale’s face. ‘…He really has a soft heart.’ Cale started to speak. “How peaceful.” His voice sounded tired. Fatigue was evident in every word he spoke. Everybody became quiet after hearing Cale’s tone. Although he had said something nice, the weight and sorrow in his voice made them all shut up.

I also suspect Cale isn't nearly as good at controlling his facial expressions, as at least one character indicated he was an open book.

Or maybe that's just when Cale isn't trying to scam someone or hide his feelings.

Part of what I find fascinating about this story is that there's all these little things indicating that the primary impression is... Only part of the story.

#tcf #lcf #cale henituse #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family

[angelltheninth]

Can you do comfort sex w/ Mizu? One rainy night, Fem!reader awoke to Mizu sobbing and trembling in her sleep bc of her nightmares. I feel like after Mizu wakes up, she is less inclined to go to sleep, but instead of staying up to “take watch” again, you offer to help her forget, even for a little while 🥺🥺 I wanna take care of her badly

She definitely has nightmares, I mean the girl's life was hell since she was born and it's never gotten much better.

Pairing: Mizu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, nightmares, comfort sex, gentle sex, kissing, fingering, clit stimulation, praise

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: I would make all her nightmares go away by any means necessary.

Being a light sleeper was a given for Mizu, with her lifestyle and her mission she couldn't afford to let her guard down even while sleeping. But danger wasn't what woke her up, not this time, it was something that you long suspected for a while but she never spoke of it: nightmares.

Sleeping in shifts had become a habit. There were times where one was cut short, or even more rare occasions where you found a safe enough spot so you could both sleep for the night.

For now it was your turn to take watch.

Everything was going fine until you heard shuffling and the distinct sound of Mizu whimpering in distress. "Mizu?" There was another whimper and her turning on her back, her hair stuck to her face which was dripping with sweat.

One moment you heard her mumble what sounded like someone's name then she screamed and bolted upwards, her hand already searching for her trusty sword. The floorboards in the old temple creaked under your weight as you ran to calm her down.

"Bad dream? I heard you calling out to someone." Mizu flinched, eyes darting to the side. She was putting her walls up, you knew this defense tactic. First was avoidance, next was...

"It's nothing important. Those are nothing unusual or nothing I can't deal with on my own." On her own. "I woke you up, I'm sorry. Go back to sleep okay, it's almost morning anyway so I'll take watch just in case." Mizu pulled her clothes back on, not including her bindings, she usually put them on when she went to train, not while she was sleeping next to you.

You watched her pick her sword up and take a look outside the shed you were staying in before leaning against the doorframe, her back turned to you. She was shivering and not because of the colder weather outside, her body was shaking from the nightmare.

"Mizu. Please don't run from me." You picked up the blanket and sat behind her, draping it behind around both your bodies. This wouldn't make her stop shaking but you wanted to do everything in your power to make her feel better and safer. She pushed her glasses up her nose, her hand tightening around the sword against her shoulder. It was rare that she couldn't look at it.

You wanted to help her, but you couldn't help her if she didn't want to tell you what's wrong. But on the other hand you also didn't want to pressure her. Clearly she was uncomfortable with this topic.

The best you could do right now is be there for her physically.

"Would be okay to kiss you?" You never wanted to cross any boundaries with her, but especially when she was shaken up. Mizu was still getting used to being touched in such a loving way, it was hard for her to accept sometimes.

After a moment of silence she turned her head and responded, "Yes." There was longing in her voice, a deep need to be comforted but not knowing how to ask.

She would never ask for a touch so soft because deep down she wasn't sure if she deserved it. But you would kiss her anyway, as softly and gently as possible. "I've killed a lot of people."

"I know." You kissed her again.

"I cared about him." You had a slight hunch who she was talking about but you let her keep talking. All you did was keep kissing her, holding her, running your hands across her arms.

"I... what if I have to kill you too someday?" Her voice was on the verge of breaking, filled with sorrow and fear and shame.

"That will never happen. I love you Mizu, and I know you love me too. We're in this together right." Your hand took hers and interlocked your fingers, your wrists resting on her shoulder while you bared her shoulder and kissed it. Mizu let out a little sigh, melting against your body, her posture relaxing more and more with each kiss.

"I love you too. I trust you but... not myself." You knew that much. Mizu was smart but reckless and often had a one-track mind.

"Good thing you have me then." Your fingers dipped beneath the hem of her pants, lingering on her taunt stomach. "I can't make you forget your past completely but I can make you feel better now. If you let me."

Mizu looked outside, the Sun was just starting to rise and warm the forest around you. You'd need to get going soon. But not yet. She could afford to be happy for a bit longer.

Her legs parted as your hand moved lower, your index and ring finger parting her folds while your middle finger curled to rub her clitoris. Sex wasn't the answer to her troubles but if was a damn good distraction from them. It was why she sometimes visited brothels before she met you. Touching and being touched felt good, even if it was payed for.

Mizu's body tensed when your finger prodded at her increasingly wet entrance. Having fingers that weren't her own was still a new feeling. It put her on the defensive, it was something that required so much trust and vulnerability.

Especially doing such things in a place like this. A run down, abandoned shack, where almost every movement was audible. Compared to the often lavish brothel houses this wasn't nearly as classy.

"I trust you." Those words were hard for her to say, but that and her parting her legs apart further was your invitation to slowly work your finger in, the whole length slowly pushing inside her pussy.

"You're so wet and tight. Still wound up?" You smiled against her neck and nuzzled closer into her, giving her more warmth.

She gave you a small nod of affirmation.

"I'll relax you. Leave it to me." She was usually the one who liked to take charge. When she really got into it you'd have to pry her mouth away from your pussy, her lips from your clit, her strap-on out of your pussy to get a break. "You're so pretty Mizu. And so warm in here."

You moved your finger in and out, faster every time she moaned, the same full depth, your hand pressing against her clit. Mizu leaned her head against your shoulder, her hand tightening over yours as you fingered her.

Mizu's moans were always on the lower side. She was still unsure how to vocalize her pleasure, and weary when she's outside. Especially then.

"You don't have to let your voice out. Let your body speak for you." You whispered and moments after felt her walls tightening around your finger, "So much control. I expect nothing less from you."

Her hips pressed against yours, knuckles going pale as she grips your hand and her sword. The heat and tension built between her legs and dripped down your hand nd wrist with every thrust. "Faster. I'm almost there."

Those sighs of hers gave her away, along with her pussy pulsing around your finger, drawing you in. Fast slapping sounds filled the air around you, riling her up, encouraging her.

Her legs closed suddenly, back arching away from you. You pushed in one final time and kept still, letting her ride her orgasm out at her own pace.

"Are you feeling any better?" You asked against her ear.

"I feel more tired. So in a sense, yes." She chuckled, legs parting and fully relaxing on the floor. "The sun is almost up."

"But we don't have to leave yet. Let yourself enjoy this Mizu." You started moving your fingers again, slowly, until the sun came up, and so did Mizu shortly after.

#blue eye samurai #mizu #bes #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #bes x reader #blue eye samurai imagine #mizu imagine #bes imagine #blue eye samurai fanfic #bes fanfic #mizu fanfic #blue eye samurai smut #mizu smut #bes smut #x female reader

[youmakemyhearthowl]

Steve sometimes worried, well okay he worried all the time, but sometimes he worried specifically that he was doing the same thing to Eddie that he’d done to Nancy. 

Although he wasn’t really sure exactly what he’d done wrong with Nancy. But it seemed reasonable that it was his fault. He wasn’t the best back then, even if he tried really hard to be for her.

It’s just, sometimes it seems like Eddie gets a similar look on his face, a similar look to the one Nancy would make when she’d tell him he needed to chill out, stop smothering her so much. When she’d told him he was bullshit. And he can’t really be sure, Robin tells him all the time he’s terrible at reading facial emotions when he’s worried, but it seems like the same look. And he’s worried, terrified really, that he’s going to ruin whatever it is he’s building with Eddie before they’ve even really started.  So he goes to the smartest person he knows (besides Dustin) and the only person he’s ever loved like this.

He goes to Nancy.

And she doesn’t tell him what he wants to hear, doesn’t sugar coat it or make it sweet. She practically rips his heart out and stomps on it, but it’s why he went to her in the first place. Nancy is honest.

“Well sometimes Steve, you’re a little much you know? Clingy and loud with your love, it’s a bit embarrassing to be on the receiving end of it a lot of the time, and maybe you’re making him uncomfortable with it.” 

And well- that makes sense really.

Too much but never enough is what he’s always been. To his parents, his peers, Steve doesn’t know how to love halfway because he was never shown the right way to love. He only knows the way to make someone feel unloved and he refused to ever let anyone feel that way if he cared.

So he pulls back, not much at first cause it’s hard to not love Eddie loudly, but slowly he thinks he gets the hang of it. Clings less, acts less giddy, pulls his feelings in really tight and tucks them into his rib cage where they can’t get out. And Eddie stops making that face. 

He makes a new one now.

This one makes Steve’s skin crawl and nausea pull in his stomach, but he can’t place the emotion it is, has no idea. But Eddie makes it in the places where Steve would have been louder before. Makes it when he looks at Robin and thinks Steve isn’t looking at them. Makes it when Steve makes himself smaller. 

He doesn’t know what the face means, and he’s more worried now than he was before, because Robin has taken to making the face at him too, and really it was only a matter of time before he exploded about it. 

“Okay what is that face? I don’t know what that face means, please for the love of god what does that face mean?” His voice is loud and desperate when he grabs her shoulders, the surprise from her erases the facial expression he hates so much, but he knows it was there. 

“This is just my face, Steve.” She smirks slightly at him, he can tell she knows he’s being serious, but he also knows Robins never been good with serious unless the world is ending, so he tries to hold in his irritation. 

“The one you make every time Eddie’s brought up now. The same one he makes at me all the time. I thought I was being better you know? I tried really fucking hard to not be too much to him all the time and I thought it worked cause he stopped- he stopped looking at me a certain way. But now there’s a new face and your face also adopted the face and I’m at a loss.” He breathes heavily, leaning out of Robin's space and running his hand through his hair before bringing it down to pinch the bridge of his nose. He can feel a slight moisture there and it’s more than a little embarrassing that he’s trying not to cry about a facial expression, but fuck it, it’s Robin.

“Steve, what do you mean by being better?” It’s the sorrow he can detect in her voice that really brings the tears to the surface now, and he pinches the bridge of his nose harder, willing them to go away, but they fall anyways. 

“I’m too much you know? When I love someone. Too loud about it, too clingy, people don’t like that and I didn’t want to scare Eddie off. Cause I get it now, people won’t ever be able to love me when I love them like that so I have to be quieter, less… obnoxious.” His voice gets softer but the words feel rougher to push out of his throat the more he talks. And he can’t stand to look at her, can’t stand to look up, can feel the shame and embarrassment fucking breaking him. 

“Who the fuck told you that?” The voice that speaks now, is not, in fact, Robin. But deeper and filled with a harsh sharpness that causes Steve to flinch slightly. 

And of course, of course Eddie would walk in and hear this pathetic ramble about how little Steve Harrington loved so much that it scared off everyone else. It’s really just the icing on the shit cake that is his life lately.

He doesn’t want to, but he looks up.

He looks up just in time to see Robin place her hand on Eddie’s shoulder, looks up slowly enough to see the tremble in Eddie’s hands that never really went away after Vecna. 

“No one had to tell me. I could see it on your face every time I was too much, Nancy used to get the same expression. Near the end.”  Eddie scoffs a bit, not moving forward but not moving away as Robin steps closer to Steve, reaching her hand out to take his gently. 

“Steve,” it’s strained in a way Steve’s never heard his name from Eddie before, tight and clipped, “Whatever face you thought you were seeing before, wasn’t like- fuck,” he shakes his head slightly tugging at the strands of his hair with one hand, “It was awe Steve. Every goddamn time you loved me loudly like that, I was in awe, and maybe a bit confused because people don’t- people don’t love like that. People don’t love me like that, and queer people really don’t ever show that kind of love that openly. I was in awe, Steve.” 

Which- was not the answer Steve had braced for, and he can feel all the air leave his lungs harshly, slumping his shoulders down, and looking away from the two people in front of him. Robin squeezes his hand gently.

“And the look you see now isn’t something bad directed at you. Never directed at you. Steve, it was hurting us to watch you make yourself smaller and we had no idea why or what happened. You’re literally my capital P soulmate Steve, the way you love makes me happy, overwhelmed in the most wonderful way I’ve never experienced before. Because Eddie’s right, people don’t love like you. But that’s not a bad thing. God it’s so far from a bad thing.” Steve can see where Eddie’s moved closer now, his Reeboks coming into view next to Robin's red chucks. 

“There’s no one quite like you Steve Harrington. And any look you get from me, unless it’s about your music taste, it’s always a positive one. Your ‘too much’ is so much more than enough.” 

Steve can really feel the tears falling now, doesn’t even try to stop them this time because this- this right here is what being loved loudly feels like. This right here is everything he’s been searching for his whole life, and they’ve been trying to tell him that for weeks, probably months at this point.

He can feel them surrounding him, Eddie against his back and Robin pressed to his chest, their arms looping him and each other as they hug him, and love him, for being who he’s always tried to be. Who he’s been pushing to become since he realized he hated who he was. 

“There is never anything wrong with being loud about your love. Something that’s too much for someone else, will be exactly enough for the right person. Everyone needs to be loved differently and everyone shows love differently, Steve. But the right people for you will fucking cherish the way you love.” Eddie breaths into his ear, and Steve can feel a part of himself click back together again. 

So yea, Steve worries sometimes, that he’s too much, that he’s never enough, but Robin and Eddie, they’ll always be there to remind him he’s just right for them.

#Steddie #platonic stobin #steve is a sweetheart

[byeomtori]

the only exception | beomgyu x reader

pairing: beomgyu x female reader

content: love at first sight au, summer love thingy, lots of reference to paramore's the only exception and txt's our summer, pda

tw: mentions of fight and blood

words count: 12k

notes: reposting because of high demand (lol)

preview:

you were not the type to believe in the existence of love. to you, there was no such a thing as true love; no such a thing as unwavering, unbreakable, and unparalleled fondness and devotion for someone. to you, people love to get something they desire in return — money, power, status, pride. your parents were a living prove of that

the day you were old enough to understand the lack of love and affection between your parents to each other, and to you; you swore to never grow that feeling to anyone — family, friends, partner. anyone. because to you, love did not exist.

you were content living that way for years, not happy, but content.

the absence of love in your life protected you from attachment, heartbreak, sorrow — those negative emotions that you deemed unnecessary and unworthy to be sitting inside of you.

life was okay without love, you thought.

until you had to spend the rest of your summer with a distant relative whom you've never met in your entire life, in a small town with an ocean view, where fate had brought you a boy whose eyes shine brighter than any stars in the night sky.

and maybe, just maybe, love does exist.

a comforting smell of freshly brewed chamomile tea wafting in the air as you make your way inside the unfamiliar home — the one you will be spending three months in because your parents are way too busy flying around across the globe to be taking care of you.

"come on in, y/n." the woman in front of you speaks, her voice soft, the type of voice a kindergarten teacher would have.

maybe she was one, you have no idea. in fact, you know nothing about the woman standing in a yellow dress in front of you. she is pretty, even though it is evident her aging is slowly creeping up to her from the way her skin wrinkles on the corner of her eyes when she smiles. but to you, she is pretty- the mother-like kind of pretty. the kind of pretty that makes you feel warm inside.

but again, you know nothing about her. have never seen her in your entire life. never even heard her name from any of your parents until today.

aunty sue.

that was the name your mom had told you in the car this morning when she was dropping you off at the train station, she couldn't even make some time to drive you straight here, and telling you the woman is a distant cousin of hers whom she hasn't met in a long time. and that was also the name the said woman had introduced herself to you.

"do you want some tea, honey? or anything else?" she asks, making her way into the kitchen as you trail behind her like a little lost puppy.

"tea is fine," you reply.

leaning against the kitchen counter, you roam your eyes around the room. some parts of the walls are painted in pastel green while another part is decorated with a plaid wallpaper with the same color — just a shade darker. the counter tops are full of kitchen appliances, cookbooks, sunflower patterned dishes, and freshly washed vegetables along with some other things. there are random little trinkets on the windowsill — a wooden carved statue of a cat, a line of herbs in old tomato cans, and a sun catcher being hung at the corner of the window making tiny little rainbows refracting inside the kitchen.

the furniture of the dining area does not match with each other — one wooden chair with a striking blue cushion, a yellow wicker chair and another two plastic chairs in white. though everything is mismatch, it doesn't look weird. it feels right, even.

it feels like home.

very different from your house where nothing is ever out of place. the countertops made of slick white marble, picked personally by your mother, are always shiny as if no one has ever touched it. truthfully speaking, they kind of are. no one is ever cooking in that kitchen. you bet the only stains that has dirtied that counter was that one time you spilled your morning coffee on it. the stove, it looks brand new compared to the one in front of you right now which looks like it has been in service for more than a decade with how rusty it looks.

everything in your house is perfect to the tee. a façade that is what you like to think — to mask the family's imperfections.

a house that never felt like a home.

"i'm going to keep my stuff in my room first, i'll be right back," you say as you pull your luggage with you.

"sure, honey. your room is the second door on the right."

honey.

not even your own mother has ever called you that.

you haul your bag with much difficulty up the stairs, cursing yourself mentally for overpacking, before making your way to the said door. the room is spacious, not as big as your own room back in the city, but still enough to fit a queen-sized bed in the middle, a study desk by the window and a two doors wardrobe in the corner.

the glass sliding doors that lead to the balcony are being left slightly open, the warm summer breeze blowing the white sheer curtain. leaving your luggage by the bed, you make your way over to the balcony — pushing open the sliding door wider as you step out into the outdoor.

to say you are astonished is an understatement. the view in front of you is breath-taking — the house is located on top of the hill, overlooking the neighborhood and the ocean, the season's bright sunlight is making the scenery even more spectacular.

you breath in the air, inhaling the smell of the blue sea with your eyes closed.

there is someone, other than aunty sue, downstairs — you can clearly hear the sound of a male voice which is a little bit too loud to be ignored, talking to the woman in the kitchen about how his mom had forced him to deliver cake to all the houses up the hill in the middle of the day.

"y/n, honey! are you done? come downstairs, please." opening your eyes, you let out a soft sigh as you walk back inside, keeping your eyes on the ocean outside as you close the glass doors.

it's okay, you have the whole three months here. you tell yourself as you make your way back into the kitchen, the guest is still going on about how his little rant.

"i mean, don't get me wrong. i love summer, but to deliver all of them under the sun? god i felt like-.." and as he turns to face you who is standing at the entrance of the kitchen, your breath hitch in your throat.

you're not sure is it the iridescent illumination from the sun catcher beaming on him, or the glow of his skin that is glistening with sweats from biking under the summer rays, or the sparks in his eyes as he stares at you;

but oh god, he is beautiful.

not pretty, but beautiful. the angel-like kind of beautiful. the kind of beautiful that would make people turn their heads. the kind of beautiful that would make you steal glances at him if you were to sit in front of him in a train. the kind of beautiful that makes the ocean view you saw earlier lose its' price.

the once in a lifetime kind of beautiful.

"y/n, this is beomgyu, his mom owns a bakery down the hill."

"oh, this is the girl that you've been telling me about!" he says excitedly as he makes his way over to you, "she's pretty."

and you almost choked on your saliva. how can he be saying things like that so casually?!

"hi, i'm choi beomgyu," he says, extending out his hand for a handshake. "aunty sue told me a lot about you so i'm kind of excited to be your friend, that is if you want, of course."

you look down to his hand, lifting your own as you slowly put it in his. "im y/n,"

though it feels rough, his hand still holds a certain kind of warmth that makes you feel secured. you can feel calluses on his fingertips, too. does he play the guitar?

you're not even sure why you feel bashful under his gaze. you don't understand the warm fuzzy feeling you're getting when he keeps his hand in yours. you don't get why your heart is beating so fast when he says your name, the syllabus rolling perfectly on his tongue like it was made for him and only him to say.

"well then, i look forward to hanging out with you, y/n."

the conscious side of your brain is already blaring an alarm, telling you to turn him down, telling you that no, you don't want to hang out with him. that no, you don't look forward to spending your summer with him.

but despite that, you find yourself nodding to his words. "me too, choi beomgyu."

it has been three days since you have first arrived, and you have concluded that choi beomgyu is a man of his words.

you didn't think much when he told you that he looks forward to hanging out with you, thinking that he was just being nice to a newcomer and to act friendly to you.

because that's all you have ever known — people acting nicely to you.

you remember when you used to associate in a group of girls back in middle school; it was one of the worst times of your life. eleven years old you were so naïve (read: stupid) to realize that those girls were just using you for your unlimited amount of cash — always inviting you to go shopping, forcing you to throw fancy sleepovers — until one day one of them literally had to scream in your face that they were only hanging out with you for your daddy's money.

and since then, you have never tried to befriend anyone and those around you never approached or asked you to hang out, either.

so, it is a surprise to you that choi beomgyu stays true to his words.

yesterday, he had come over early in the morning looking as beautiful as you had remembered the first time you saw him; asking you if you want a little tour of the small town. you had declined, telling him you still had a few things left to unpack, leaving the boy pouting. you had felt slightly bad, just slightly.

you are in the backyard with aunty sue, picking up some ripe tomatoes from the small garden. she told you she has been tending this small part of her backyard for almost seven years now, planting

various kinds of vegetables, using the excuse of she doesn’t like the ones sold in the market, when in reality she just really loves gardening and watching her plants come to live day by day.

“is the tomato that interesting to you?”

you jump in surprise as you hear a low voice speaking next to your ear. turning around, you find a grinning beomgyu looking down at you. he peeks under your straw hat, trying to have a better look at

your face. “you look like a tomato yourself.”

you frown, “what do you mean by that?!”

he bends, hands resting on his knees, now being eye to eye level with you. humming, he continues to study your face.

there is always something about him that never fails to make blood rush to your face. yesterday it was the way he dressed — white sleeveless top tucked messily inside his black jeans. it was simple, nothing outstanding about it but to you, he was breath-taking. and today; it’s the way he’s looking deep into your eyes, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks with every blink.

the rational part of you is telling you to push him aside or to move away, to break the eye contact. but the other part that you have no idea existed inside of you until you met him few days ago, is telling you to keep staring into his sparkling eyes, to play along to whatever little game he has put on.

the rational part of you won as you take a step back, creating a safe distance between your figure and his. you can feel your cheeks flushed, fully blaming it on the warm temperature as you had been

standing under the sun for quite a while now.

“your cheeks are so red, like a tomato.” he giggles, “are you hot?”

you look away from him, hiding your face under your hat as you whisper, “k-kinda…”

he was about to move closer to you again, hand reaching over to your hat, but it stops mid-air when aunty sue is calling over for the both of you. thanking the lord and savior, you quickly make an escape

from him as you walk over to where your aunty is standing with a plate full of freshly cut watermelon in hand.

you sit beside her on the porch, while beomgyu is standing right in front of you. “tell your mom i say thank you for the watermelon,” aunty sue says and the boy just hums, hand reaching down to pick up two pieces of the sliced fruit, handing one over to you.

you thank him quietly and he smiles down at you, “you will never find a watermelon as sweet and juicy as the ones that my grandfather planted.” he boasts, and aunty sue make a sound as what sounds

like she is agreeing with him. “that’s right, mr.choi planted the best watermelon in the country.”

the scorching heat of the sun calls for you to take a bite of the fruit – it is sweet, just like what beomgyu had said. “it’s so good,” you speak under your breath. you’re not sure how he manages to hear what

you said but he did, as the smile on his face grow wider. “right? i told you!”

he waits for you to finish the slice in your hand before handing you another one, all the while still towering in front of you.

“sit down, beomgyu.” your aunty says to him to which the boy just shakes his head. “i’m protecting y/n from the sun,” he replies casually, taking a bite of the watermelon “she looks like a real tomato

right now.”

both you and aunty sue look up to him in sync. he is, indeed, covering you away from the sun — being tall makes it easier for him to shield you away from the direct sunlight of the summer rays but his back

is taking up all the consequences of his action as you can see droplets of sweat forming on of his neck, sliding down to his back.

you glance to aunty sue, a coy smile on her lips. “j-just sit down!” you scold him, pulling him down by his wrist to sit beside you on the wooden veranda.

aunty sue giggles, “talking about tomato, do you want to bring some home, beomgyu?”

he shakes his head, “thanks, aunty sue but no one in that house enjoys eating tomato.”

“but i do want to ask for your permission to steal this cute tomato away from you for the night,” he says as he pokes your cheek with his index finger to which you move slightly away. “my friends are doing a bonfire by the cliff later, i was thinking to bring y/n along.”

you hesitate, gaze moving from his face to your aunty’s. “you can go, y/n. it’s much more fun to hang out with people your age rather than spending time with me,” she ensures you.

you look back to beomgyu, his eyes hopeful as he waits for your answer.

“okay, then.” you finally give in, a wide smile making its’ way across his face.

he stands up, one hand in the pocket of his pants as he bends down to look at your face, again.

“see you tonight then, tomato.”

one conclusion you can come up after spending a good half an hour with choi beomgyu is that he does not have a sense of personal space — not that you mind, at least for now when you are surrounded by unfamiliar teenagers laughing and chattering around the bonfire.

you’ve been stuck to his side since the moment you reached the cliff. it’s not like you are that comfortable with him but out of everyone here, he is the only person you know. despite that, choi beomgyu looks like he is that comfortable with you — hand on the small of your back while walking, wrapping his flannel around your waist so that you won’t get your shorts dirty (when in reality he just doesn’t like the way the other boys are looking at the exposed skin of your legs), sitting too close you can feel his shoulder brushing against yours as he moves.

truthfully, you would have been so annoyed. but this is choi beomgyu. he is choi beomgyu and you have no idea what’s about him that makes you feel so protected. even now when he has his hand on top of your right knee while he’s talking to his friends, you don’t feel irritated.

it feels right. he feels right.

“beomgyu!” someone calls him over from behind. he sighs, “i’m gonna go talk to him for a while, you’ll be alright here, right?” he asks to which you just nod your head.

what is he expecting you to say answer? no, don’t leave me, beomgyu. as if you would ever say that out loud.

the warmth of his palm leaves your skin as he gets up, making his way over to the blue-haired boy that was calling for him. your let your eyes linger on him, watching as he gives the guy a fist bump before

both of their gaze move to you and you quickly look away.

“you’re y/n, right?” a guy who is sitting in front of you speaks.

you nod, “hueningkai, right?” you ask, remembering his name after beomgyu had introduced you to him earlier. and you glad you did from the way his eyes lit up when you get his name right. years of

attending charity events and parties where you were forced to talk to random people by your parents has thought you to imprint people’s names on your mind easily.

“heard you’re from the city. how is the life there? i really want to live there someday, it’s really boring here,” he pouts. “the nearest mall is like, miles away.”

“i think it’s fun here,”

“yeah? and why is that?”

you go quiet for a moment. why is that? — there are various reasons why you think the town is not as boring as hueningkai believes. for an example, the ocean. there is no beach in the city, the nearest one being a whole hour drive away. the air here is cleaner too, not as polluted with vehicles smokes as the city. the weather here is nice too; though it’s summer, the heat here isn’t as bad as it is back

home.

and as your mind try to come up with another reason why you think the town is fun, your eyes move over to the brown-haired boy laughing along to whatever joke the blue-haired one has said to him.

even in the darkness of the night — the only source of light coming from the fire in front of you, he is still beautiful. the way he throws his head back as he laughs, the way his eyes are sparkling under the

night sky, the dimple that appears on his cheek as he smiles.

“it’s fun because there’s beomgyu, right?”

you turn your attention to the boy sitting across from you, his eyes on the same person you were staring few seconds ago.

“do you like him?” hueningkai asks, out of sudden.

“w-what?” you look at him, bewildered. “i don’t know what context of like you are talking about, but he is a good fr-…”

friend.

you so badly wanted to call beomgyu your friend, but you don’t even have the slightest idea of what a friend is — you never had one, at least not a real one. all through your school years, you have never

really had someone you can call as friend. sure, you talked to your classmates, but they felt more like acquaintances than friends. and you never bothered to get close to anyone because you know there

are always something they want in return — money, gifts, invitations to fancy parties, rich kids from your family’s circle to date, the list goes on.

so, you stop yourself from labelling beomgyu in that way. he is not your friend, not after only three days of knowing each other.

“he is a good guy, of course i like him. what kind of person doesn’t like good people?” you say, shifting in your seat to which hueningkai just shrugs his shoulders, “i think he likes yo-…” he stops talking midsentence when someone throws their arm around his neck, holding him in a chokehold.

“taehyun is calling for you,” beomgyu says as he smiles down wickedly at the younger. hueningkai knows his friend is lying but he just rolls his eyes and walks away to where taehyun is sitting.

“let’s go somewhere,” he extends his hand over to you.

“where?”

beomgyu grumbles, “just come.” taking your hand, he pulls you up to your feet.

following him from behind, you have no idea where he is taking you as you both walk further and further away from the group, until you’re climbing down the cliff.

he offers his hand to you, and you gladly accept, “be careful.”

holding your hand in his, he wraps his arm around your waist as he pulls you down to the ground with an ease. the night is pretty chilly compared to the sunlit afternoon earlier, but beomgyu’s hand still

hold a certain kind of warmth. and even though the temperature is low, you still can feel heat rushing up to your face when he keeps his arm around your waist even after you’ve set your feet safely on the

sandy beach — you’re glad it is dark, you don’t think you want him coming up with another vegetable related nickname for you.

“i wanted to bring you here yesterday, but you were busy unpacking. and i wanted to do it today too, but you looked so tired from helping aunty sue,” he says. “i know this is not the best time to be coming

here since it’s so dark but i just thought maybe you would want to see the ocean at night too.”

you move your gaze from his face to the moana in front of you. the water is calm, small waves crashing along the shores. no one else is around, only you and him.

you were about to walk over to the water’s edge when you feel beomgyu tugs on your hand gently. “take off your shoes first, pretty girl.” bending down, he wraps his hand around your ankle before

slowly pulling the white alexander mcqueen off of your foot. beomgyu is surprised, to be honest, to the fact that you casually wear a very expensive pair of sneakers to a lame bonfire party. then again,

these shoes probably didn’t cost that much for you.

“all done, you can go now.” he stands up straight again and he can’t help but notice the pink shade decorating your cheeks even in the inky night, “tomato.” he chuckles, pinching your left cheek.

you gently swat his hand away, blushing deeper, before walking to the water again. you smile as you feel the sand seeps through your toes as the waves crash on the shore. turning around to beomgyu, you see him with a soft smile in his face as he watches you from a distance.

“join me,”

and he can’t seem to decline your offer when you’re looking so ethereal underneath the moonlight, a gentle smile on your lips as you move your feet around to play with the wet sand.

abandoning his cheap pair of sneakers beside your expensive ones, he runs over to where you’re standing back facing him. he pretends to push you further to the ocean to which you react faster, shoving him — making him fall into the water with a big splash.

“hey!” he shrieks, quickly getting up on his feet. you take that as a sign for you to run — in which you didn’t manage to escape far enough when you feel his arms circling around your waist before he pulls you down along with him into the water.

“beomgyu!” you whine while splashing more of the salty water towards him while giggling.

and that night, while you both are walking home, soaked from head to toes with your wet clothes sticking disgustingly on your skin, laughing and giggling, you thought; maybe this is what friendship feels like.

“aunty sue, i’m going out for a while!” you call out your aunt in the kitchen as you’re running down the stairs toward the front door.

she peeks her head from the kitchen’s entrance, “where are you going, honey?”

“beomgyu’s mom’s bakery!” you reply, already stepping outside and you failed to catch the tender smile your aunt is throwing your way as you are busy putting on your shoes. “i’ll be back before dinner.”

when you push open the gate of the house, beomgyu is already waiting for you on his bicycle, a hat in his hand as he offers it over to you. “put it on, it’s too sunny.”

you accept with no question, putting the white hat on. it smells like him — like a mixture of frangipani blossoms, toasted coconut, and bergamot waters. it smells like summer.

he smells like summer.

beomgyu watches as you put his hat on, holding back his smile to how adorable you look trying to tighten the hat’s straps to fit your head’s size. his hand reaches over to your face, tucking a few strands

of your hair that have come loose from your braids behind your ear. “pretty,” he whispers under his breath.

you look away from his eyes, quickly moving to sit on the backseat of his bicycle, wincing as the exposed skin of your thighs come in contact with the burning metal of the seat.

“sorry, chieko has been out in the sun for a while,” he says, referring to his bike. “you good?”

“yeah,” you shift on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “you name your bicycle with a dog’s name?”

he hums as he starts paddling, “my grandfather got this bicycle from a japanese owned shop. the owner used to have this really cute golden retriever by the name chieko, i loved him, hence the name.”

he explains, “is it weird?”

“kinda,” you reply to which he just laugh it off.

it has only been a week of summer break and beomgyu had come up with so many plans for the both of you. he has promised to make this, as quoted from the man himself, the best summer of your life

— to which you just responded with a raised eyebrow. you don’t mind spending the whole three months of break with him, you don’t mind at all. in fact, you would really like the idea — but he doesn’t

have to know that.

one of the plans he had come up with is; baking. and that is how you find yourself in the back of his mom’s bakery, with a baby pink apron tied around your waist and beomgyu going around in the

kitchen looking for the ingredients for the fruit strudels he had promise to make with you.

“oh, you must be y/n.”

you turn to the source of the voice, and you quickly bow your head, “ah, yeah. nice to meet you.” the woman in front of you have the same dimple as the one on beomgyu’s, and the way she smiles warmly remind you of her son too.

“you’re really pretty, just like what beomgyu had told me.”

“mom, where’s the peach?” he asks, stopping his mom from exposing him further, as he is rummaging inside the fruit basket on the counter.

the woman giggles, “is our beomgyu shy? is he embarrassed if his mom is going to tell the pretty girl all about the things he had talked about her?” she continues, emphasizing on the pretty girl.

you look over to him and notice how his ears has turned slightly red from his mom’s teasing. you’re not sure why he is acting that way when he has called you with that specific nickname so many times

already.

“mom~” he whines, all the while avoiding your eyes that are fixated on him.

his mom lets out a loud laugh — now you know where beomgyu got that from — as she walks over to the fridge behind you. “i keep them in the here, baby.”

“oh,” he says, taking the peaches from his mom’s hand. “thank you, my lady.” he leans down and kiss his mom’s temple to which his mom playfully pushes him away. the gesture tugs a string in your heart

— a feeling of longing. you can’t remember when was the last time you hugged your mom, or your dad. heck, you can’t even remember when was the last time they asked you about your day.

“have fun baking, y/n. i’m only a shout away if you need something, okay? in case beomgyu burns the kitchen down,” she jokes again before walking out to store again.

beomgyu sighs, “sorry about her. she can be a bit… overbearing sometimes.”

“no, she’s fun.” you says, stepping closer to help him with the fresh fruits.

and that’s how you spent your thursday morning; baking various fruits strudels — peach, strawberry, mango, blueberry. well, it was beomgyu who did most of the work but nevertheless, you had fun

cutting up the fresh fruits.

the oven digs, indicating the pastries have been baked. beomgyu pulls the tray out, before setting it on the flour-covered counter. “oh, it smells amazing!” you exclaim excitedly.

“wait until you taste them, they are,” he looks down at you, making a chef’s kiss gesture to which you just giggle. “well, we have to let them cool down first before putting the cream and the fruits. wanna

go up to my room while we wait?”

you hesitate, never ever in your life have you ever stepped a foot in a boy’s room. despite that, you find yourself nodding to him, “sure.”

he nods, taking off his apron and waits for you to take yours off before snatching it from your hands, hanging them on the hook by the fridge.

following him up to his room which is located at the second floor just right above the bakery, you notice the picture frames decorating the wall going up the stairs. family portraits, baby pictures of

whom you assume are beomgyu and his brother, wedding pictures of his parents, a picture of beomgyu’s kindergarten graduation. it’s like the family’s own little hall of fame.

imagining your house in your mind, you don’t think you have any other picture being hung on the wall aside from that one huge family portrait in the living room — the one where you were looking so rigid

sitting in between your parents. you hated that picture, and you still do. family portraits are supposed to be a symbol of happiness, a symbol of affection, a symbol of a healthy family relationship but your family does not have any of that. the picture that was taken in the fancy film studio in france was just another attempt to cover the family’s despair. it’s pathetic, really. how hard your parents are trying

to come off as a happy married couple with a perfect daughter. throwing the money away for material things that can cover up the lack of happiness in the household. it’s pitiful, the only thing they need to be raising a happy family is the one thing that they lack in life.

a loud chirping at your right as you step onto the landing of the second-floor surprises you. you turn your head to look at the green-colored parrot in the cage. it has its’ head tilted as it stares up at your

unfamiliar face.

“this is toto, my pet.”

“your pet?”

he nods.

“out of all the animals you can have as a pet, you chose a parrot?”

he shrugs, “toto is everyone’s best friend in this house.”

you blink, and he does too.

“oh, okay.” you say and he nods. “come, my room is this way.” he leads you over to the door that has a messy scribble of ‘choi beomgyu’ in colorful crayons, opening it for you and urging you to take step inside. “after you.”

his room is surprisingly neat. well, it’s not like you have seen a guy’s room before but you did assume beomgyu to be a little messy kind of person — the usual clothes on the floor, comic books scattered

on the bed, snacks wrappers on the desk. but his room is clean, no used clothes on the floor, only a round foldable table in the middle of the room.

“how long are we supposed to wait for the pastries to cool down?” you ask, taking a seat on the floor by the desk. “around half an hour,” he replies. “you know what other baked goods i’m really good at?”

you shake your head, “tell me.��

“pumpkin spice cupcake, but we don’t have any in the store now. it’s not autumn yet so finding for pumpkin is quite hard this time of the year.” he explains.

“how am i supposed to have a taste then?”

“that means you have to come here again during autumn,” he says. “i’ll bake every autumn desserts for you. beside, don’t you want to see my pretty face in a different season too?”

you grimace, “what difference does your face make in autumn?”

he laughs before reaching over to his guitar that was leaning against the wall beside the door.

so, he does play the guitar.

“do you want to hear a snippet of the song i wrote?” he asks while tuning his guitar.

“you wrote songs?”

“yeah, for fun though. i’ve never really let anyone listen to it, aside from the guys.”

“sure,” you say, holding in your excitement.

“i wrote this a few days ago, it’s not finished yet but i’ll try to give my best.” he gives you a smile before he starts strumming his guitar strings softly.

and when you thought choi beomgyu is already beautiful from the way he smiles, from the way his eyes twinkle under the summer sunshine, from the way his whisker dimples form on his cheeks when

he laughs — here he is giving you another reason to think that he is the most heavenly person you have ever came across when he opens his mouth to sing.

your fresh fragrance, your sparkling eyes

makes me feel better

reality loses its power, even the earth dies

the moment is eternal

you’re not sure is it the way the sunlight shining through the open window or the way his eyes are fixated on you while he sings, but you can feel the blood rushing to your face, leaving your cheeks feeling so warm.

no matter where you are, no matter what season

if we’re together, feel like summer

“this is getting boring.” says hueningkai as he throws the uno cards on to the floor before plopping on his back on the ground.

“agree, we should be doing something else.” taehyun, who has been scrolling on his phone since half an hour ago finally spoke.

beomgyu, with his four other friends along with a few others are sprawled out in choi yeonjun’s basement. they’ve been doing everything that they deem fun to do in the last four hours — the video games, board games, card games, truth or dare (in which beomgyu had successfully dodged every single question and dare related to you).

“let’s hit the diner, i’m kind of starving,” one of yeonjun’s friends, minho, suggest to which the other boys agree without any objections.

“nah man, i’ll pass for tonight.” beomgyu says, already standing up from his seat, “think i’m going to go home and sleep.”

“really, sleep?” minho asks, smirking up to beomgyu. “or are you going to see that girl, what’s her name again? y/n?”

beomgyu raises his eyebrow, “what does y/n got to do with this?”

sensing the shift in the air, soobin quickly nudges minho in the rib. “hey, shut your mouth.” says the older.

“i don’t know, beomgyu?” the blondie continues, “i barely see you hang out with your friends lately. every time i ask them where’s beomgyu, their answers were always the same; hanging out with y/n.” he pushes his tongue against his cheeks, clearly enjoying how extremely annoyed beomgyu looks.

“you don’t even have time for your friends anymore now? why? too busy fucking that little rich bit-…” and the next thing beomgyu knows is he is on top of the guy, throwing punches across the blondie’s

face as both soobin and yeonjun try to pull him away.

“don’t you fucking dare say that word.” he yells out loudly, throwing another blow on minho’s cheek.

minho forcefully pushes beomgyu, making the latter falls on his back as the blonde-haired boy climbs on top of him, punching him on the corner of his lips before yeonjun had to (literally) throw hands

towards minho to make him stop punching his younger friend.

there’s a loud ringing in beomgyu’s ears, his head spinning.

he was never one to resort to violence when it comes to anything. aside from that one time he accidentally kicked a girl in elementary school while trying to show off his hapkido skills, beomgyu has never hurt anyone physically. but there is something about the way your name rolls on minho’s tongue that make him sick to the core.

he gets on his feet after regaining his vision again, blood trickling down from his lips. he gives his friends one last glance before running up the stairs of the basement, slamming the door loudly as he walks out.

wiping his bloody lips with the sleeve of his hoodie, he curses under his breath, thinking he can’t go home with bruised lips and blood stains on his hoodie — his mom would make a big deal about it.

so, he continues walking — passes the front of the bakery, up the hill. feet moving according to where his heart wants him to go. to find comfort.

and it wasn’t a surprise to him as he stops in front of your aunty’s house, looking up to the second floor where your room is. the lights are out, total darkness surrounding your room. of course, it’s half

passed midnight, of course you will be sleeping by now.

beomgyu is not sure why did he came here. it’s not like he wants you to see him in this state — bruised lips, fresh blood still oozing from the cut, tousled hair, red stains on the sleeve of his yellow hoodie.

no, he doesn’t want you to see him looking this miserable. he was just trying to look for comfort, and to him, his comfort comes in the shape of a girl in an oversized blue t-shirt standing across from him.

“you scare me!” he says as he finds your figure standing in front of the gate of the house.

“what are you doing out here?” you ask.

“what are you doing out here?”

you cross your arms on your chest, “i saw you from the window.” though the only source of light shining on him comes from the dingy lamppost above him, you’re still able to make out his busted lips.

stepping over to him, you gently take his face in your hands. at that moment, beomgyu knows coming here to actually see you wasn’t a bad idea when he can feel the heat from your palms engulfing his cheeks.

he wanted solace and apparently you are his.

“what happened to you?” you ask softly, afraid that if you raise your voice any higher it might hurt him.'

“i fell…” he says, “for you.”

you take your hands off his cheek, slapping his arm to which he jokingly winces in pain. “how could you slap me when i’m already this wounded?” he pouts, “i did fell, okay? i tripped while coming up

here. the hill can be pretty steep sometimes.”

“you’ve been going up and down this hill your whole life, how can you suddenly fell today out of nowhere?”

“i don’t know? people make mistakes, y/n.”

you roll your eyes, “come on, i’ll clean it up for you.”

beomgyu didn’t hesitate to follow you into the house, up the stairs and into your bedroom. you lead him over to the bathroom, trying not to make too much noise and waking up your aunt in the room

right across from yours— you don’t think she would appreciate you bringing a boy into the house in the middle of the night, and the last thing you want is her thinking there’s something passionate going

around between you and the baker’s son.

taking his face in one hand gently, you blow onto his cut. “it’s going to sting a little, okay?” he hums, enjoying the cool breeze from you on his open wound.

he watches you tentatively as you dab the antiseptic on his skin. “does it hurt?” you ask to which he just shakes his head no. “okay. phew, this is kinda scary.” you giggle as you lean closer to his face again, your nose a few inches away from his.

beomgyu roams his eyes all over your face — your eyes, your nose, and your lips. he observes the way your long eyelashes flutters against your soft cheeks with every blink you make. the way your pupils dilate as you are so focused on attending his busted lips. the way your nose scrunches up occasionally when he lets out a low groan of pain. the way your lips are pull into a pout while you’re busy nagging to him.

even under the ugly fluorescent light of the bathroom, with you wearing the most basic clothes — no fancy summer dresses, or blouses, or expensive sneakers – with your hair messily being put up into a bun, face free from any kind of make-up, to choi beomgyu; you are the most beautiful.

and in the daze of post-punched and being in your presence, he lets the words slip out of his mouth.

“you are so fucking beautiful, y/n.”

the saying of time flies when you’re having fun is actually true. days have turned into weeks, and weeks have turned into months — it’s already been two months since you first arrived in this small

town with the ocean view.

the past months have been filled with many new things you’ve never experienced in your life — going hiking to see the sunrise with beomgyu, harvesting vegetables and herbs with aunty sue, helping

beomgyu’s mom in the bakery, binge eating snacks at the convenience store past midnight with beomgyu and his friends, barbecue party with the townspeople.

and the most precious thing you’ve encountered during this summer break is friendship — not only with beomgyu, but his friends too. you’ve come to get comfortable with yeonjun, soobin, taehyun and

hueningkai along the way after spending time with them. beomgyu had brought you along to hang out with them a few times, and you had grown to enjoy the boys’ company, too.

and beomgyu has stay true to his words about making this summer the best three months break of your life.

“you look pretty already,” aunty sue says behind you as you’re busy fixing the strands of your hair framing your face.

turning to look at her, you pout. “i’m not.”

“beomgyu thinks you are.”

you blush, looking into the mirror to avoid your aunt’s teasing eyes. “i’m done, let’s go.”

“you’re not going with beomgyu?” she asks as the both of you are walking down the hill, a rattan basket in your hand.

“he said he’ll meet me there,” you explain. “he has to help his mom with the bakery booth.”

“ah, right. i forgot about that.”

another new thing you get to experience in this small town is their annual summer festival. aunty sue had told you that the town’s mayor came up with the idea of making the festival around a decade ago

in an attempt to give some sort of entertainment for the kids and teenagers, and also the adults, in the town during the season. it was a great success the first year it was being held — with more than

thirty booths of various foods and games. hence, why the summer festival has become the town’s annual event now.

as you reach the festival’s venue which is being held by the beach, you see soobin and yeonjun chattering at a booth near the entrance. you hand aunty sue the basket before excusing yourself to talk to the boys.

“yeonjun! soobin!” you call out, running up towards them. “oooh, y/n! you look so cute!” soobin exclaims excitedly as you stop in front of him. “but not as cute as choi odi, though.”

“choi odi?” you question and the boy nods “my pet.”

“a cat?”

“no, a hedgehog.”

you grimace — what’s with this group of friends and their weird animals as pet?

“what? you don’t think hedgehogs are cute?” he asks.

no, they look like rat — is what you wanted to say but you don’t have the heart to voice those words out from the look soobin is giving you. “yeah, they are… not bad.” you say before moving your gaze

away from him.

yeonjun notices the way your eyes are scanning around for the familiar mob of brown hair in the sea of visitors, and he chuckles. “his booth is on the other side,” he says. “want us to show you the way?”

your cheeks flushed from being caught but you thank him, anyways. “it’s okay, i’ll go by myself. i’ll see you guys later, then!” you say, walking away from them while waving.

you were about to walk around, trying to find his mom’s bakery booth when you hear your phone’s notification inside your bag. pulling it out, you smile as you read the name of the sender.

beomgyu: where u at, pretty girl? i saw your aunt but not you.

you quickly type in your reply.

you: i’m at a cotton candy stall near the entrance, omw to find u

beomgyu: stay there. i’ll go to u.

after waiting for a while, you spot him walking over to you — dressed in a white button up shirt, tucked inside his black jeans. hair slightly dishevelled from the ocean breeze. he has a smile across his face as

he keeps coming closer to where you’re waiting for him.

even in the sea of people, choi beomgyu is the only one that caught your eyes. you could be in a big ballroom of a masquerade party and the only one that has your attention is still choi beomgyu — there’s

just something about him that you can’t seem to explain that make you only look at him and him only.

you look up to him when he stops in front of you, the smile from earlier getting wider. “hi, pretty.” he says before his hand reaches up to your face, tugging the strands of hair behind your ear neatly. this

has been a little habit of his that he really loves doing whenever he sees your hair getting on your face — never once have you told him that you purposely let those strands untied.

“the firework show will be at 8pm, so we will have around,” he checks his phone, “hour and half to walk around. what do you want to do?”

“you’re not helping your mom’s booth?”

“my brother is here, so he’ll be helping mom for today.” he says, peeking to the stall behind you. “wanna try the cotton candy?”

there is already a line of children waiting for their turns to get the sweet treats in various shapes —heart, bunny, flower, and even a unicorn. when it reaches your turn, beomgyu asks you what shape

you would like for your candy, and you eagerly point at the bear on the menu sheet.

“here’s your order, mr. lover boy.” the man says, handing the stick of the bear-shaped cotton candy to beomgyu. “enjoy your time here, lovebirds.”

“we’re not-…”

“thank you, we will.” taking the candy from the man, beomgyu put his hand on the small of your back, leading you away from the line.

you look up at him, blush evident on your cheeks. why didn’t he deny the man earlier? lovebirds? love, really? “beomgyu, why didn’t you-..” you pause mid-sentence when he hands you the cotton candy.

looking up at him, then down to the cotton candy that is still in his hand, then up to him again and down to the candy again, you let out a laugh.

he furrows his eyebrow questioningly, “what so funny?”

taking out your phone, you open the camera app. “stand still.”

he complies, standing still with the cotton candy in hand all the while you’re giggling and snapping multiple pictures of him. “are you done?” he whines.

you show him the photo on your phone screen, swiping right to let him see the rest of his pictures you’ve taken. “the bear looks just like you!”

“is it funny to you?” he asks, wrapping his arm around your waist as he tickles your side. you squirm in his hold, laughing harder. “it is, because it looks exactly like you- ah! beomgyu, stop tickling me!”

he holds onto the stick of the cotton candy tighter as his other arm is still wrapped around your waist. beomgyu has always known of how beautiful you look when you smile and laugh, but, oh god. right

now, where you’re laughing to your heart’s content, in his arm, dressed in the loveliest white summer dress he has ever seen, with the warm glow of the sun slowly setting, he swears nothing else is as

beautiful as you. not even close.

“beomgyu, please stop. i’m going to pee.” you beg, tears from laughing pooling in your eyes. he lets you go slowly before handing the cotton candy to you which you gladly take.

“let’s go,” he says as he takes your free hand in his, pulling you into the gleeful summer festival.

you spent a good hour touring around the festival — eating tanghulu and few other famous street foods. playing random games at the game booths even though you knew they were all rigged, it was

still fun — beomgyu did won you a small teddy bear keychain from the dart game.

you visited your aunt’s stall too, where she’s selling little handcrafted trinkets. you couldn’t ignore the cheeky smile she sent you when she saw the way beomgyu was holding onto your hand.

then, you went to his mom’s booth where you met his brother for the first time. you were kind of expecting the teasing from him, but you didn’t know it would be so bad to the point you had to ask beomgyu for a glass of water, afraid you might suddenly pass out from the excessive blood rush.

it was fun. you don’t think you have experienced this much fun in your life. the last time you felt happy was when you had visited disneyland back when you were ten. with your maid, not with your parents. you don’t think you would have enjoyed it as much if you did go with them.

“we have 10 more minutes before the fireworks show.” beomgyu says as he leans his side against the railing. he had suggested to go up the cliff to have a better view of the firework. you thought it’s going

to be a packed spot but surprisingly there are only three other people there, sitting distance away from where you and beomgyu are standing.

you can feel his stare from the corner of your eyes, making your cheeks flushed. god, is it possible to lose one’s life from immense blushing? if it is, then you’re in a terrible danger.

“have you ever been in love?” he asks suddenly.

at that moment, the only thing you can hear is the loud ringing in your ears. gone the sound of the festive happening down by the beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the sound

of the people behind you chattering. the sound of beomgyu’s voice.

have you ever been in love?

have you? you want to say no. you want to tell him that you don’t believe in love — that you would rather believe in the existence of a flying elephant rather than believing in love. you want to tell him

there is no such a thing as love in this world. there is no such a thing as sincere love. people love to get what they desire in return — money, power, status, pride. your parents are a living prove of that.

you want to tell him if there is one thing you are so fucking afraid of in this world, it is to love.

you want to tell him that you don’t think love is worth taking the risk, you don’t think it’s worth fighting for. love is not a real thing. you’ve seen so many people from school getting heartbroken over a

breakup with their lover, only to jump into a new relationship a week after that. if love is a real existing thing then, how could you move on so easily like that?

you so badly want to tell him, but no words come out from your mouth as you stare into his sparkling eyes.

“you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he says after sensing the discomfort on your face.

“have you?”

“yeah,” he says, now facing the sea. “i’m in love with a lot of things — my family, my friends, toto, my bicycle.” he says, shifting on his feet, “i love helping my mom in the bakery, i love writing songs even

when no one listens to it. i love this town, no matter how boring it gets sometimes, i still love it.”

“i love summer,” he says as he turns to face you again. “i love summer because it brought you to me.”

you were about to say something to him when you hear the announcement from the speakers that the fireworks will be going off in the count of three.

ignoring the proclamation, you keep your eyes fixated on his. he is staring at you endearingly, a soft smile on his lips as he takes a step closer towards you.

three

he takes another step forward, until the tips of his shoes are meeting yours.

two

he tugs the strands of your hair behind your ear like he usually does, only this time he didn’t put his hand down, keeping it on the soft skin of your cheek. he rests his other hand on your waist, pulling you slightly closer to him.

one

he tilts his head, leaning down towards your face before stopping, leaving a small gap as he waits for you to make the next move, an unspoken sign of asking for your permission.

and as the fireworks start shooting in the sky, you stand on your tiptoes. hands resting against his chest as you lean forward, closing the gap in between your lips and his soft ones.

it started off with you gently resting your lips on his, until he starts to pull you closer by your waist — where he deepens the kiss.

it feels magical.

the way his lips are massaging softly against your own, the way his thumb is caressing your cheek in the gentlest manner, the way he tightens his hold on your waist — not hard enough to hurt you but

strong enough to keep you in place, the way his heart is beating so fast under your palm. the way the sky is glowing and shimmering brightly with the non-stop fireworks.

he is magical.

it’s not like you have ever kissed a boy before but the way beomgyu is kissing you with so much care, with so much affection, so endearingly, with so much love — you know the kiss is perfect. you just know it is.

because you don’t need a flawless kiss for it to feel complete, all you need is choi beomgyu to be the one kissing you.

to you, choi beomgyu is the epitome of perfection.

the ringing of your phone wakes you up from your deep sleep. reaching over to the vibrating device on the nightstand, you pick up the call without checking the caller id.

“hello?” you say, voice hoarse.

“y/n?” shoot, it’s your mom. “are you still sleeping?”

“uh, yeah. i just… woke up.” you sit up on your bed, eyeing the clock on the wall – 12:04pm. if there is one thing your mom hates, it would be tardiness — in anything, including the time you wake up from

sleep.

“i slept really late last night,” in which you did. after the summer festival, and the whole kissing thing, beomgyu had walked you home. not forgetting to give you another kiss, which felt more like a peck,

before he left. and you had stayed up until almost four in the morning replaying that particular scene on the cliff over and over again in your head.

you hear your mom sighs from the other end, “how you been doing there?”

oh, that’s new.

“it’s been okay,” you twirl the end of your blanket. “aunty sue is a very war-…”

“listen, y/n. i’m kind of busy right now. i just called to remind you about your leave after the summer break.”

and that is when reality hits you.

“your dad thought it would be a good idea if you come home this weekend. to make early preparations.”

shit. how could you forget?

“i’ll send a driver to pick you up this sunday,” she says, and you can hear rustling from her end, “i gotta go.”

when the line goes off, you remain holding your phone against your ear.

how can you get forget? did you forget because you’re too busy having fun here? did you forget because you finally found something, or rather, someone to share your happiness with? did you forget

that you’re only here temporarily, to take a breather from the crowded city? did you forget that you’re not supposed to be attached to anyone?

you’re leaving. you’re leaving the country in september. you’re leaving for a university on the other side of the world. you’re leaving your home. you’re leaving this town.

you’re leaving beomgyu.

beomgyu.

these past months, you have been engulfing yourself too much into whatever temporary fantasy he had created for you. you were so into it that you started to brush away all of your beliefs that have

been your pillar your whole life. you were so blinded by the happiness he had brought you that you started making an exception for him.

and for the first time in two months, for the first time since you have arrived in this small town with an ocean view, for the first time since you met the boy whose eyes shine brighter than any stars in the night sky — you want to be anywhere but here.

you know you’re being a jerk to beomgyu — ignoring his calls and text messages, lying to him about coming down with a fever, forcing aunty sue to make up whatever excuses she could think of

whenever the boy stopped by to catch a glimpse of you, pretending to be sleeping whenever you saw him standing under the lamppost outside of the house at night.

you’re being irrelevant and you know that better than anyone else. but you can’t find any other way to explain to him about everything — you’re not ready and you don’t know how to. you know he’s in

love with you, and maybe, just maybe, you do harbour the same feeling for him as well — but you're in denial.

love does not exist.

that’s what you’ve been telling yourself every day.

you’re going back home tomorrow, and you have successfully avoided beomgyu up until this point. until aunty sue had to (almost) beg on her knees asking you to deliver an official government letter to

the choi’s place. she had come down with a summer fever herself, making you feel bad if you refuse to help.

and that’s how you find yourself inside the the bakery’s kitchen that saturday afternoon, a brown envelope in hand. you are glad it is saturday — meaning beomgyu is not around as he always spends

the day at taehyun’s place.

you peek around the kitchen, no one in sight. there’s no one behind the register in the bakery too. is the shop closed?

you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, turning around with the envelope still in hand, “mrs. choi, aunty sue asked me to-…”

you blink, hands coming down to your sides.

leaving the brown paper on top of the counter, you were about to make an escape before you feel his hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back to him.

“y/n,”

“let me go,” you say under your breath.

he pushes you against the wall, trapping your body. “are you okay?”

out of all the things he could be saying to you right now, he’s asking you if you’re okay? out of all the mean things he could be spitting to you right now for ignoring him without explanation, the words

that came out from his mouth are those of endearment.

you avoid his eyes, afraid that you might break if you catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. “i’m fine.”

“then why have you been ignoring me?”

“i wasn’t feeling well.”

“then, that means you’re not okay.” he says softly, “look at me, y/n.”

you look up at him, tears pooling your eyes. “why are you being so difficult?!” you didn’t mean to scream in his face, but at this point, your brain has lose control — your body moving according to your

heart.

beomgyu is taken aback by your sudden outburst, “what?”

“why are you making it a big deal that i’m not talking or hanging out with you anymore?”

“how am i supposed to not make it a big deal when the person i’m in love with is pushing me away?” there, he said it.

“love?” you say, while trying your hardest to keep your tears from falling. “there is no such a thing as love in this world, beomgyu.”

“are you saying my feelings for you are invalid? of course, there is. there’s love everywhere in this world.”

“no, there’s none!” you scream again, “how can you fall in love with someone within, what? two months? that’s unrealistic, beomgyu.”

“you don’t need years to fall in love with someone, y/n. you can be by someone’s side for decades, shares one roof, sits at the same dinner table and sleeps on the same bed for years and years onwards

but if there is no love then there will be no love until the end.” he raises his voice slightly.

you finally let your tears fall as images of your parents cross your mind — of how unhappy they are with each other, of how their eyes never hold any kind of affection for one another. they have been

married for almost two decades now — live under the same roof, eat at the same dinner table, sleep on the same bed, wear the same silver bands around their ring fingers – but the love was never there. it’s never going to be there.

if there is no love then there will be no love until the end.

they are the reason why you’re acting the way you are now.

"i don’t need years to fall in love with you, y/n.” he wipes the tears on your cheek gently, “the moment i saw you that one summer afternoon, i knew i was falling head over heels for you.” he pauses,

searching for your eyes. “i knew that i’m in love with you.”

“tell me, y/n… did i do anything wrong? is it the kiss?” he asks, “i’m sorry i stepped over my boundaries.”

“it’s not the kiss,” you whisper.

“then? what’s bothering you, baby?”

more tears come out of your eyes at the nickname, “this whole thing,” you gesture to him and you, “you know it’s not going to last, right?”

he shakes his head, “no, i know you’re going to back to the city after the break, but we’ll make it work. it’s not even that far. you know people do anything for their loved ones, right?”

you take a deep breath, before wailing loudly, not caring about anything anymore. “you’re not gonna love me anymore after i leave, beomgyu. and i’m not talking about going back to the city. i’m leaving the country soon, to the other side of the world, for four fucking years, choi beomgyu!”

“i’ll wait for you, i promise.”

“no one is that stupid enough to wait for someone for that long. why take the risk of waiting years for someone? what if i suddenly came back with a boyfriend, or a fiancé?”

“you worth all the risk in the world, y/n.”

“why are you making things difficult for me?” you push him off of you before you make a run for the door. you continue running up the hill, tears still spilling out your eyes.

you stop, looking back to where you came running from. he doesn’t come chasing after you.

and a part of you wish that he did.

“is this the last one?” your driver asks as he loads the last of your luggage into the car’s boot.

you nod, thanking him to which he replies with a nod of his head. turning to face your aunt, you take her hand in yours. “thank you for taking care of me in the past two months.”

she smiles, rubbing on the back of your hand with her thumb. “are you sure you don’t want to see him first?”

you shake your head and the woman just nods hers before pulling you into a hug. it’s warm. she has always been warm, ever since the first time she picked you up at the train station. she has treated you

like nothing less than a family member, though you and her are very distant relatives.

“i’ll miss you.”

“i’ll miss you too, honey.” she caresses your hair. “come back soon, hm?”

you nod, moving away from her warm hold. “bye, aunty sue.”

as the car drives past the familiar bakery, you look down to your lap, droplets of tears wetting the thin fabric of your skirt.

and just like that, your temporary happiness ends.

the leaves start to wilt, slowly turning brown as the season transition from summer to autumn. the temperature getting colder and colder as each day passed by. no more scorching sun, no more clear

blue sky, no more children running around by the beach.

he stands on the cliff, overlooking the ocean. nothing much has changed since three years ago — except some parts of the railing has awfully broken down. honestly, he prefers it that way — the town not

changing. the way the town looks boring to an outsider, but actually holds a lot of hidden wonders.

the town holds a lot of dear memories to him. this is the town he has grown up in, the town that taught him all the life lessons that made him the person he is today, the town that brought him a girl

that he could never forget, even in his next life.

he looks over to the sea. if he swims far enough, would he reach the other side of the world? to where you are right now?

three years.

it has been three years since he last heard anything from you. it’s not like he didn’t try reaching out to you, he did, multiple times. he tried calling your phone, only to be greeted with the same bot telling

him that the number is no longer in service. he tried looking up for your social media — facebook, instagram, anything. but nothing ever came up with your name aside from a profile website of your

family, a picture of fifteen years old you under the words ‘daughter of a successful businessman and the uprising fashion designer’. he thought you look adorable in the picture, despite the lack of life in

your eyes.

three years went by and you still haven’t come back.

three years and all he could think about every day is you.

you, you, you.

his friends have been telling him to just let it go, telling him it was just a summer fling, telling him it’s time for him to move on, to go meet new people in college.

but he didn’t. he knows what is worth it in his life — you are worth the wait, the risk, everything.

he tugs his hands inside the pocket of his coat, the air is getting so chilly despite it being only september.

“thought i would find you here,”

he turns his head so fast as he hears the familiar voice, he thought he might get a whiplash from it. but as he stares at the figure standing across from him, he thinks he is experiencing more than a whiplash right now.

there you are, standing five feet apart from him. he roams his eyes over your smiling face, and he wonders how is it possible for someone to be this beautiful. you look different from the last time he

saw you, in a good way.

your hair is slightly shorter compared to three years ago, you have lost the baby fats on your cheeks too, making your cheekbones stand out when you smile, and your eyes, they no longer look like the one he saw on the last day he saw you, or in the picture from the internet. your eyes are filled with life now, sparkling under the grey sky of the autumn morning.

“i went to your mom’s bakery but you weren’t around. figured you would be-…” you didn’t get to finish your sentence as the man takes a long stride towards you before pulling you into his arms.

he holds the back of your head with one hand, pressing your nose against the base of his neck while his other hand is wrapped around your waist.

he still smells the same — a mixture of frangipani blossoms, toasted coconut, and bergamot waters.

even in a different season, he still smells like summer.

you wrap your arms around him, “sorry i took too long.”

shaking his head, he wraps his arm tighter around you figure — afraid that you might suddenly evaporate into thin air, and this is just another night dream of his. “no, thank you for coming back.”

“thank you, too. for waiting for me.”

he pulls you away from his neck, staring deep into your eyes. “i promised i would wait for you, didn’t i?”

you nod, smiling up at him happily. you notice how he had grown few inches since the last time you saw him that one afternoon in the back of his mom’s bakery, from the way your neck is straining so

much looking up at him. his hair is no longer the deep shade of brown anymore, it's ash grey now.

he leans down, tilting his head as he nudges your nose with his — waiting for you to close the distance between his lips and yours, just like what he did that one summer night, in this exact same spot.

and as you finally rest your lips upon his — you think about how choi beomgyu is worth all the risk that you’ve took. the arguments with your parents because they kept opposing the idea of you dating a

nameless boy from a small town, the cramped semesters because you wanted to cut one semester off so you can come back to him a year sooner, the longing and aching feeling for him you got whenever

your friends in university talk about their partners. at the end, there were all worth it.

choi beomgyu is worth it.

you are still a firm believer of love does not exist. it’s hard to get rid of that idea when you’ve been sticking to it almost all of your life. and given that your parents’ eyes still lack of love and affection for

each other even after being married for a whole two decades now, it’s impossible to accept that there is love out there for everyone.

but to you; love exists in a form of a boy whose eyes shine brighter than any stars in the night sky, and that is all that matters to you.

and to choi beomgyu; even under the cloudy and gloomy autumn morning sky, with wilted leaves dancing around in the air with the wind, with the temperature getting colder and colder as day passed

by, it feels like summer to him — because it doesn’t matter where he is, or what season it is, whenever he’s with you, it feels like summer.

#beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fic #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu romance #beomgyu angst #beomgyu fanfic #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt fluff #txt romance #txt angst #txt x you #txt x reader #txt x y/n #txt #tomorrow x together #yeonjun #soobin #taehyun #hueningkai #byeomtori

[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. 

#hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #honkai star rail x reader #bee writes hsr

[meowzfordayz]

hashira find out that you self harm

Author’s Note: as always, pls heed CW (content warnings). These were not written purely for comfort, but also w/ ~realistic reactions in mind, so while they def lean toward comfort, there’s a certain lvl of inherent discomfort and pain in them as well. 🖤

hashira find out that you self harm

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,900

CW: depression, explicit language, implied self harm, traumatic references

Emergency Request Fulfilled: Can I request kny x reader, (sanemi, michikatsu, genya, giyu, & rengoku)

of an s/o who sh & feels very s*icidal

tough times yk?

Emergency Request Fulfilled: A request, idk if this is gonna seem insensitive, but could you write the hashiras reactions if they found out the reader sh? I have been struggling with these things lately and would like to see something like that, but if you feel uncomfortable with it then you don't have to do this.

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I ended up breaking my streak of not sh-ing last night and I feel awful again. I was wondering if you could do a rengoku x Reader with that kind of subject material as a sort of pick me up. Sorry for bothering you like this it’s just I feel not so good rn and you’re someone who provides me comfort with your writing

kamaboko find out that you self harm

~faqs~

When they find out that you self harm…

… Gyomei doesn’t know what to say. His immediate reaction is to feel incredibly protective, but his gut tells him overreacting could push you even further away. “Oh.” A single word exhaled quietly from his mouth, and you feel yourself unraveling. “I-” Quickly, he collects himself. “Don’t apologize to me,” he asserts gently, “Thank you for telling me.” “You aren’t mad?” you ask shakily. “I’m confused,” he answers softly, “I want to protect you, but I’m unfamiliar with protecting someone from themselves.” Your heart twinges at his admittance as his arms wrap steadily around you, his palms pressed clammy and flat against your back, his embrace soothing even as his frown deepens.

… Obanai is furious. With himself, of course. A silent, dreadful anger that sticks to his spine, no matter how much he twists, turns, and talks with himself. He throws himself into research, a whirlwind of educating himself as best and as quickly as possible, all the while maintaining a light hearted, gentle facade whenever you’re beside him. “Are you okay?” you’ll ask sometimes, his sporadic urgency noticeable, “Something bothering you?” And he knows confessing his frustration won’t solve anything; guilting you or making you regret sharing yourself with him is the last thing he wants. So he shrugs, shooting you a lazy, intimate smile, suddenly grateful for how he can make his eyes twinkle above his mask, truthful grimace covered, “Just missing you.” “But I’m right here!” you exclaim, nudging him happily. “I know,” he mutters softly I know.

… Mitsuri cries. She doesn’t mean to. She doesn’t mean to make you comfort her. She doesn’t mean to make you apologize over and over until you’re both bawling, clinging to each other as though squeezing tightly enough might make your truth dissipate. But she does. She cries in your arms as you cry in hers, disbelief and sorrow rippling through her body. “I-I’m s-sorry,” you repeat, voice strained, unable to catch your breath as you gasp between sobs. “M-me t-too,” she whimpers lowly Me too. She’ll put herself back together later, determination to love you as hard and as fiercely as ever gradually overcoming her initial shock and dismay, even as part of her heart remains forever changed — forever afraid of losing you… to yourself.

… Shinobu struggles to maintain a boundary between being your partner and being your therapist. She’s not professionally trained in psychiatry, but she’s obviously knowledgeable when it comes to physical healing, sooo why not mental healing? That’s not how it works she often has to silently remind herself, seconds away from responding to your spiraling as though you’re in a therapy session together. Deep down, she knows all she can do is be there for you as she is. Not as she wishes she could be. Not as she feels she should be. But as she is. Am I enough? she wonders as she listens to your labored breathing, feeling you twitch beside her in your sleep I sure hope so she sighs, pressing light fingers to your overheated cheek, smiling faintly as your breaths gradually slow I really hope so.

… Kyojuro is distraught, but does his best to conceal it. For your sake. His sake. He isn’t really sure, actually. All he knows is he’s watching you fall to pieces in slow motion, and somehow, he still isn’t quite fast enough to catch all of you. Some days are easier than others. Those other days? He can barely bring himself to touch you.

“Kyo,” you sigh, fixing an even stare on his unnervingly neutral gaze, sorely missing his usual eagerness, “What’s going on?”

He promptly brightens, stepping forward to press a light kiss on your forehead, “Nothing is going on.”

Then why won’t you comfort me?

Wordlessly, you slip your arms around his waist, relieved when he accepts your embrace, confused that, “Then why don’t you hold me anymore?”

He frowns at that, head tilting, “I am holding you right now.”

With a snort, you mutter quietly, “No, Kyo, I’m holding you. It’s like you suddenly need my permission to-” interrupting yourself as realization hits, “Kyo.”

He blinks, feeling thoroughly ~caught, yet unsure what act you’ve caught him in.

“Yes, my love?”

“You don’t have to be scared of me!” you exclaim, bittersweet laughter rumbling in your chest, “I know I…” trailing off awkwardly, “I know I’m not okay, and I know you worry, but keeping yourself from me doesn’t help, solve, or ease, well, anything!”

“Are you certain?” he murmurs, dreadful despair leaking into his gut again, “I… do not know how to navigate this.”

Squeezing his hips, you glare fondly at him, “I know I’m not okay, and I know it pains you to hear me say that. I also know it pains both of us when you distance yourself. You don’t have to let me go. You aren’t the problem.”

But he nearly exclaims But I can’t save you!

“I don’t need saving,” you whisper instead, reading his perceived failure in the tremor of his fingers tracing up and down your spine, “I just want you to love me.”

I do he swallows thickly I love you so much.

… Sanemi leaves midway through your quiet, shaky explanation, fingernails nearly breaking the skin of his palms, mouth a thin line, lavender eyes too narrowed to discern the pain pulsing through his glare. You listen to the front door open, expecting a resounding bam, mystified when a nearly silent push of air signals his departure. Shit. You know then that he isn’t pissed. At least, he isn’t pissed at you. Which, really, would be easier to handle than the slow dripping tears glistening on his cheeks, clinging to his eyelashes; would be easier to handle than reading the single text he sends you I love you, don’t wait up; would be easier to handle than waking to the feel of him tracing hearts across your skin, bed warmer with his body, mattress dipping you toward him. “I’m sorry I left,” he whispers, somehow knowing you’re awake before you’ve even fully processed consciousness yourself, “I won’t do it again.” You mumble something incoherent in response, catching his hand with yours, pressing a sleepy kiss to his knuckles. “Fuck,” he hisses sharply, sob lodged in his throat, “You’re everything to me,” lifting your knuckles to his lips, returning your gesture Everything.

… Muichiro doesn’t understand why, but he does notice its consequences. He notices the tiredness glinting in your eyes, even though you’ve just woken up. He notices the slowness in your movements, even as you’re expressing excitement. He notices the harshness of your voice when you’re having a particularly difficult day, though he doesn’t understand why it’s particularly difficult. He voices his disconnect, curled up beside you on the couch, hands wrapped coolly around yours, apologetic and upfront. “I can tell when you’re in pain,” he says gently, “But I don’t understand the desire to then create more pain.” Shaking his head as you open your mouth to explain, he smiles softly, “I know it hurts to try and help me understand, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” brow furrowing as he sighs quietly, “That’s just it, I guess. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t understand.” You know he means well, you know he isn’t upset, but it doesn’t get easier listening to him navigate your pain. “I love you,” you offer, leaning over to peck his cheek. He sighs again, soaking in your warmth, unable to identify the tight numbness in his chest, “And I love you.”

… Giyuu nods, thoughts racing even as silence settles between your anxious stare and his unblinking expression.

“Giyuu?” you tentatively prompt him, “This… this wasn’t easy for… for me to tell you.” 

Like an unpaused movie, he blinks into action, reaching for your waist even as he watches for the slightest hint of discomfort from you, ready to divert his movement if need be. You crumble into his touch, leaning heavy and exhausted against his chest, melting into the smooth reassurance of his hands splayed across your lower back.

“I know,” he murmurs lowly, eyes closed, “Thank you for trusting me,” resisting the urge to pull away, cup your face, and press his forehead firmly to yours, involuntary tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “Thank you for…” his voice fades, knowing he’d crumble en suite if he continued, desperate to remain steady for your wavering breaths.

“For what?” you choke out, “Giyuu.”

Thank you for staying he thinks somberly Thank you for loving me.

“Thank you for choosing me,” he finally whispers, “And thank you for letting me choose you.”

You laugh roughly, sound mangled in his shirt, “I’m a mess.”

He doesn’t deny your statement, instead pulling you closer, his heartbeat loud and promising, tears falling freely now. And that’s okay he wishes he could say Two messes are better than one he wishes he could quip How do I fix this? his fear stutters on repeat What do I do? underlying his tenderness, knowing all too well that he has only questions, and no way of answering them.

… Tengen takes it unexpectedly well. He listens patiently, nods at appropriate moments, and gently interjects with the occasional question, all the while kneading your thighs as you sit on his lap, watching you with a careful, encouraging warmth.

“You’re amazing,” he declares softly, “Not to belittle your pain, of course,” sadness simmering just below his faint smile, “But I want you to know that, after everything you’ve told me, my first thought is how incredible you are.”

You shrug, unsure how to accept his compliments, stripped bare as you glance downward, eyes closing.

“Hey,” he murmurs, familiar hand cupping your chin, “I know I can’t make you believe anything I say,” bittersweet sigh grazing your skin, “But I can at least share my own beliefs. I can at least share my own perception of you. I can love you.”

Your nose scrunches, eyes opening to meet his honest stare, swallowing your breath with a shudder.

“I’m here. Whatever you want to tell me, whatever I need to know,” voice thickening, “I’m not going anywhere. If you need me to be firm, I can be firm. If you need me to be quiet, I can bite my tongue. I’m your lover, your partner, and a resource.”

So let me fulfill all of those roles for you. Let me love you. Let me walk beside you. Let me taste your burdens as you’ve stomached mine.

“You don’t have to be responsible for me,” you chuckle weakly, attempting to ease the tension, “I don’t tell you things to make you carry them for me.”

“But I would,” he speaks steadily, “I know you wouldn’t ever ask me to,” maroon gaze dark, “But I would.”

He doesn’t mean to be overbearing, but he doesn’t know how else to convey the fragility in his heart; its overwhelming swell of aching and anger — the stark hopelessness of knowing he can only watch. Of knowing he can only listen. Of knowing he can only handle as much as you’re willing to give him.

#preferences #modern au #himejima gyomei #gyomei x reader #iguro obanai #obanai x reader #kanroji mitsuri #mitsuri x reader #kocho shinobu #shinobu x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #tokito muichiro #muichiro x reader #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #uzui tengen #tengen x reader

[fandomxpreferences]

Fighting About A Funnel Cake

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

TW:none

Summary: You're mad at Rafe, and much to your displeasure, he figures out the real reason.

Word Count:1k

Few things have ever scared Rafe Cameron. He's had guns held to his head, fist-fought his own father, and been in business with people who have the power to make him disappear. He never even flinched. 

The few things that have scared him, were nothing to do with him and everything to do with you and your life together. 

He was struck with deep visceral fear when he found out about your son, James, and down petrified when he found out about your daughter, Eleanor. 

He was drowning in fear driving you to the hospital as contractions ripped through you, and he almost threw up the first time your son got an injury. 

However, nothing elicits terror all the way in his bones as much as that look in your eyes or the fire in your voice when you're angry at him. 

Usually, he knows he did something and gets ahead of the storm. He buys you something nice, plans a date, and prepares an elaborate apology. 

You see it from a mile away, but it usually works. Tonight, however, he's blindsided and has no clue what's gotten you so worked up. It's always worse when he's clueless about his fuck up.

He has no doubt he did something; he screws up all the time without realizing it. But knowing allows him to have a game plan and tailored approach. 

Right now he's floundering. 

"Kids, go to your room. I need to talk to your father." 

There's thinly veiled rage in your voice as you try your best not to show it in front of your children. They stand to leave and Rafe's frantic voice rings out. 

"No, kids stay. Please." 

Your eyes narrow as your seven and nine-year-old falter and look between the two of you. 

"Go." 

They start walking again and Rafe stops them. 

"No, stay. I'll pay you each $50 if you sit back down." 

Your son looks at his sister and they seem to have a silent conversation when you speak through gritted teeth. 

"Go, now.' 

Your daughter starts to leave while your son stays in place and Rafe tries to grab her arm as she passes by. 

"Eleanor, stay!" 

His pleading falls on deaf ears as she beelines for the stairs and he turns to your son that's now moving in the same direction. 

"James, don't go!" 

He watches as they both disappear and calls out after them. 

"Kids, don't leave me!"

He turns back to you with a timid smile and shrinks back when he sees the storm brewing in your usually bright eyes. 

"Hone-" He starts but you cut him off. 

"Don't, Rafe."

His mouth snaps shut and he waits for you to continue. The ball is in your court, it always is. You're the only woman that's ever been able to put him in his place, and while it's the reason he fell for you, it's also the reason he fears for his life sometimes. This is one of those moments. 

Your eyes bore into him for a few moments and you take in the genuinely clueless look on his handsome features. 

"You have no idea why I'm mad, do you?"

His silence is all the answer you need, and you huff. 

"Were you going to tell me you took the kids out of school for a joyride in Charleston?"

The words come down on him like a hammer and his eyes flutter closed. Fuck.

"Don't be mad."

You scoff and cross your arms. 

"I think we both know we're well past that." 

He does know that, but he figures it couldn't hurt to try. 

"They've been begging to go to that amusement park, and our weekends have been so booked up we haven't had the chance. I felt bad, and my dad never did stuff like that with us. I just wanted to make a memory with them." 

You feel yourself deflate a bit at his reasoning, but it doesn't make it okay. 

"I understand that, Rafe. But their education is important. When you do stuff like that, especially behind my back, it makes me look like the fun-sucking parent. We promised when we found out about James that we wouldn't do that."

He nods his head and you feel the anger dissipate at the genuine sorrow in his eyes. 

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

You stand still with your lips pursed for a moment before nodding. It's silent for a few seconds when a smile breaks out on your husband's face. 

"Wait, are you really mad about that? Because we've done stuff like that before. Or are you mad that you missed out and didn't get a funnel cake?" 

The way this man sees right through you gets on your nerves sometimes, and you scramble to hide the fact you've been caught. 

"What? No, of course not. That's ridiculous." 

His smile only grows as he stands and wraps his arms around you. You stare up at him with defiance and he tilts his head to the side like a puppy. 

"Is it?"

You roll your eyes and will yourself not to give in. 

"Yes." 

He nods with a shit-eating grin and lowers his face to nip on your ear. 

"Would you still be mad if I told you we can go back this weekend and you can get all the snacks you want?"

He nuzzles into your neck when he feels your smile on the side of his face before pulling back. 

"Really?"

His heart warms at the way you light up like a little kid at the idea and he nods. 

"Really." 

He sees the moment your walls come down and you return his embrace. 

"Can we play the games too?"

He chuckles and kisses your temple softly. 

"Anything you want." 

The last of the fight leaves you and you surrender to him completely.

"Okay, fine. You're forgiven."

You squeal as he spins you around and loud laughter bubbles from your chest. 

"That's my girl. I love you."

You grin as he sets you back down and nudge his shoulder. 

"I love you too. Even if you do piss me off."

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #Rafe Cameron #Rafe Cameron x reader #Rafe Cameron fluff #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fluff

[palioom]

stripes of a tiger

summary: pregnant with your first child, you cannot help but criticize your changing body. oberyn knows just how to help, not allowing any ill thoughts about yourself.

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader word count: 3.9k warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but nicknames); body worship; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; pregancy; mention of self esteem issues; some biting; husband oberyn being the sweetest

• masterlist •

A deep and heavy sigh was the first thing Oberyn heard when he entered their shared bedchambers. Long, drawn out and loaded with a variety of emotions he wished to explore, wished to know the cause of.

It made him wonder what ailed her today, his beautiful, pregnant wife. Round with his child for the first time, looking more stunning with each passing day, but also growing meaner by the hour.

He knew about the sudden bouts of changing moods by now, becoming more irritated and more emotional by the day.

Testing his limits anew and anew.

But he loved her either way, all these little things making him chuckle, excited to be on this journey with her.

“My sun.” He said with a wide smile as he found her, hands on her round belly, standing in front of the large mirror in the corner.

Dressed in a thin, orange dress, adorned with hundreds of jewels and pearls, glittering as she turned from side to side.

Stunning, so gorgeous and beautiful and-

His smile faded when he saw the expression on her face.

Furrowed brows, teeth worrying her bottom lip. 

Tears in her eyes.

“My sun.” His voice was softer now, gentle. 

Body sliding against hers, chest flush with her back, his broad hands sliding over her beautiful belly. 

Dark eyes following her gaze, landing on said belly through the mirror.

“What is wrong, my love?” Oberyn asked, soft and gentle. Lips finding her exposed shoulder and pressing a kiss to it.

Eyes trying to find hers.

“Why is my gorgeous wife looking at her round stomach full of our child with such sadness and contempt?” 

Her eyes snapped up to his now, a few tears falling, leaving wet streaks across her cheeks.

How was she to tell him why?

His body felt comforting against hers, his hands warm on her belly. 

That belly that was the cause for all of this.

Could she tell him about her sorrows without him being mad?

When she didn’t answer, he tried again.

“What is bothering you so, my sun?” Still soothing and gentle. The way he only ever was with her. “What is darkening your light? Your Prince demands that you tell him.”

That made her chuckle, the sound mixing into a small sob, bottom lip quivering.

These damn mood swings.

“Will you promise not to be mad?” She asked, her hands splaying over his on her stomach.

He nodded.

Whatever could bother her that made her think he could get mad at her?

As if he could get mad at her for anything.

She was his everything, his world, the stars in the sky, his sun.

“You still love me like this, don’t you?” 

The question took him by surprise, brows furrowing for a moment.

Why would she ask him such a thing? Wasn’t it obvious, the way he doted on her?

Whatever she wished for, she received, nothing was too expensive or too demanding when it came to her.

He told her how much he loved her every night, tried to make her feel his love when he was buried deep inside of her.

If she wanted fruit only found in Essos, she would get them. Necklaces, earrings, gowns.

There wasn't a thing Oberyn wouldn't do for his beloved wife.

Apparently, it wasn’t enough.

“Of course, my love. How couldn’t I?” He replied, kissing her neck but still holding her gaze through the mirror. “What makes you say such things?”

She looked onto the floor, taking a deep breath.

“I simply feel unwell with my body, my viper.” Voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. “The scars from my skin tearing, my back aches and… I have become huge. Huge and fat and unbecoming.”

The words tore at his heart, pulling her against himself tighter.

His beautiful wife, carrying his child inside of her, radiant and glowing and so unbelievably stunning.

And she hated herself so much, her body which was providing life, which let them have a family of their own.

He sighed deeply, hands wandering under the thin fabric to feel her skin, the small grooves which adorned her body.

Like a tiger’s stripes.

“My lovely sun.” Oberyn said, calm and soft, like he was speaking to something so delicate and sweet that a single misstep would make it crumble and wither. “Look at me, please, my love.”

She hesitated, tears dripping off her nose and onto her stomach. Didn’t want to see him disappointed or mad at her.

Of all the things, she never wanted her viper’s anger, even though he had promised to never let his fangs sink into her, only those who wished to harm them.

“Look at me, my dove.”

She did, raising her gaze, finding his face.

Towering over her, eyes sharp and dark and so soft still. Only for her.

How had she gotten so lucky with him?

“You have become huge, because you carry our child within you.” His hands rubbed over her belly again, soft and slow. “A sign of something good, something wonderful. With each passing day that you grow bigger, my love for you grows as well, my dear.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at his words, his face becoming blurry.

“I know you do not believe me, you stubborn woman never do. You are far from unbecoming, even with a little plumpness to your likeness.”

She smiled just a little, even if she did not entirely believe him, like he said.

The talk she had overheard from other Lords who called their wives the most awful things when pregnant with their children had made her expectant of similar talk from her future husband.

That she would be too huge, too unattractive for her husband to even look at her in such a state. Skin ripping, too heavy, the extra weight settling on her chin and in her legs.

Oberyn wasn’t like this, but she couldn’t shake this feeling that deep down, he was recoiled by her appearance, rather seeking out other people.

“Your glow intensifies with every day, and I could never feel disgusted by you. I have married the most exquisite woman in all of Westeros and Essos combined, and you have only become more beautiful ever since your belly started growing.”

He placed kisses against her neck, onto her shoulder, feeling the shiver that ran down her spine.

His touch wandered, away from her belly and over her hips, fingers running over her thick thighs.

“I enjoy your thighs around my head, when they snap shut while you’re in the throes of pleasure.” A kiss just below her ear made her knees wobble. “Any man would be happy to find death between them, suffocating just to feel the warmth of them.���

Then, his hands wandered back up to her ass, unable to escape the urge of grabbing a handful, hearing her inhale sharply.

“Your bottom, moving so enticingly when you walk in front of me, teasing me without meaning to.” His lips were on her ear now, voice low. “When I could still have you on all fours, seeing it shake with every thrust, every time I buried myself deep inside of you.”

It was like her skin was on fire when his hands wandered up, over her sides to her full breasts, sensitive and aching.

“Your breasts, so soft and beautiful, have grown heavier. The sight of them practically spilling out of your gowns is one I never wish to lose.” When he licked over the shell of her ear, the softest whimper escaped her. “Full and begging for my hands and my mouth. How they move when you’re spread open on your back for me.”

She felt the wetness between her legs as he groped at her, the throbbing. That low pressure in her abdomen, like a fire that was just waiting to lose control inside her.

“Let me show you just how much I love you, whatever shape your body may assume.”

Oberyn slowly spun her around in his arms, cupping her cheeks in his large palms and kissed her, passionate but gentle.

He couldn’t let her believe that she was anything other than the most magnificent woman he had ever seen and that her body was not deserving of the scrutiny she directed at herself.

She hummed into the kiss, eyes closed and her hands came to rest at his waist, steadying herself.

Tasting like berries and the sweetest wine, making her crave both as his tongue slipped into her mouth, a welcome taste.

Always so sweet, despite his name.

The Red Viper.

Slowly he guided her over to their bed, and she was glad when she felt the soft mattress hitting the back of her legs, her feet hurting from standing for too long.

When she sat down on it, he never broke the kiss, moving down with her and then further, finding his place between her spread legs on his knees, her hands now in his dark hair.

She wanted him so desperately, so sensitive and aching already. 

“My viper, I want you.” She moaned when his lips trailed over her jaw and down to her neck.

He smirked against her skin, a soft laugh leaving Oberyn and his hands found their way to the straps of her dress, toying with them and feeling the expensive fabric.

“I know you do, my dove.” Pushing one strap down agonisingly slow, breath hot on her skin, adding to the heat in her body. “I assume you’re wetter and warmer than the Narrow Sea.”

She whined when he bit her neck, gently so there was the faintest mark of his teeth embedded into it.

“But I will not make it easy for you, my sun. My wife has to learn just how beautiful she is first, then she can have me.”

He always knew how to torture, fan the fires inside of her until they could burn her alive before taming them in a way only he could.

The other strap was pushed off her shoulder as well, sliding them down her arms and making the orange fabric pool in her lap, still covering her round belly but exposing her breasts.

“Just look at them.” He said, leaning back so he could cup them with his hands, just barely spilling over at this point. The glint in his eyes as he looked at them, squeezing slightly, made her feel warm.

When he looked up at her, he raised a brow.

“Look at them.”

She did, letting her eyes fall down, seeing how his hands couldn’t contain them fully.

But all she could really see were the tears in her skin, dark and ragged. Not something she could find joy or beauty in.

He saw the emotions flash over her face and it made him mad. Mad and upset, but not at her.

Never at her.

He ducked forward, placing kisses over her breasts, his fingers pinching her hard nipples and making her moan.

“Do you wish to know what I think?” He said, looking up at her. His tongue traced over the grooves of her stretch marks, biting and sucking at the soft skin.

She watched him, mesmerized by how much care he put into this, so attentive.

“These scars remind me of a tiger’s stripes, a beautiful and unique pattern adorning your skin, my sun.” The words made her feel warm, it was something she had never thought about before. “And you will be a mother with just as much fierceness as that of a tiger once our child is born. Still strong and gracious.”

Her heart beat fast in her chest, thrumming against her ribcage with such a force that she was certain it could simply break through.

It was a nice thought, her marks like that of a tiger.

A beautiful animal, she felt honoured he thought of her that way.

One of his hands made room for his mouth, his soft, wet tongue finding her nipple and flicking over it while his hand wandered lower, pushing up her skirts.

She felt him inch up her inner thigh from her knee, fingertips rough, tracing the same tears there as it went higher.

Her legs spread wider, feeling him smile against her skin, mouth still on her breast as his fingers found her middle.

Wet and waiting, hips jerking just from the faintest touch to her lips.

“Oberyn.” She threw her head back as she whined, fingers curling into her hair and tugging. “Please.”

He let two fingers glide through her folds, barely nudging against her swollen clit, ready for him.

“You’re dripping for me, my love.” His lips found hers again, swallowing her gasp as he pressed his fingers against her, moving them in small motions. “Like a waterfall of the sweetest nectar anyone could ever wish for.”

Removing them again, he brought his fingers to his lips, licking her wetness off of one with a deep hum and a wicked smile, then presenting the other finger to her.

“Taste yourself, how could anyone dislike this?” 

And he watched as she wrapped her lips around his thick finger, tongue cleaning up her slick with a hum not unlike his.

Looking so needy and desperate as she sucked on his finger, his dick twitching in his breeches at the sight.

But this was about her, only her, her body and her pleasure.

Removing them and one again finding her clit, she held his gaze as he pressed down harder, watched her eyes flutter but not look away.

“How did it taste?” One eyebrow raised, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Tell me, isn’t it the sweetest thing you have ever tasted?”

She couldn’t deny that there was something about the way she tasted that was… good. Never better than Dornish wine or the berries she was brought every day.

But good in a depraved way.

She nodded, biting her lip as he sped up his movements just a little, wishing he would push his fingers inside of her instead.

“Speak up, love. Tell me.”

“Yes.” She breathed out, whimpering when she felt him speed up again for a second, then moving down to her aching hole. Desperate for him, fluttering around nothing. “It tastes good, my viper.”

Oberyn hummed, pleased with her answer.

Pushing two fingers inside her, she leaned back, bracing herself on her hands. 

She couldn’t see his fingers, moving slowly in and out of her, spreading her open. Thick and long, curling up into that spot that made her unravel every time.

“Always so wet and warm and tight for me.” He grinned, kissing all over her breasts again, letting his tongue run over the grooves. “So beautiful and full.”

The sounds that left her were music to his ears, soft whimpers and throaty moans and he really wanted to undress her and take her. Her new curves only made him more excited, the wet sounds from her beautiful cunt only adding to it.

Wetting his fingers, squeezing them tight.

“Full with my child, my sun. Pretty and round, still swallowing my fingers like the greedy thing you are.”

She was close, hips rolling weakly against his hand.

“Please, Oberyn- You fuck me so well.”

Her voice was soft and breathy, turning into a small whine that hitched in her throat as he bit her nipple.

Suddenly, his mouth was gone from her breast and his fingers gone from inside her, leaving her feeling empty and a sound of protest bubbled in her throat.

Then she felt it, his tongue on her, eagerly licking up her folds while his hands kept tracing the tears on her skin.

Warm and talented on her clit, making her whine louder.

Talented in more ways than one, sharp like the spear he wielded, like the dagger in its sheath on his hip, but also so gentle and soft, like the velvet of her favourite gowns.

When he sucked on the sensitive bud, the fire inside her burned bright, engulfing her as it spread through her veins, her legs closing around his head, hearing his muffled sounds and feeling the vibrations of his voice.

He lapped up all she gave him eagerly, hand wrapping around her trembling thighs as she moaned his name, loud, uncaring if anyone heard outside.

Slowly bringing her down, at some point opening her thighs forcefully when he felt the need to breathe again, he sat back, looking up at her.

Mouth and chin wet, devilish smirk on his face.

“Sweeter than any wine.” He whispered before pressing his lips against hers, tugging her dress down over her belly so it sat at her hips. 

Hand smoothing over them, finding the grooves stretched tightly.

“Maybe I should call you my Tiger now. You are ferocious enough for the title."

His chuckle deep and voice smooth.

She joined in on the laughter, mind dazed and chasing his lips when he pulled away to stand.

“I like Sun more, Oberyn.”

Nodding his head towards the middle of their huge bed, he helped her get there, taking off her dress as he did.

“You can carry many titles, my dove.” His hands opened the belt hanging over his hips, letting it fall to the floor with a loud jingle before he shrugged his bright yellow tunic off of his shoulders, baring his muscular chest.

Oberyn watched her sit there, in all her naked glory as her eyes travelled over his body. Still as infatuated and hungry for him as on their first night together so many, many moons ago.

Finding the dark trail of hair that vanished under his breeches.

She did feel a bit self-conscious next to him like this, rubbing her belly as she watched him open his trousers, revealing his hard cock, already leaking for her.

Again, he saw the emotions on her face, the slight furrow of her brow, the way her eyes just became a little bit sad.

“I suppose it takes more to convince you stubborn woman.” He chuckled, moving over to her, helping her lay down on her side.

Oberyn grabbed a pillow to put under her head and some more to put under her belly, making her sigh as she got more comfortable.

“I can not understand how you could hate your body this much.” 

Trailing kisses down her neck to her shoulder, he let his teeth graze over her skin, wandering lower and lower.

Cupping one of her breasts and giving it some attention amidst her soft gasps.

She watched him, focused on his task as he reached her belly, her hand in his hair as he let his lips wander over every inch of her.

“Your stunning, round belly. Holding life for our family, our child.” 

Wandering to her side, to her hips.

“I can not wait to see you grow again, and again, my sun. You are stunning, so magnificent.”

Kissing further down, biting her ass softly and making her moan and writhe below him.

“Oberyn, my love, please, I need you.”

His nose dragged over her back as he kissed up her spine, settling behind her, shifting closer until he was flush with her, his erection pressing against her ass.

“You have me, my dove, you will always have me.”

Taking himself in hand, he guided himself against her, groaning against the back of her neck when he slowly pushed in.

Her moan mingled with his sound, reaching behind her to grab his hip, needing to hold onto something that weren’t the sheets. 

Slowly moving his hips, she leaned back into him, moans wanton as he dragged his cock in and out of her, hand on her belly.

“My beautiful wife.” He groaned, feeling her squeeze him tight, trying to rock back into him. “Round with my child, so gorgeous and glowing.”

Even he lost his sanity once inside her, her cunt intoxicating and her sounds music to his ears, kissing and nipping at the back of her neck.

“You feel so good, my viper, please.” 

He did make her feel good, with his words and with his body.

She felt desirable with the way he fucked into her, the way he held her, grunting against her neck and biting her skin.

“Your pretty, tight cunt is so wet for me, my sun.” Oberyn rasped, pulling her against him tighter, thrusts harsh and rough. “Like you want me to fill you again, when you’re still round but you already wish for my seed again, don’t you?”

The way she clenched around him told him all he needed to know, her high pitched whine falling from her lips.

“I can not wait to fuck another baby into you, watch your beautiful body swell with my seed again, my dove. You would like that as well, right?”

More nodding, mind hazy as that fire inside of her grew once more, fanned by his words, by his body.

“Yes, Oberyn, please!”

His hand went between her legs to find her clit, her leg lifting to help him and he rubbed tight circles into it.

“Let me feel you, my tiger, strangle my cock with your tight cunt.”

She came with a dragged out moan, trembling and soaking his cock, the fire burning her up from the inside again while he kept rutting into her, praising her over and over and over.

“Like that, my pregnant, beautiful wife, my sun.”

Then he stilled against her, coming with a deep groan and she felt him twitch inside her, spilling himself.

Kissing her shoulder as he calmed down, still rubbing her belly, her thigh, still buried inside her.

Just enjoying her heavy breaths for a few more moments, her warmth.

Until he finally pulled out, carefully.

“Do you believe me now, my tiger?” He said, leaning on one elbow and gently pulled on her shoulder so she could face him. Slotting his lips against her own.

She hummed into it, her hand cupping his cheek.

“A little more, yes.” 

His eyes were loving as he looked down at her, but also mischievous, as always.

“But perhaps I need a little more convincing.” She giggled, watching him break into a wide grin, laughing with her.

“I will convince you as many times as I need to, my tiger.” He replied, his knuckles brushing over her cheek. “Until you believe me that there is nothing to hate about your changing body, for all that is changing now is to bring us our child, every tear in your skin a sign of your love and devotion.”

Tears welled in her eyes at his words, feeling too emotional in the afterglow, but still smiled.

“Our viperling.” 

“Our viperling, yes.”

He kissed her again, his hand moving to her stomach. 

Right now she looked like one of the Gods themselves, with that gentle smile that tugged at her lips and her lidded eyes as she looked at him. Hair tousled and her skin flushed a dark crimson still.

“I do not wish to find you sunken in doubt ever again, my sun. You will find me first and I will help you forget about whatever plagues your mind.” His eyes were still gentle but with a certain seriousness in them. “Do you promise me? You are like one of the Gods, sculpted so magnificently that I allow no doubts about this.”

She sighed but nodded, drawing him in for another kiss.

“I promise, Oberyn. I love you.”

Kissing her forehead, he settled back behind her, nose buried in her hair as he pulled her against him.

“And I love you, my sun, my tiger.”

Hand on her belly, feeling the faint movements.

“No matter how big or how small, you will always be my beautiful wife.”

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell smut #pedro pascal #game of thrones #got #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal characters #tvats

[sunandsstars]

YAWNETU

CHAPTER 1

Jake x Neytiri x Na’vi!Reader

Summary: One other mate was enough, but two? Unneeded. ___ was the outcast, the unwanted woman. Jake and Neytiri wouldn’t ever see her..right?

Warnings: Talks of war, Briefly mentions death/Bodily harm, Angst, Swearing, Non-con Word count: 2.4k

A/N: Here it is people, the angst series :( Prepare yourselves

Taglist: @itsyoboysparkel @dumb-fawkin-bitch @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fanboyluvr

Having one mate was enough for a Na’vi, they did not need another to deal with or weigh them down. It was a huge commitment and for most, a waste of time. More than one significant other was a rare case these days anyway, usually only reserved for Na’vi of a higher ranking, like an Olo’eyktan or Tsahìk.

Jake didn’t know that the Na’vi can bond with more than one at a time until Grace brought it to his attention one day, “Na’vi will mate with only one other person for their whole life, unless duty brings them to marry another” she stated, smoking a cigarette haphazardly in the lab room, eyeing the man who sat uninterested in his wheelchair.

Mating. Jake thought it sounded primal, animalistic, something the creatures back on Earth used to do just to get a quick fuck. But when Neytiri brought it up and he finally experienced it himself, it could only be described as sublime. He’s never felt such feelings, emotions. You share them with your partner in such a deep level it left him feeling breathless.

Following their mating the skypeople attacked and cut down the Tree of Voices, severing one of their main connections to their ancestors. That’s when he realised it was time for war. Several clans joined the mighty Toruk Makto to fight for Pandora, when he called they answered. But the battle was bloody, long and gruelling, they all lost brothers and sisters that day. But at least now they will find peace in Eywa’s warm embrace.

The Great Sorrow then became something of the past and the Omaticaya were relocated to an area by Hellsgate, the humans and Na’vi finally living in harmony but not peace, a lot preferring to still shun the aliens away from their home.

But the forest provided tall trees to cover them from predators and plenty of abundance, humans will also be with their technology inside an environment they can thrive in, so each side wins. Jake had finally been anointed as Olo’eyktan with Neytiri being his tsakarem, the couple couldn’t be more happier with the way things have become, fully believing the skypeople will not return.

But happiness must soon come to an end.

“Ma sa’nok! Why?! Why must we be mated to her?! She is useless!” Neytiri yelled angrily at her mother, the Tsahìk, she has just been told her mother has been seeing visions in her sleep and suspected Eywa was trying to tell her something. This ‘something’ was about her child’s third mate, which she did not anticipate.

“All of our roles play an important part here daughter” Mo’at glared, has she taught her child no less? “your new wife will be a good edition to your family and therefore the clan. It must be done, Eywa has spoken”

Neytiri did not understand, her and Jake were happy together. Alone. They did not need another person to ruin the balance of their life. She turned around sharply to her husband who was sat on the ground by the tree of souls, urging him to make an opinion on the matter with a glare. Jake coughed.

“I agree Mo’at. We are fine together just as it is”

“This is not your decision to make Jake Sully. The great mother will not be happy, she has done this for a reason and we must trust her judgement. She has shown me what will happen if this does not happen, you and your family will fall under a great despair, it will disrupt all we have made” Jake’s ears perked up, alarmed, ‘what does she mean a great despair’. As his thoughts started to turmoil Neytiri continued to talk to her mother, coming to an understanding that it was the way of life. She cannot disregard Eywa’s wishes.

With a huff she walked towards Jake and pulled him up by the arm with no effort, eyes a glare and ears pinned to her head. She walked away and towards her new ikran, ready to get back to camp. “So.. do you know who we’re supposed to mate?”

“Srane”

“Are you gonna tell me?” They flew into the air, Bob screeching as they went above the trees, staying low to the forest. Neytiri didn’t answer his question and stayed silent, shit. He was just a man, a man who knows when NOT to anger a woman, especially one like her. He decided to not take it any further.

Arriving back to Hellsgate they dismounted and landed onto the floor, Jake greeting the humans who passed by them, taking samples from the nature. Neytiri walked up to where the food was being prepared, a group of woman sat by some small children who they looked after while parents were away doing chores. She grabbed one of ladies by the arm and dragged her towards Jake who only stared in confusion. Soon morphing into realisation.

“Introduce yourself” The warrior exclaimed harshly. Knowing that Mo’at has already told her of the plans, she knew going to her daughter first would cause another war and the elder planned to avoid it. So telling the new mate first was the best option for everyone.

“___ te Syakx Hìfey’ite” the woman’s ears lowered to her head and she faced the ground. The pain in her arm where Neytiri gripped was hard, sure to bruise. “I am a gatherer, a healer. I do not hunt like you or -“ Neytiri squeezed her arm to silence her, having enough of her talking.

They were close in age, both eighteen years old and fully grown adults. They both attended Grace’s school together growing up, they were close. ___ was closer with Neytiri’s sister though, Sylwanin. When she died, the younger sister blamed everything on the other girl. Cursing her out and they never talked again until now.

___ was nervous, she knew she had to mate with them, both of them. She knew that the other woman was angry at her still, even after two years. She could not blame her for the grief of her sibling. But over something she did not do? She was not at fault here.

“Nice to meet you” Jake said curtly, not really wanting to talk any further. He did not like the idea of a second mate either, even on Earth it was extremely taboo so he felt awkward on the matter. Neytiri let go of her arm and dragged Jake off, presumably to talk about anything but the ceremony that is supposed to be held later today. Announcing the decisions their Tsahìk has made to the clan, surely they would all be most pleased. ___ could not say the same towards the couple who walked off.

One part of her thought that they just wanted to be alone for a while, being more recently mated and being thrown into another relationship was confusing and disrupting, she understood that. But the more rational part knew that while Neytiri continued to dislike her, she knew their life together would be filled with nothing but pain and suffering. But she would put on a brave face. For her own sake and the clans. Eywa has spoken.

But is what Eywa saying right?

She was correct, the clan was most happy. Despite some whisperings here and there, they would have to agree that they would all make a good trio. ___ was a good healer, she was gifted with her skills. She was also good to the elderly and children, always happy with a smile on her face. Neytiri was a good huntress and a Tsahìk in training, her battle abilities are most adored on. Jake, he was their Toruk Makto, Rider of Last Shadow. He was well respected in that alone.

But while the Omaticaya was happy, she was not. Sat next to Jake on his left she was left to eat in silence as him and Neytiri conversed without her. Not even looking in her direction once. She figured that they would not talk to her all through the night and decided to make peace with herself.

A little girl tapped her shoulder and ___ turned around to face one of the children she often looked after, Sray. “You are going to be mated to them?” she looked at her Olo’eyktan and his wife, yellow eyes wide.

___ nodded and forced a smile on her face “Yes, Sray. I will be” she stated softly, not comfortable with saying the revelation out loud.

Suddenly Sray sniffed, doe eyes watering “does that mean you will not have time for us anymore? Please sa’nu! I do not want you to leave!” the sweet girl jumped in the adults arms and clung to her chest, fearing that if she let go, ___ will disappear.

“Ma ‘evi, I will always have time for you and everyone else, just because I will be mated, does not mean I will not see you ever again” ___ kissed Sray’s head, wiping her little tears and grinning. Bringing comfort to the girl, Sray smiled back, still sniffling.

“LeNa’vi! Fìtxon awnga fpe’ pxefo mìso!” the people cheered, raising their drinks and whooping. The three will be mated under the tree of souls, to legitimise the union.

Jake and Neytiri looked at each other, worry in the man’s and anger in the woman’s. They did not want to do anything with her, but would have to make it look like they had, they were not stupid. If they did not do this then the people will become angry, it would be a disgrace. Only the great mother shall know.

Standing up, Jake held his large hand out to his wife who took it. Letting go and walking towards the direction of the tree, they would not take the ikran, but rather run through the night. Jake then turned to look at ___ who still sat with Sray in her warm arms, he nodded his head to the direction Neytiri went and followed her.

A little hurt that he did not offer his hand to her, ___ kissed Sray’s forehead and stood up, walking after them. As they got deeper into the forest they began to run, ___ tried her best to catch up but the two were hunters, they were more used to navigating the thickness of the fauna better than her.

“W-Wait!” she called in English, but the two ignored her and ran further ahead of her. ___’s ears slicked back and she huffed to herself, heart beating erratically with annoyance.

At some point the jungle got too thick for her to get through and she paused, the two she was following nowhere in sight. She twisted around, straining her ears to hear any calls or footsteps to help guide her. But to no avail, she lost them. Meaning she herself did not know where she was, this part of the forest was so much further out from the old hometree, a part she has not navigated before.

Her breathing started to speed up, panicking. Did they leave her? Alone? Here? She knew they did not like her, but this was too much. It was past eclipse and night, anything could come to kill her.

A rough hand grabbed her arm, the same one Neytiri held earlier that day and turned her around. An angry Jake stood there with brows furrowed, fangs bared. “Why did you stop?” he growled, ears slicked back “you were supposed to follow, not stop and sightsee like a lunatic!”

She did not know what that word meant, but by his tone it was something mean. Her own ears pressed against her head and her tail tucked between her legs, she yelped as she was harshly dragged through the forest, Jake never letting go of her arm even as they got to the tree of souls.

He let go and stood next to Neytiri who had her queue attacked to one of the hanging branches, tendrils letting go and she broke the bond. Turning to see ___ with a hand on her arm, the bruises were darker than before, the sting aching the area and making her hesitant to move it.

The warrior glared at her and snarled “you will have a baby put in you, as it is the way. But we are not bonding. Never. You will deal with that shame” she barked in Jake’s native tongue, her words were harsh and the prospect of not bonding with the only people she could was demeaning, it brought water to her yellow eyes. This was low, a baby without a bond was seen as disgrace. She would bring great shame to Na’vi.

“Neytiri-“

“Kem si ke plltxe kurkung!” ___ closed her mouth, she did not want to anger Neytiri further than she has. Jake, who stood watching the ordeal, strolled towards ___ and pushed her down onto the ground, pulling her loincloth to the side and doing the same to his.

“Pey! Oe kawkrr-“ her words were again cut off as pain filled her lower abdomen, he entered her. It was her first time and he just did it so fast without considering her feelings. Tears streamed down her soft cheeks, pained noises leaving her mouth as Jake started to move. He manhandled her onto her stomach, pressing his hand to her lower back above her tail bone, if the pain at her core wasn’t enough then the sensitive space on her back was.

Neytiri simply watched as her glare burned holes into the girl beneath her, the person that ruined her life. That took her sister away from her, took everything. She was not going to welcome this destroyer into her family, never. She’ll make sure ___ and her children will be shamed, if not by the people then by her own kids and husband.

___ felt something warm release inside of her, oozing out of her hole. She felt Jake lift off of her and heard him step towards his mate, both of them softly talking to one another while ___ was left to curl up, sobbing quietly. The man that was supposed to care for her, supposed to love her, took her dignity and now her first child.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as she could only imagine the future to come.

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#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ yawnetu #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #x reader #atwow #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #na’vi #angst #series #jake sully #neytiri #poly #unwanted marriage

[moshpitgamma]

My Sunflower|| John Dory x Fiancé!Reader

Warnings:Angst+Fluff

(This is my first real fanfic so Plss don’t be TOO harsh)

YALL ITS LONG OK😭

——————————————————————

“John! I’m home!” Said the exhausted troll walking through the door of their shared apartment. “Huh? Damn it’s 9pm.” Y/n said checking the time. “Hun, You here?” They screamed again wondering why their fiancé wasn’t answering. When they didn’t get a response they started to get anxious, but convinced themselves he went to either the studio or to hang out with his brothers.

The clock finally hits 11:03pm and still there isn’t a sign of JD. “Why isn’t he answering his phone?” You said with worry laced in your voice. His brothers also didn’t answer their phones for god knows what. Now you’re in full panic mode pacing back and forth in the dining room blowing UP his phone with messages and calls. After your many failed attempts of contacting him you finally decided to call the only person you KNEW that was gonna pick up. So you called his grandma.

Once she answered you tried to hide your anxiousness and your panicked voice, but she caught on to it quickly. “Hi Mrs. Rosie, do you know where John is? I haven’t spoke to him since this morning before I went to work.” You asked frantically hoping that she would cure the pulsating adrenaline going through your body. When you finished your nauseating questions the silence you both held was fueling it like you were going to burst. When the never ending silence finally came to an end a sigh was heard. "Hun Bun….JD left hours ago after their embarrassing show fail." she told you with reassurance and empathy. She then continued to tell you how and what happened between the brothers. The last thing you ever heard from her was “Sweetie just give it time.” So you waited…

And waited….

And waited….

Until 20 years have passed and still no sign of John. You were invited to the royal wedding of King Grisel and Bridget and was currently trying to find a dress. While rampaging you closet like a mad woman you come across and unfamiliar bagged dress. When you took it out you stared at it with tears welling up in your eyes. It was your dress he proposed to you in. It was admired in jewels and yellow sunflower like petals and soft like satin and silk. It was one of a kind. Your debating stopped instantly and you proceeded to put on the dress.

FAST FORWARD TO WEDDING :>

“We are gathered here today t-.” “STOP THE WEDDING!” A random voice yelled…

You felt like your heart was going to jump out your chest from all the adrenaline rushing. Trying to force your tears down you finally built enough courage to turn around and look to where everyone else was looking. When you finally saw who it was your tears finally escaped their haunted and sorrowful chamber. He was there……

Standing in front of Branch?

Trying to pick him up?

You didn’t wanna get noticed in this state so you turned to leave but you felt a hand grab your flushed smaller ones. It was Branch..”Are you ok?”he asked knowing you weren’t. “I’m ok.” You said quickly dismissing his attempts of comfort. Before you could leave you heard a nickname you never knew you would hear again. “My sunflower?” He must’ve felt the tension he created so he hurried to you and begged you too listen to his explanations and excuses. You couldn’t do nothing, BUT listen so you gave him 3 minutes. “The reason I left was because Brozone was turning into a disaster and I needed to just space myself away for a while!”

You didn’t know whether to be mad or sad or HELL even glad but you knew he was trying to get you to understand. “But did you have to go?” Tears welling up..

Silence…….

“Did you have to leave me alone without telling me ANYTHING?!!?”

“I-“ you didn’t let him finish before you started walking off letting the emotions and realization sink in. He knew he fucked up… He couldn’t let you leave…. He needed his flower…He ran up to you and hugged you as hard as he could to prevent you from leaving and cried like hell was dragging him away from the heaven he created with you. “Sunflower PLEASE, I promise I’ll never leave you again!!” He repeated like his life depended on it. You slowly started to give in and soothed him. “Please Hun, I promise I’ll pro-“ He couldn’t even get done with his sentence before feeling the feeling he oh so missed….

Your lips…

“Please Don’t leave me again.” You said barely above a whisper and your teary E/C eyes looked at him.

He smiled warmly and responded with nothing but sincerity..”Of course not my sunflower.”

THE ENDDDDDDD☺️🫶🏿

#trolls #brozone #brozone x reader #trolls branch #john dory #John dory x reader #trolls john dory #trolls band together

[koqabear]

song equation for the 2K event!!(congrats🙇)

daniel ceaser, do you like me?+ soobin+ smut= fwb!soobin but he’s your best friend’s ex who she’s still not over😵

♫: Daniel Ceasar, Do You Like Me? // [2K Masterlist]

“Parties aren’t that much fun to attend to anymore, especially when you’re only there to tend to your broken-hearted friend. But there’s always ways to entertain yourself, ways that rely on a certain someone you’re meant to despise.”

soobin x fem!reader // wc: 4.0K // fwb au, angst, college au but it’s not rlly important, smut, MDNI.

warnings: it’s a rlly messy situation, neither soobin or the mc are good people !! mentions of alcohol, dom!soobin, sub!mc, fingering, biting, orgasm control(?), dry humping, breast play, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, pet names (good girl, pretty thing, etc.), cum eating, overstimulation, slight handjob, protected sex (from me??? what.) soobin is big 🥱, slight manhandling? degrading, praise, aftercare, lmk if i forgot anything !

notes: soobin’s a lil sassy in this one idk guys… i dedicate this to a certain someone who challenged me by saying i neglect soobin (i do tbh.) so. this ones for you ‼️🤣 i’ve seriously been wanting to get my hands on this request from the moment i got it, i love this song sm thank you for sending this anon !! ur mind is insane!!!

This is wrong. It’s wrong, horrible, a break of every code that comes with a friendship— but it’s also sweet, enticing, thrilling, feeling as though the breath has been stolen from your lungs as Soobin presses you further against the wall, hands wandering down the hem of your dress and his small, breathy groans enough to drown out the rest of the noise from the party downstairs. 

You didn’t want to be here in the first place; your friend had been the one to drag you here, begging for your company and asking you to be the designated driver as she spent the night drinking and partying her sorrows away— attempting to pretend that she’s fine, that she’s healed, that her heart still isn’t broken by the man whose fingers are trailing up your inner thighs— and you had agreed, telling her that she was better off alone only to slip into some random bedroom with the man you said was definitely not worth her time. 

But he’s worth yours. You wanted him from the very moment you saw him, pining from afar and letting three years pass by as you watched him transform from a shy freshman to what he is now; alluring, addicting, intoxicating, your lips parting with ease and your body left at his mercy as you allow him to kiss, suck, and explore wherever he wants.

It wasn’t your fault you had feelings for him. But it was your fault that you let yourself push those said feelings to the side for your friend, resigned to longing glances and tense interactions whenever you two were alone— of course, it wasn’t long before he picked up on those feelings as well. 

���How long will you be staying tonight?” Soobin whispers teasingly into your ear, pouty lips latching onto the spot just under it; your curl slightly into him at the sensation, hands holding onto his shoulders and your back feeling the slight vibrations that comes from the bass of the music against the wall. But it’s all muffled to you, your hearing only attuned to Soobin’s words and voice, the deep lullaby that teases you for your weakness, “you watching over her this time too?”

“Fuck— yeah,” you admit, feeling a twist of guilt in your stomach, “I’m the designated driver.”

That guilt is immediately wiped out by a harsh pleasure; Soobin’s fingers are slow and lithe as they run up and down your slit, feeling the way your panties become soaked with your arousal; pads of his fingers slowing to press on your clit, your legs spread open by one of his own as he corners you in with ease, continuing to litter kisses along the column of your throat leisurely. 

“Such a shame you’re stuck babysitting her all the time,” he coos softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing your panties to the side, feeling the way you shiver at his cold fingers running up and down your folds, collecting the arousal that gathers there before circling at your clit; rubbing in rhythmic circles at an agonizingly slow pace that he knows drives you crazy, holding back a coy smile at the way your brows twitch, hips stuttering toward him in need of more, “If not, I would’ve loved to take you back to my place and fuck you properly.”

His words are dangerous territory. You don’t go to his place, and he certainly doesn’t go to yours— it’s always been like this, secret hookups in convenient places you know you won’t get caught; a quickie in a random bedroom at a party, a sneaky handjob under the table of a library, a night where you let yourself destress in his car when you’re supposed to be on your way to hang out with a friend.

All of it has been quick, lustful, surface-level; nothing that would lead to cuddles under the safety of his sheets, or the smell of your shampoo after he decided to quickly shower at your place, or anything that could give you the slight semblance of domesticity— no possibility of seeing a future with him, of having anything that runs deeper than the touch of his skin on yours. 

Sometimes, you hate yourself for setting such boundaries. Sometimes, you wish you were self-destructive enough to push past the barrier that deemed you as friends with benefits (if you could even use the term “friends” with him) and go into something that was more than that, something that was more meaningful than the way you only allowed yourself to spent thirty minutes max with him alone, before you had to go check up on your best friend and make sure she hadn’t begun to drunkenly wish for Soobin to come back into her life. 

“You know, I only wanted you from the start,” he had told you once, the words dream-like and saccharine sweet as he confessed it quietly to you, your head too dazed from the feeling of him inside you to process it properly; burying the secret beneath harsh thrusts that left your mind blank, not expecting the confession to stick to you like glue regardless. And you had thought of every time Soobin would only leave parties at the same time you did, would be eager to tag along with your friend if you were there as well, all those moments your friend thought were for her the complete opposite.

And it shattered your heart. But it also made it soar, made your face heat up to know he’s had eyes on you all along, forced to back off once he thought you weren’t interested—- but you were, and you were simply holding back for the sake of your friend. 

“Not happening,” is all you can sigh into his mouth, allowing him to kiss you lazily, teeth sinking playfully into your lip before his tongue is darting out to soothe the pain; his fingers prod at your entrance teasingly, ring and middle finger entering slowly to feel you squeeze around him, only to pull out again. And he’s whining softly against your lips like wounded puppy, as though he wasn’t the one making you fall apart by letting his fingers sink slowly into you, curling slowly and pressing against your sweet spot as he kept a warm hand on your waist; dress bunched up under his palm, trying to keep you still as he begins to wind you up with ease. 

“Why not?” he asks, leaving your mouth and planting a soft kiss at the corner of your lip; on your jaw, trailing back until he’s gotten to the column of your neck, aiming for all the spots that make you as sensitive as the feeling of him slowly pumping his fingers into your cunt does, “I like you, you like me…”

His fingers are able to reach spots you could only dream of; spots that have you letting out choked whines and grabbing on his forearm desperately, hips attempting to buck and match his pace, only to be restrained by the bruising grip of his hand on you.

You’re trying to not pay attention to his ramblings— something you’ve found him doing a lot more often than you’d like, constantly being lured into temptations that should not be tasted— instead, you pay attention to the way his palm grinds against your clit and the growing sounds of your arousal as he thrusts his fingers into you, calculated and teasing as he slows down the moment you begin to get close.

“It works out, doesn’t it?” you’re tuning back into his words reluctantly, unable to whine for him to stop being such a tease as he continues, “Wouldn’t you just wanna… have one day where we’re not rushing?”

He’s quickening his pace again; your breath is stuttering at the feeling of his hard cock against you, letting out a pathetic whine at the way he begins to rut against you, slow and teasing as he rolls his hips into you, as though he were fucking you instead. 

“I’d take such good care of you,” he groans, listening to the way your breath is beginning to become ragged, lips continuing their descent from your neck to your collarbones, where he lets his teeth graze against the skin that’s being shown for a moment, “Really take my time with you…finally have you all to myself for once.”

“Soobin…” you say, an air of uncertainty to your tone— but Soobin is in complete disregard of it, needy hands pulling at the top of your dress to get access to your breasts— his free hand is slipping under the cup your bra while his mouth attaches to your nipple, pulling out a broken moan from you and threading your fingers through his hair subconsciously; his palm is pressing against your clit, making your walls clench around his fingers and causing him to laugh softly against your skin. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, beginning to rub quick circles on your clit with his thumb instead; listening to the way you keen and react to his touch immediately, your body buzzing with pent up pleasure that’s waiting to snap and release. “Don’t you like me?”

“I…” you’re trailing off without meaning to; it’s hard to concentrate with the way Soobin fucks you with his fingers so expertly, his breath fanning on your sensitive nipple with every soft moan he lets out; still rutting against you, his hand going back down to your hips to press you closer against him— you feel caged in by him, his fingers digging into your skin as he lets out a soft hmm? that urges you to answer his question and snaps you out of your reverie.

“Do you?” he asks again, slowing his pace to try and clear your mind, teasing you as he continues to rub soft circles on your clit— you nod frantically, breathing out a soft Soobin, please, that he doesn’t pay attention to— instead, he comes back up to capture your lips for a kiss, harsh and frantic as he bites your lip coyly; the whine you let out is enough for him to pull away with a soft sigh. 

“Tell me. I wanna hear it from you.”

He’s picking up his pace the moment you open your mouth to speak; a choked whine cutting off your words, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers begin to pump into you ruthlessly, the wet sounds making your face feel hot and mind blank as you let your mouth run, not paying attention to what you say. 

“I— I like you, I really like you,” you cry, the pleasure building to such an intensity that you feel tears pricking at your eyes, “you’re all I think about, Soobin— ugh, fuck— need you, want you to fuck me, wanna cum, please? Wanna feel you inside me, ‘m close— ah, Soobin please—”

Your words get cut off with a sharp cry; your body freezes up and is left for Soobin to control as he talks you through it all, cooing soft praise and reassurance in your ear as he presses soft kisses on your jaw— words soft and sweet, making your head spin and cunt clench around his fingers a little tighter— my good girl, so perfect for me, pretty thing, feel so good…

Soobin thinks he could cum just like this; your face is flushed and pretty as you look at him with glassy eyes, hips grinding into his hand as he continues to softly fuck you with his fingers, watching the way you jolt and whimper from the sensation— his cock is pathetically hard and leaking in his pants, practically throbbing as he continues to rut against you— but then he remembers your cute begging, unable to resist to such a request as he finally pulls away from you, fingers slowly pulling out of your cunt as he glances down to see the mess he’s made of you.

You can only watch and let out a weak sigh as you watch him slip his glistening fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits and cleaning them entirely as he groans at the taste— your face feels like it’s on fire, and his eyes never leaves yours as his pretty lips slowly wrap around them. 

He’s undoing his jeans quicker than you can process; bringing you in for another sweet kiss, your hand wandering to wrap around his cock as you feel him hiss into your mouth— hips bucking slowly to the pace you’ve set for him, tip sticky and leaking as you swipe a thumb over it and spread the precum along the rest of his length.

“Condom,” you say breathlessly, feeling the way Soobin’s hands have found purchase on your waist again; slotting himself between your legs and standing impossibly close, enough to feel his wet tip touching your inner thigh— and he moans softly, the sensitive feeling of your warm skin enough to leave him dazed and responding a bit late to your words. 

“Fuck— right, right,” he groans softly, biting at his lip as he pats around his pockets; and by the way his brows knit together and he hesitantly reaches into his front pockets, you can already guess what he’s thinking— because you find yourself thinking it as well. 

You want to feel him without that thin layer of protection; want to feel the raw friction, wishing for nothing more but for him to fill you and have you leaking around his cock— but as you roll on the condom for him with a deft hand, you know that this is for the best— a small reminder of what you two are, that you can never truly get comfortable around each other. 

“Shit, so wet for me,” he says softly, teasing you as he runs his cock up and down your entrance; grinding softly against your clit, listening to your every whimper and whine keenly before he begins to tease his tip at your entrance— you’re both hissing at the stretch, always eager to feel the way he stretches you open, cunt never truly used to it no matter how many times you do this.

You’re letting out a sigh of content the moment he slides inside you; feeling his hands guide your hips into meeting him halfway, his soft moans and breaths fanning across your neck as his lips begin to suck at your neck again; you have half the mind to thread your fingers through his hair and tug slightly, muttering a soft no marks, Soobin, that has him huffing in disappointment. 

“And why not?” he asks, beginning to move his hips slowly; cock touching all your sensitive places so sweetly, as though it was the only thing he knew how to do, “you can just say it was from a random hookup— nothing wrong with that.”

God, he’s insufferable; he follows your request as he pulls away from his spot in the crook of your neck, pace beginning to build as he watches the way you fall apart on his cock; thick and big, always leaving your legs shaking as he holds your hips in place, one hand sliding down to grab your thigh and bring it up around his waist, as though you were nothing but a cute toy for him to fuck— your hands hold onto his broad shoulders for stability, nails digging into his skin through his thin tee as you simply shake your head with the last bit of coherency you have. 

“Aren’t you tired of sneaking around so much? Of having all these odd things we just can’t do when we’re literally—” he punctuates his words with a harsh thrust that has you yelping pathetically, “fucking, while you’re supposed to be babysitting your friend?” 

Your face burns at his words— he’s struck a nerve and he knows it, especially with the way your nails bite at his skin a little more than they already were— but even though you try to get angry at him, though you try to say something, you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you so good that you can’t form a simple sentence. 

“We could be at my place right now— you wouldn't've had to go to this— fuck, this lame party in the first place, we could’ve just… hah, hung out at my place, let me take care of you.” 

His words send butterflies through your stomach— and it’s exactly why you let out a soft no, we can’t, at his words, the very idea of venturing into something more intimate making you weak in the knees— and he frowns, his grip becoming a bit bruising as his hips snap against yours, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room and rivaling the music that pours through from outside.

“So what, is this better for you?” he asks meanly, voice darkening at the way you can barely keep up with his pace, too fucked out to process his words fast enough, “do you enjoy having to face your friend after we’re done?” 

His words have you seething out a harsh fuck you in response; a hand leaves his shoulder to find itself tangled in his hair, pulling at it harshly before you’re bringing him closer to you— your waterline is lined with tears and your face is flushed as you give him a half-hearted glare. 

“Soobin, just shut up,” you grit out, watching the way his eyes narrow and harden in response— his hand has found its way back to your clit, circling it in a way that has you clenching around his cock and moaning pathetically.

“Pretty thing just wants to get fucked then? Wanna cum?” he coos, feeling the way your body has begun to tense at his ministrations, unable to answer him from how good you feel, “come on then, use me sweet thing, wanna— wanna feel it, know you can do it, filthy thing only knows how to come to me when you’re needy, isn’t that right?”

Your thighs are slick and your body is tensing from the feeling of Soobin towering over you, feeling as though he’s everywhere at once; his dark voice whispering endless filth into your ear, his breathy moans brushing against your skin and making you shiver with a small cry— his fingers dig a little into you, keeping your bucking hips still and forcing your body to cum again; pressing you firmly into the wall as you do, feeling the way your thighs tense and quiver under his hold as he lets you ride it out with slow and deep thrusts; pretty voice humming praise into your ear, settling your shaking body as he tells you thaaaat’s it, good girl, so pretty when you cum. 

You’re panting weakly into the air as your body finally comes down— but Soobin is still hard inside you, the feeling of your clenching and tight walls around him only encouraging to continue chasing his high— and you let him, leaning your head against the wall and watching with lidded eyes as he continues to fuck you, brows knitting at the sensitivity. 

He’s close, and your body is becoming more and more sensitive the longer he fucks you; crying softly with every thrust of his cock, letting out choked whimpers every time his tip bumps against your sweet spot— and you let him, let his hands wander and lips suck gently at your skin, not enough to leave marks but enough to have your back arching and legs shaking once more. 

His pace is picking up, becoming sloppy, and you think he’s about to cum— only for him to stutter to a stop at the sound of your ringtone, your eyes widening as you look over at the table next to you that you threw it on; your friend’s contact name lights up the screen. 

“Answer it,” Soobin says roughly, voice slightly strained from how good you feel around him— your eyes widen as you shake your head no frantically, only to watch in horror as Soobin reaches for the phone for you; you can feel your blood grow cold the moment he answers the call and presses your phone firmly against your ear— in a panic, you grab a hold of it yourself.

“He—hello?”

Your friend is asking you where you are— she wants to leave, she doesn’t feel well, asking if you can take her home— she’s drunk and you can barely focus on her slurred words, Soobin’s unpredictable pace returning as he goes back to fucking you; the wet sounds are enough to have your eyes widening in panic, biting your lip and reaching out to slap a hand on top of Soobin’s mouth. He lets you, staring at you with dark eyes as his thrusts become rougher, choosing to aim for the specific spots he knows drive you crazy; a stray tear falls from your eyes from the effort of having to hold in your sounds. 

“Where— are you— hmmm?” you’re lucky your friend is wasted. She doesn’t pick up on your struggle to articulate your words, telling you that she’s been sitting outside on the porch trying to contact you— you wince, partly at her words, and partly because Soobin is noticeable close, frantically rutting into you as muffled moans sound against the palm of your hand; clearly more dramatic than usual, wanting to be heard as you can feel his lips part against your hand, the messy drool building up on the corners of his lips as you wince. 

“Okay, I’ll—” Soobin cums with a particularly loud groan and a thrust that lets him bottom out; he’s entirely inside you as he lets his head rest on your shoulder, the feeling so sudden it has you cutting yourself off in order to bite your lip pathetically— still caged in and left at Soobin’s mercy as he plants soft kisses along your shoulders, cock still moving ever-so-slightly as you finally find the courage to speak.

“I’ll be there in a bit.”

You hang up after hearing her drunken okay.

It’s silent. It’s tense, and you’re unsure of what to say, and slightly afraid of what Soobin will say. Instead, he pulls away without a word; slides out of you with nothing but a soft wince, taking off the condom and tucking himself in quietly— you can only stand and watch as he turns to the private bathroom of the bedroom, tossing the used condom in the trash before you hear the sound of the sink running; you can’t help but cringe at the awkwardness of it all.

“You okay?” he asks once he finally emerges, raising a brow at the way you seem surprised at his comment— only for your eyes to fall at the towel in his hands, face heating up at the way he slowly approaches you, crowding your space once more. 

He’s cleaning you up without another word; even when you try to get the rag from him, try to do it yourself, he doesn’t let you— his touch is tender and has your heart racing, your mind trying to get yourself to calm down the moment your eyes meet; a cold reminder of where you are, of the reality of it all.

Soobin doesn’t let you stick to this reality for long; not with the way he’s fixing your clothes carefully and pulling you in for a soft kiss, hands running up and down your body as he mutters a soft so perfect— and you’re snapping out of it once more, pushing against his chest with a firm hand.

“Soobin, please,” you say quietly, unable to meet his eyes as you stare down at the floor instead. You hear him let out a tired sigh.

“We can’t keep this up forever,” is all he says, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “You’ll have to pick a side eventually.”

That much is obvious to you; and though it hurts to meet his gaze, hurts to see the way his eyes hold a sense of longing that you haven’t allowed yourself to reveal, you refuse to acknowledge his comment. 

“I have to go to my friend.”

His face is painted with disappointment. 

“Sure.”

You’re quick to go to push past him and go to the door— his voice stops you before you can even turn the knob.

“See you later?”

His voice has that soft rumble that always makes you shiver without fail— and despite your better judgment, you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

And the cycle continues.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin smut #soobin ff #soobin imagines #soobin oneshot #soobin x reader #[2k event!] #[song equations] #[nsfw]

[bedoballoons]

oh well if you didn’t get itI basically said that move to will probably not be able to control mui because he only appears to turn into ai but it’s just an illiusion.

for my request it was another mitsuri like us x character but we are sad about our past.

SPOILER FOR SEASON 3!!!!!

Due to mitsuri eating so much food, having be reallly strong and have pink and green hair. She was called a pig and one EX said that only a cow or pig would ever marry her which made her dye her hair black and eat 9x less than she needed. And when she found another partner she realized she don’t keep on pretending. One headcannon can I have about her is that you do this she gained an eating disorder. Where she will not eat as much as she needs.

can the characters be: wanderer,albedo,diluc,kaeya,xiao and one of your choice. I love your works and also My cat just had 3 KITTYS!!! I plan on naming them scarameow,kokkie and coco.🐱🐱🍫🍪

Ohhh! You know I really seem to write this show alot and I've still never seen it... :p CONGRATULATIONS on kittens!! Those are such cute names!! I hope they are all doing well ❤️❤️

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃

{༻~Mitsuri like reader~༺}

CW: Angsty! Reader has a eating disorder, has been called a pig and is self conscious about weight! (Pet names: Lyney: Mon chérie, my love,

A/n: I just wanted to say that if you've ever been called a pig, or cow or made fun of for your weight, please don't listen to them. Your body is beautiful and me personally I think you're amazing wether you're skinnier than average or heavier than average. You are gorgeous! ❤️

(Includes: Diluc, Lyney, Albedo, Xiao, Wanderer, and Kaeya!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Diluc:

Diluc set a plate in front of you, sitting in the chair across from you with a hopeful gleam in his red eyes...,"I haven't seen you eat anything all day...please, just a few bites. It's your favourite, fresh out of the oven." You looked down at the fresh warm food, the wonderful smell making your stomach churn unhappily, it was such a fatty dish...

Suddenly the harsh words of others started playing in your head, reminding you why you wanted to loose weight so badly..

Pig

Cow

Fatty

You pushed his cooking away, unable to even take a nibble, "I'm not hungry...sorry Diluc. It smells amazing though..." you tried to smile at him, but he clearly wasn't happy with your response. He took your hand into his and placed a kiss on your fingers, whispering against them with sorrow in his voice, "You are beautiful the way you are...please, don't listen to them."

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney hurried up to you, holding a freshly baked croissant in his hands that he'd gotten for the two of you to share, silently hoping you'd eat it with him...that all of his suspicions weren't true, "Mon chérie! Looks yummy hmm? Want to sit down for a bite?" His eyes met yours and he simply couldn't imagine how someone could say anything horrible about you, you...were the most gorgeous person in his eyes and he wished so desperately he could show you that.

"I don't mind if we sit and chat while you eat! I'm not really in the mood for a croissant right now, thank you though." You tried your best to sound sweet and truthful, feeling so guilty you had to lie to him...but you wanted to be perfect for him and loosing weight seemed to be the only way...at least in everyone else's eyes.

"...my love, I'll get you anything you wish to eat.."

"I'm just...not hungry right now Lyney."

He grasped your wrist softly, stopping you from walking away so he could kiss your lips...he'd find a way to show you your own beauty, he'd tell you every hour on the dot if he had to...

𑁍༄Albedo:

Albedo bit his lip, for once in his life he had encountered a problem he just had no idea how to solve, he thought of you as the true meaning of life, the very being that made him want to get out of bed every morning and show his love for you any way he could, a inspiration that never ceased to look perfect and yet...you didn't feel that way about yourself...

How could it be, how could someone break your heart...call you a pig for enjoying food...a cow, it bothered him to no end and he just couldn't wrap his head around that cruelty..."Klee and I made cookies...they are chocolate chip...with a few sprinkles, would you like some?" He sat next to you, Klee following after him, "Ohhh please try one! The sprinkles make them extra yummy!" She looked at you with such a cute face...that for a split second you considered it...they smelled so good and even with sprinkles you could tell they'd be delicious..but, you felt sick at the thought of taking bite...

"Awe next time Klee, I'm...not hungry right now..."

Albedo sighed...how was he going to fix this...

𑁍༄Xiao:

Xiao was having a hard time understanding your situation, it didn't make sense, why would the pathetic humans who couldn't compare to you in the slightest tell you such awful things...and why would you ever believe them? He was so worried about you, your normally plump cheeks sunken in slightly and your happy smile gone, you didn't enjoy eating...in fact he almost never saw you eat at all anymore.

He had to remind you every two minutes, just to take a few bites and even then you'd refuse, "You should eat...you need to. Please." You'd look away, slightly angry...slightly sad and just say you didn't want to, and it wasn't like he was going to force you to, but he wished there was a way he could help. He'd just have to keep telling you what was true...clearing their sick words from your mind with his sweet sentiments,

"You are the true meaning of every beautiful thing in this world, those mortals are threatened by it and seek to destroy you because of it...don't listen to them."

"You look perfect in my eyes..."

𑁍༄Wanderer:

"Why are you listening to those idiots! They probably wouldn't know what beauty was if it slapped them in the face! You are...ughhh" Wanderer groaned in annoyance, knowing full well yelling wasn't going to help you...but he was just so angry, how dare anyone bully you like that, get under your skin. "I'm sorry....I didn't mean to shout, I just, you can't believe what they are saying! Hell if someone like me, who's never loved anyone before...who never gave a damn what people looked like...could fall so goddamn hard for you, you have to be goregous. I will say that as many times as I have to!"

You fought the urge to cry, he didn't usually get so emotional over things like this, but he was worried about you and...for good reason, "Wanderer, I'm fine.." You tucked a piece of your pink hair behind you ear, trying to hide from his prying eyes that starred daggers at you, did you truly think he'd buy that? "Don't lie to me. You're not fine, you're hurting yourself...making yourself sick. Just tell me what to do! How do I help! What do I say...you're fucking perfect to me...isn't that enough?"

𑁍༄Kaeya:

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"Oh...are you sure you don't want just a bite. I've gone and ordered two, you wouldn't want me to have to eat both would you? I'd surely become ill with a stomach ache.." Kaeya scooched the plate in your direction, using every persuasive method he could think of...he'd already tried complimenting you over and over, flirting with you more often, showering you with kisses and love, but you still wouldn't enjoy a meal with him. This was his last resort...

"Kaeya..."

"Pretty please...just a little would make me so happy..."

You sighed, thinking about how much you'd eaten...or more rather, how much you hadn't eaten and took a small bite, the flavours tasting good, but not like they used to...it was difficult to even swallow. Kaeya seemed so proud though, so...hopeful.

◥(•̀￦•́)◤☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 ☾𖤓~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

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