#i also have realized that i simply cannot read books on my phone. as much as i try

[officialbillhader]

#awesomepie3221 #ive realized my bookshelf is majority filled with books i had to buy for school or have read. or just books meant for middle schoolers #that i really have no interest in reading? but dont want to get rid f #most of books that i havent read but need to are not with me rn #i also have realized that i simply cannot read books on my phone. as much as i try #even kne book i really liked i could only manage abt a quarter of it #i just dont like reading on my phone

[ncteez]

Cherry Boy. [l.c.]

A new relationship is always difficult to navigate, for Chan, it appears to be even more difficult. For you? You’re just left confused as to why your new boyfriend of a month and a half hasn’t made a move on you despite your very obvious attempts to invite him into your personal space.  You soon realize that your boyfriend is a virgin, and that’s why he’s always running away with his hands covering his bits, even through a simple goodnight kiss. 

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | reblog for chan's happy trail

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― lee chan x afab reader 

CONTENT― brief break up due to horrible communication skills, virginity loss, reader gets super insecure about her body and personality, fluff, smut obv

NOTE― It's because of those pics...you know the ones. Anyway, shoutout to @ressonancee and @onlyhuis for proof reading this for me! love u guys with my entire being!

smut tags under cut:: 

SMUT TAGS― virginity loss, makeout session, neck kissing, tit fondling, unprotected sex, belly button kissing, mentions and focus on his happy trail, he’s ticklish oops, blowjob, premature ejaculation, pussy drunk chan forgets how to speak, desperate sex babbling, finger fucking, hand and cock guiding, cream pie 

~

Chan has a dilemma, and yes, it’s one that most men would scoff at. 

Trust him when he says that he is so very aware of what is happening around him but he simply cannot manage to muster up the courage, strength, or confidence to admit to you, his lovely and patient girlfriend, that he’s dodging your advances solely because he is the text-book definition of virgin. 

He is not only nervous about having sex for the first time, but there also comes the weight of him either not being good enough when he tries, or you laughing in his face and mocking him for it.

You, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so fucking in your head if he really could just muster up a tiny amount of confidence to say that to you. 

It has been almost two months now since he asked you to be his girlfriend, and throughout this time never once has he done more than a gentle kiss to your lips or lying a slight guiding hand to your waist. It feels so… juvenile, so… middle school for a boyfriend to treat you this way. 

Seeing as how the first three dates you went on with him seemed to suggest he was more than willing to be a fulfilling boyfriend who can, hopefully, fill all of the roles that comes with the title– you’re starting to second guess that he ever liked you at all.

Perhaps the twenty-four year old man asked you that night to be his girlfriend out of pity. Or maybe he’s simply changed his mind about you. Regardless of the reason for why he acts like this, it’s getting to you.

Deeply, actually, by this point. It only stung a bit at first, but now it’s starting to feel like he has to be with you as a joke. Why else would he be consistent in wanting to hang out? Why else would he always be inviting you out on well-priced dates and buying you pretty gifts? 

It’s a joke. 

It has to be a joke. 

Oh, but that’s so far from the truth. If you would simply open your eyes, perhaps you’d notice the struggle that your polite little boyfriend goes through each time you try to suggest he make an advance on you. 

Even the slight kisses, it makes him suffer from embarrassment at how quickly his body reacts to you. 

He likes you so, so fucking much.

~

“I don’t think I’m feeling it today.” You respond to the muffled voice of your “boyfriend” on the phone, asking if he can come over to see you. 

“What? Why not?” He asks back, his voice concerned. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” You finally say with a long and annoyed sigh, giving up on any hope that this relationship will ever go any further than it already has. 

You’re fed up with feeling unwanted, undesired, and possibly even uninteresting. He’s the one person in your life that you care about when it comes to who you are and what you look like. His reaction, or lack thereof, regarding you as both a person and his girlfriend feels astonishing and does nothing more than make you question what it is that you’re doing wrong. 

It has to be you, right? Perhaps your body isn’t as pretty as he wants it to be, is that it? Or maybe your voice annoys him? God, what if he cringes thinking of how you’d move if he were to actually have sex with you? What if he doesn’t think about it at all? 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to let the intense insecurity weigh on you. You always promised yourself that you’d never let a man make you rethink your worth. 

You need to live up to that promise. 

“Chan, it’s been nice and all, but I think we should break up.” 

The silence he offers to you is entirely too loud, and feels more like a confirmation in your head that this is the exact choice you should be making right now. 

He’s thrown for a loop though, standing at his kitchen table staring off at the wall as you say those words. 

What did he do wrong? 

“Wha–” He cuts himself off, trying to find words to say. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” 

You let out another breathy sigh, annoyed at the way he plays dumb. 

“I’m shocked you’re asking me that. I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to break up with me yourself, y’know?” You let out a sad little chuckle before you feel that insecurity he instilled in you burn against your eyes. “I’m just making it easy for you, so that you can go and spend your time with someone that you’d rather be around.”

He pauses, still dumbfounded by what you’re saying. 

“Why are you saying that?” He bellows out in a deeper tone, making you feel as though he’s angry with you now. “I’d rather be around you.” 

“Oh? Is that right?” You roll your eyes now, annoyed. “Is that why you push me away when I try to kiss you? Or what about– what about when you left the party last week after I sat on your lap?” 

Ah. He knew it. He knew he should have admitted it. Despite his consistent apologies for his body acting on instinct to run away from you, he should have really tried to see from your point of view rather than his own. Even if he only ran to hide the fact that he is horribly aroused by you at all times, in every given moment. 

You can hear a pained groan fall from his lips, and a door opening on his end. 

“I’m coming over.” 

He doesn’t let you protest, and instead hangs up the phone. You sit there in silence at his rejection of your break up. As if it were his choice? As if he had any say in it? You want to break up, that’s final. 

Still, that doesn’t explain why you don’t call him back to tell him not to come. It also doesn’t explain why your heart is thumping against your chest in anticipation.

Or, maybe there is something to explain why you’re feeling butterflies over his blatant refusal. Perhaps, this is the first time you’ve felt wanted by him? 

That also makes it worse. Why should your boyfriend make you feel this way only when you’re breaking up with him? Why can you only see that he cares when he’s faced with the idea of losing you? By the way he’s acting, you can argue that he wouldn’t be losing anything precious to him if you were to walk out of his life right this moment. 

Still, you sit here in wait. More curious now to see if maybe you'll figure out why he refuses to look at or touch you in a way that would show you he wants you.

~

The first thing Chan does when he steps through the door of your apartment is slip his shoes off. The second thing he does is stand there awkwardly, as if every thought left his head upon seeing your face.

You look like you’ve been crying. 

“This is my fault.” He says with a slight crack in his voice. “Because I keep hiding from you….right?”

You nod silently, remaining on your couch that faces his timid and stiffened figure. 

He stares at you, examining the consequences of his own actions. 

“You want to break up because I haven’t tried to, like, do things with you.” He winces as he says it, struggling to not feel awkward talking about having sex. He’s embarrassed, but would be even more embarrassed if he lost a girlfriend over this. 

“That’s not the only reason.” You shake your head, looking away from him and to your hands as you pick at your nail beds. “I’d be okay with no sex if you’d simply tell me why. The fact that you haven’t told me anything–” Your voice cracks a little bit, feeling stupid for being so emotional over such a short lived relationship. “It kind of destroyed my confidence.”

He watches the way you refuse eye contact, which is something that stabs him directly in the stomach. He can feel it drop to the floor, adrenaline making its way into that empty space you’re creating for him. 

“Before we break up, I just want to know why it took this for you to act like you genuinely might have feelings for me.” 

He stumbles over his thoughts the same way he stumbles over his feet trying to approach you. 

By now, he doesn’t think he can ever feel more embarrassed than he does at this moment. He crouches down in front of you, sad that you didn’t laugh at the way he nearly knocked himself out on your living room floor. Then he looks at you, chasing your line of sight as if to reassure you through nothing but the air in the room.

“I was afraid you’d laugh at me.” He starts, and after seeing that your expression doesn’t change even a little bit, he continues. “You seemed so into me that I–” He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be as honest as he can be. “I just didn’t know how to act.” 

You look at him with irritation at those words. 

“Of course I was fucking into you. Why else would I have agreed to be your girlfriend?” You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back into the couch cushions and away from his crouched body. “Think about how I feel. The fact that you just watch me throw myself at you time and time again? The fact that you rejected me every single time? How is that not giving you the answers you need as to why I’m breaking up with you?”

He takes note of that heightened voice of yours, defensive and likely more hurt than you’re letting on. 

“Listen–” He breathes in, trying to internally hype himself up to bite the bullet. 

You were listening, but he’s keeping whatever it is he’s thinking about in his head for just a second too long. 

“No, I think we’re done h-” 

“I’m a virgin.” He interrupts you, lowering his gaze to the floor and refusing eye contact with you. 

Your eyes shoot to him though. The last thing you would have expected was for him to be a–

“You’re–” You try to repeat his words for confirmation, but he interrupts you again. 

“I can promise you it’s not because I don’t want to do these things with you.” He says, still staring at the floor. “It’s because I was afraid that you’d lose interest over it.” 

Your mouth falls open as you look at him, every feeling of frustration in your body disappearing almost immediately. 

“It’s because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to, like, be any good at it.” He continues to admit. “I was trying to work up the courage to tell you, or to just like, do it.” He rambles, now scooting back and standing up to his feet. “And if you still want to break up, I understand. I just thought I at least owed you an explanation.” 

You watch as he nods to himself in an unsure way, turns on his heel, and heads back to the door to slip his shoes back on. 

You sit in stunned silence as your brain erases every single insecurity you gained over this month and a half relationship before jumping to your feet. If anyone could have been more insecure about this than you were, it was him. And now that you can see that, the guilt hits you twice as hard as the presumed break up would have. 

“You’re a virgin?” You ask, though that wasn’t at all the words you intended to say. “I mean, you kept pushing me away because you didn’t want to disappoint me?”

He nods timidly, halting his body and still refusing to look at you. 

He has one shoe on, and his other foot half in the other when you make your way over to him, closing the distance quickly and confidently.

“Don’t leave.” You say first, before physically moving his body for him to remove that foot from his half-on shoe. “Chan, I’m your girlfriend. We can wait for as long as you need, I just...”

You pause, now feeling annoyed with yourself for making it about you. Then again, it’s not like you could read his mind. Though, thinking back to all of those instances where he pulled away from you before, perhaps you could have read context clues a little better. 

“I didn’t know–” You trail off, now determined to save the relationship that both of you accidentally started to sink. “Did I make you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

He feels…relieved by your words. Saying you could wait, asking what it is that made him so afraid to admit it. 

Finally, he presses one foot against his other, pulling his foot out of his shoe and stepping back, looking at you with eyes fonder than you’ve ever seen them.

“It’s not that I felt I couldn’t tell you. I was just embarrassed.”

You very nearly coo out at him, but you keep your distance with both your words and your body now. 

“It’s not that I’m not ready to lose it. Especially with you.” He admits, glancing at you for a reaction before sighing. “I think I’ve been ready for a long time, again, I was just embarrassed and also knew that I should probably tell you at some point…”

“You want to give your virginity to me?”

You watch as he blows his hair up through puckered lips, rolling his eyes before smiling at you.

“It’s not that I view virginity as sacred or anything either. There’s just a lot of weight that people tend to put on it, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He tries to explain as his body relaxes by the minute. “I wanted you to be my first time, yeah. When I asked you to be my girlfriend, I knew I wanted you to be the one to show me what all the hype is about.”

You’d laugh if it weren’t for the fact that this is still kind of a touchy subject. You’re not entirely sure how you feel about being someone’s first time, but you know you have feelings for him and to deny him of sex after you blatantly wanted it so bad from him…Okay, maybe you’re just in your head. Of course you’d be happy to be his first time. 

Ecstatic even. 

“So….” You sway on your feet, looking up at the ceiling before landing your eyes on him playfully. “It’s not because you think I’m disgusting or like, not living up to the standards you want for a girlfriend?”

“Jesus, no.” He says. 

You watch him scratch the back of his head, still probably embarrassed by how low this relationship had fallen due to the awful communication skills. 

“And you’re also kind of admitting that you have thought about it?” You continue, prying out the words you’ve wanted to hear so badly since you met him. 

He pulls back only a little bit, his cheeks warming at the words and the way his brain automatically thrusts him into the thoughts of all of those nights where he absolutely fucking thought about it. 

“Y-yeah. Yes. I have thought about it.” He nods in a self-reassuring way as his eyes land on everything in the room but you. 

You’re quick to give him your own reassurance though, trying to learn his boundary now that the secret is out and the relationship appears to have a second chance at succeeding. 

He can feel you close in on him, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling your face against his neck. There, he holds you back, breathing in deep and feeling the scent of you wash through his body. 

Quite literally actually. As he would normally avoid, his lower half reacts far too quickly to even the simplest of touches from you. 

He pulls back on instinct, but you don’t release your grip this time. 

“You seem as ready as ever, I’ll admit.” You laugh upon feeling him stiffen against you, but you really do try not to shame him for it. “Still, we can wait until you feel ready enough to give it a shot, okay?”

He nods, entirely reassured by the way you don’t press up against it or comment any further about the happenings in his pants right now. Then he sighs out. 

“I can imagine I must look like an idiot right now, getting hard over a fucking hug.” He finally says as he pulls from the hug and makes his way back to your living room. “But we’re okay, right? You’re not breaking up with me?”

You follow after him, keeping your sexual distance, but absolutely indulging in the loving, sweet, and careful cuddling you’ve wanted to do with him for so long now. 

He appears comfortable when you tuck yourself under his arm and rest your head on his chest before answering him.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” You say, feeling his chest heave with each breath and intentionally ignoring the blatant tent in his pants slowly fall back into its flaccid position as he calms down. “It’s kinda cute, you know? That you were so worried about it.” 

His cheeks are still on fire, willing his body to calm itself through this sweet session of cuddling. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment with you, and still, it is embarrassing in the way he knows you’re ignoring it for his sake too.

But goddamn, how heavenly it would be for you to like, touch it right now…..or something. 

“Never thought of it as cute, if I’m being honest.” He tries to joke. “If anything, maybe it's a little pathetic on my part.”

You shake your head against him, feeling more confident of your place in his life. 

“Pathetic? Don’t be mean to yourself. Besides, it’s kind of hot knowing that you got so turned on over a simple hug.” You laugh, hoping you’re not crossing a boundary. “No wonder you ran so fast when I sat on your lap, I definitely would have felt that on me.”

“Alright, alright–” He tries to hush you of your playful remarks, but ultimately, if you really think it’s an attractive aspect of whatever sexual dynamic the two of you will come to have, he’s going to make damn sure you see just how fucking turned on you make him. 

~

Things are good. Great even, now that you can pin point each moment your boyfriend gets a little too overwhelmed with you. He does still push you away, probably out of instinct but he doesn’t shy away nearly as much from intimate moments with you. Especially if the two of you are alone together. 

You’re a bit more careful in public or with friends though, because the last thing you want to do is make him feel insecure about it. Still, there are playful moments where you indulge in the act of touching him or kissing him just to get him excited, just to watch him stutter his way through ordering something. 

The point is, you almost ended a relationship with someone who, arguably, makes you feel more wanted than you ever knew you could. It’s nice, and it feels good. 

Even now, this is only your second full on make-out session with him, you feel absolutely adored. It’s cute in the way he’s trying to train himself to not get hard at even the simplest of touches, it’s even cuter when his efforts fail miserably and he’s arching his body away from you as if he could even hide what he’s packing. 

You don’t push for more, despite wanting it badly. He also doesn’t push…despite also wanting it just as much as you do, if not more. He still seems to need a push of confidence to actually go any further than a nice, non-body touching makeout session. 

This is fine though, and you indulge far more than you ever knew you would when it comes to this kind of thing. As if simply licking into his mouth is foreplay enough to counter a fucking blowjob for him. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be this into the fact that your boyfriend is a virgin. And it’s not even that he’s never had sex, it’s that he seems to want it so bad, and there’s just something about a man who is desperate that gets you going these days. 

Still, kissing him is something that fulfills you, especially with the way he’s avoiding his lower half and keeping it away from you. 

He kisses you back in a telling way though, more telling than that tent in his sweatpants that you can visualize even while your eyes are closed. He radiates the arousal through the way he moves his lips against yours, and the way he lets out little suffering sounds when you kiss him harder and harder. 

His hands stay against your face, neck, and sometimes your waist, but god. His kissing is genuinely just so good with the way it tells on him every few seconds. 

And when he pulls back, he’s out of breath, flushed, and looking as if he would want nothing more than for you to hint, to lay down some sort of implication that he can cling to for relief from the heaviness that’s been in his pants since the fucking relationship started.

You wonder if tonight is the night, because he doesn’t appear to want to stop making out like he did last time. If anything, as he looks at you with those heaving breaths, you can tell he’s thinking harder than he ever has about it. 

“Chan,” You whisper out to him, just inches from his face. “Do you think of me?”

When he keeps his eyes on you, seemingly stunned by your question, you continue. 

“Do you think of me after you leave? When you’re all by yourself in your room–” You turn your head so that your eyes can trail to the space he is attempting to keep from you. “When you’re touching yourself?” 

He feels the words run straight through him, causing an utterly pathetic twitch in his pants. The way your voice comes out soft and sensual as you ask him, as you look at him. He doesn’t even remember words at this moment, not even a simple “yes”. 

He tries to answer by losing a little bit of his self control, turning your head back to him with his palm just so he can chase against your lips out of the sheer arousal, but you pull away. 

“Do you?” You continue, encouraging him to answer you. 

“So much,” He wills himself to whisper confidently, ignoring the fact that his body just forced him to rut up and against nothing, all for you to see. “Every time I leave,” He puts emphasis on his words. “Sometimes I can’t even make it home first.” 

You smile at the image of him rubbing against himself in his car, so desperate to relieve himself of what you do to him each time he comes to see you. Not even making it out of the seatbelt before releasing all over himself, all in his pants. Shaking, panting, all alone and without you. 

“Cute,” You chuckle, finally turning your head slightly and landing a pop kiss on him. “I think of you when I do it too, every time you leave.” 

He looks at you, willing his hips to stay put as he thinks about the image of you doing that in this very room, to images and thoughts of him. 

“You do?” He asks for reassurance easily.

“Mhm,” You look away from him as you sit straight up and then scoot down the bed. There, you lay yourself down against your pillows and look at him. “Come here.” 

He’s reluctant to take your hand. But even he can admit that this side by side makeout session is starting to hurt his neck, and you’re clearly asking him to get on top of you right now. 

“You don’t have to but, Chan–” You say, looking down, “I don’t want you to leave this time.” 

Well, shit, all you had to do was say that. Honestly, the way you look at him with pure acceptance is enough to push him past the wall in his head that keeps him from finally trying to take the next step. You accept him as he is now, surely you’d accept him if he…. doesn’t last, right? What about if he isn’t good at it? 

Still, he finds himself planting one hand on the other side of your head to balance himself on top of you. Still just hovering, not yet wanting or willing to, you know, put it against you. 

You smile. 

“It’s okay, I can tell you’re nervous. We don’t have to do anything else, I’m happy with just this.”

And then you both fall back into another, much more comfortable and natural feeling, makeout session. 

As much as you’d love for him to try and take control, his reluctance allows you to contain yourself. It allows you to respect him and his decision of whether or not he wants to do anything more than this. Still, this satisfies you. And if he really does stay, maybe he wouldn’t be entirely against watching you take care of your own arousal for him. Maybe he’d feel better watching even, taking notes on what you like, learning where to touch you. 

And you know, that really would have been okay but you can’t help but feel like he’s definitely wanting more. With the way his lips grow hungrier rather than more tired, with the way he’s starting to moan shamelessly into your mouth, with the way his hands are trying to travel to more intimate places on your body before stopping himself. 

You might be pushing it with the assumption, but it doesn’t hurt to try and help him, right?

When you feel his hands moving to your waist, up, up, and up until they’re just barely brushing against the underside of your breast, he pulls back again and pulls your shirt down to cover the exposed skin, all while kissing you harder.

You place your hand over his, wasting not even a second as you guide him back under your shirt, right up to where you know he wants to touch. 

And holy fuck does he. He doesn’t even pull back when you lay it against the warm and exposed flesh from under your shirt. His hand immediately starts groping. His lips immediately stutter against you in a relieved sigh from him, and all you can do is kiss him now with the same energy he seems to have in that one single hand. 

“You’re allowed to touch me, but if you need help doing it, just tell me–” You pull back to whisper, trying to take it another step further in the act of kissing against his jaw and down his neck. “I want to touch you too, but I’ll keep my hands to myself unless you tell me otherwise.”

It’s like he really forgets how to talk or give proper consent when his entire body is acting like a fucking greenlight for you right now. He feels so pathetic, on the verge of orgasm with nothing more than the soft fabric of his sweatpants to relieve him, and yet your breast in his hand, nipple hardening under his palm before he musters the courage to put it between his fingers, it’s a lot to take in, okay?

Still, he tries to say something, and he’s even more embarrassed by the way his voice sounds like it isn’t even his own. He sounds broken when the sound reaches his ears. 

“Don’t–” He starts, cutting himself off at the feeling of your lips kissing against the pulse point of his neck. 

“Hm?” You ask, pulling back and away, hoping you didn’t press too much. 

“Don’t stop.” He mutters out again, a little less embarrassed now that he feels you sigh against that same pulse point with the way his fingers fondle your nipple mindlessly. “Don’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Your brain falls into a stunned silence at his words, bringing a type of nervousness to bubble up in your own body. Is this really it? Is this when it’s going to happen? On a saturday night, against your pillows, muffled cartoons playing in the background…..past ten in the evening? 

You can’t help it as you kiss against his neck. You really can’t, with the way he opens himself up to be vulnerable with you while actively being on top of you, while playing with your breasts, while containing himself.

He seems to need you to do the pushing, but you really cannot shake the nervousness of being his first. You’re almost certain he is nervous about so many things, but still he appears to be eager to try. He’s eager to be with you, and, ultimately, to know what it feels like to be with another person that matters to him in that way. 

“Is there–” You stop, breath caught in your throat, only to fall out against his throat when he finally seems to have the confidence to make his first move. One that would seem so small to anyone else, but he– he raises a hand and holds the back of your neck, trying to press your lips and guide them to the area of his neck that he wants you to kiss. 

And you do, with blatant encouragement to him for doing that, all while trying to finish your previous thought. 

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” You ask, kissing and now, licking against the spot on his neck that makes him shiver. 

He sighs in a shudder, craning his neck to expose more skin for you before his hand stills against your nipple and he pulls his hand from your shirt. 

“All of it?” He starts, a bit unsure of himself. “Everything?” He adds, pulling himself back from your lips and watching you fall back to your pillows. He leans his body up, relieving his legs from his weight and sitting on his heels in front of you, only slightly between your legs now. 

You can see that he has a bit more confidence with the way he’s looking at you. 

“I want to try all of it.” He continues, placing two hands on your knees, pushing your legs together and using his palms to make them sway left and right. It’s as if he’s thinking hard. “I mean, if you want to.”

You smile. 

You want nothing more than to do this with him, for him, and for yourself. 

“Yeah?” You ask for confirmation, now lifting yourself and re-positioning yourself onto your knees to mimic his own stance. 

He nods in a blatant and shy way, knowing that you can physically see how badly he wants this, and how badly he wants you to be the one to do this with him. He’s achingly hard, and he isn’t sure if he’s ever managed to get this fucking hard in his entire life.

It really is painfully arousing, with the way his pants stretch against the head when he’s sitting like this. The way the fabric offers little to no sensation but while looking at you, he feels all fucked up and warm. He tries to forget that there’s precum all over him, seeping through the pants that are presented before you, and god, the way you look right at it. 

He doesn’t shy away despite being as shy as he could possibly be right now. In fact, when your eyes trail back up to him, licking your lips before smiling, he a fucking goner. He knew he wanted you bad, but never did he know he needed you this badly. 

He’s so fucking lucky. 

“It looks… big.” You comment, leaning forward only slightly and sizing your boyfriend up. “But for your sake, I’ll try to control myself from moving too fast. I’ll go slow, okay?”

He doesn’t even nod, he’s too entranced with you in front of him, fully clothed, lifting his own shirt off of him as if he is incapable of doing it himself. Then again, he kind of is incapable at this moment. He swears his IQ must’ve dropped to a single digit by this point. 

And when that shirt comes up and over his head, you note that he doesn’t even blink. That small moment where his face was obscured as you pulled it off of him? His eyes stayed on you both before and after, only now– his hair is a total fucking mess and all you can do is feel endeared by it. 

“God, you’re so fucking attractive,” You groan in sexual frustration with an eyeroll. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t jumped your bones yet.”

Now he breaks eye contact at the praise, glancing away from you and trying his hardest not to smile like an idiot at those words. 

“To be fair, I’ve fucked up my fair share of relationships being embarrassed.” He laughs. “Kinda glad I did though.”

You land your eyes back on him, staring blankly at his naked chest and trying your damnedest not to look at him like he’s some piece of meat. But goddamn, the body of this man. 

“Come here, switch places with me.” You smile, reaching forward and trying not to think too hard about the way his arms flex when you grip them to move him. “Here, lay back.” 

And within seconds, you’re between his legs and looking down at his half-lidded, arousal driven eyes. 

“Fuck, really?” You groan again, glancing away. “It’s really taking everything in me, Chan, it really is.”

His heart is doing flips as he stares up at you. He feels doted on, adored, attractive. So he encourages more of those annoyed praises from you. 

“Taking everything in you to…?” 

You chuckle, because the audacity of this drunk and in love fool. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to be in this exact position?” You smile, reaching down to run your fingers down his chest and straight to that happy trail that he so readily hid from you. “It’s taking everything in me to slow down–”

“Then don’t.” He says proudly, albeit still a bit shy at your words. 

You can see how red his ears are, only partially hidden by that head of messy ass hair. His stupid pretty eyes and gentle smile are directed straight at you without any type of reluctance. 

“There’s my confident boyfriend.” You chuckle, toying with the hair beneath his belly button and trying to not comment on the way his body jumps a bit at the feeling. “Was wondering where he went after he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

And he remains silent after that, watching the way you take the reins and lean down to kiss against that same spot of his neck. Warm breath fanning over the skin before attaching yourself there. 

Surely you can feel the way his hips react, humping up at each flutter of your lips. If you couldn’t, he knows for a fact that you’ll be able to now. With the way you trail down, across his own sensitive nipples, and then down, down, down. 

He glances down at you at the same time when you glance up at him and right then and there he thinks he melts. He’s never seen a woman look at him from this angle, and it’s only a little bit detrimental to his heavy and pathetic cock. The twitching never stops, he feels so fucking sticky in his pants and it really just doesn’t stop. Continuous leaking, and he really had no idea that there could even be this much pre-cum. 

Then, he’s pulled out of his thoughts with….a tickle?

“Oh?” You smile, leaning down to repeat that lick up his happy trail before landing a kiss straight on his belly button. 

His body jumps again, and he lets out a moaned chucked unintentionally. 

“Oh.” You smile wider, gripping both of his hips with your hands and holding him down in a playful way. Repeating the act once again. 

Your suspicions are confirmed with a third jump of his body, and another chuckled, frustrated moan. 

“So, he’s ticklish too?” You say with another kiss against his belly button before fluttering your fingers at the side of his hips. 

His entire body goes rigid before melting against the bed in an attempt to not react to the way you take advantage of a hidden weakness he had. God, he should have known that…like, sex stuff could be ticklish. 

“No– I’m not.” He lies, jolting again when you continue to test the resilience he thinks he has against your lips and fingers. “Hey–!”

And, well, you would’ve stopped if it weren’t for the fact that his hips raise with each tickled sensation, and you can genuinely feel how damp and heavy he is in his pants. It’s entirely arousing in the way its weight is obvious through his attempts to wiggle from your ticklish touches. 

“Alright,” You finally relent, landing one final kiss to his belly before licking down that same line of hair he offers his body. “Chan, I want to–”

His hips immediately raise to your words, the wetness from your tongue feels like ice against his skin when the air hits it and at this point, he thinks he knows what you’re suggesting. 

“Please–” He nearly cries out in a stutter. “Touch it.”

You smile as you nuzzle your nose against his abdomen before giving him a short nod that you know he doesn’t see. Considering, well, he just threw his arm over his face and keeps his hips tensed, and his ass only slightly lifted off of the bed. 

Desperate. Willing. 

You prepare yourself for seeing it for the first time by not seeing it at all just yet. Instead, you kiss down until your lips are met with warm, damp fabric. Immediately you can feel his length twitch under your lips when you reach it, and all you can manage to do is flatten your tongue out and against it to feel it pulse again. 

And again, until that same arm thrown over his face reaches down in a desperate attempt to take the pants off for you. He’s the one losing his self control now, no embarrassment or nervousness in sight from him, and it’s so fucking attractive to see him do it.

His shaking fingers fumbling with the waistband, shoving the pants down just an inch or so more to reveal more of that trimmed hair.

You don’t comment on the way he’s acting out of fear that it’ll make him feel shamed or even mocked, despite you truly believing it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a man do in front of you. 

Instead, you help him. Sinking your own fingers beneath his pants and tugging them down all in one go before allowing your eyes to land on it. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” He moans out, the air alone offering an overwhelming amount of sensation due to the temperature change he now feels between his legs. 

You finally look at it, so dark in color. As if all of the blood in his body resides only here. You gently move your hand just over it, feeling the heat radiate from him, seeing the precum continuously dribble from the head, and then, finally– 

“You’re so….” You trail off, in awe of the way his body just….keeps reacting. So much pre-cum. “Hard.” 

He releases a broken little sound at the feeling of your fingers finally touch him, and it feels insanely different from when he touches it himself. As if he’s not in control of his pleasure, and it’s all just you. You are the one who feels good against him. 

You’re shocked briefly when his hand makes it’s way back down to yours, grabbing it and essentially trying to get you to stimulate him more. He puts so much pressure against your hand, sandwiching it between his own palm and stiffened cock. 

You’re tuly in awe. This man has essentially edged himself to a world record, surely. 

“Slow down,” You try to soothe him, moving your hand against him and watching him retract his hand. “Relax, It must feel good, right?”

That little sob he lets out shows you his frustration. So needy, so ready. And even with you moving your fingers to circle his pulsing length, his hips continuously fuck up, not allowing him to have even a moment without a forceful amount of stimulation. 

“So good,” He moans, entire brain focused on what your hand is doing and unable to open his eyes. “I want it so bad.”

You don’t think he hears you chuckle and you’re thankful he doesn’t. You can imagine he would genuinely be embarrassed to know you’re witnessing his pure blissed-out and aroused-state of mind right now. 

And it’s not shocking that he’s entirely focused on himself at this moment, because he’s the one experiencing this for the first time. Even if you find it hard to believe that another woman has never touched his dick, you’re entirely flattered that it very well may be the case and that he wanted you to be the one to make him feel this good. 

“I’ll give it to you, just relax. I’m not going to stop.” You reassure his needy movements, and the way his body squirms at the slightest of touches. “What feels good?”

God, he’s so frustrated. 

“All of it.” He groans shortly, trying to take in a deep breath and just relax like you asked him too. 

You nod to his closed eyes and slacked mouth, fighting against his hips to be the one to pleasure him rather than himself and only when you blow a gentle breath against the head of his cock do his hips still and he shoots his hands up to your pillows, gripping them as if he’s preparing for something. 

You watch intently at the way he’s actively fighting to move now, waiting impatiently for you to do something now. Licking his lips, chewing on his bottom lip– god, he’s so pretty up there. 

Then, you grant him a new sensation. Only because by this point you’re the one who is about to lose control. 

You stick out your tongue and lick all the way from his balls to the head of his cock, making sure to keep pressure against it so that you can taste all of the arousal he’s spilled up until now. And while you were going to pull back to examine his reaction, this is the part where you release your self control.

The taste alone was enough to have you moaning, vibrating your voice against the vein of his length and then circling your lips around the head. 

Instantly, you suck at the feeling of pre-cum still pouring out of him. This time, there seems to be more. Coating your tongue with an almost sweetened salty taste. 

You feel briefly the way his hips chase the new warmth, clearly wanting to tuck itself into your mouth and quite possibly, down your throat, but you pull back and blow once again against the head. 

His entire body shivers as you glance up at him. 

You can barely comprehend just how into you he looks right now before rolling your own eyes in arousal at the image before immediately giving him everything your mouth has to offer.

Who cares if he comes too fast? Fucking look at him. You’d be stupid not to suck the absolute life out of him! That’s your boyfriend up there, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes sparkling through hooded lids, chest heaving–

And god, you almost wish he wasn’t as big as he is because it’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you take it in. You have to focus on sliding it through your lips, against your tongue, and right up to the back of your throat where the head of his cock bumps.

He can feel the way your fingers grip his legs through it, and by this point he has gone entirely non-verbal at the feeling. 

The only sound he can make comes from deep within his chest, and he can only release those sounds with heaved out and rigid breaths. His heart is pumping faster and faster the deeper you managed to take him, and–

“Ah! W-wait!” He panics, sitting straight up and becoming fucking floored at the way you stay on him. Moving your hands to his stomach and trying to shove him back. “Fuck,” He seethes as he takes in a sharp inhale, legs shaking as he flops back against the pillows. “Fuck, i’m sorry.” He continues to murmur, feeling himself hit the wall of orgasm and practically pulverize it. 

And you, oh, you. You taste it. You feel the twitching and the way his muscles stiffen under your fingers. You can hear him muttering apologies as it spills into your mouth, down your throat, and even out of the corners of your lips. 

You try to take all of it, up until you can’t fucking breathe, and only then do you pull up and replace your mouth with your hand, watching in awe at the way he just……

It doesn’t fucking stop. 

He went from rigid to stammering his words, to now blatantly and full-on moaning through both the pleasure and frustration of losing the warmth of your mouth. 

“God, Chan….” You whisper in a raspy voice, slowing your hands and intentionally pumping it out of him by now. 

“I’m sorry–” He stammers, body still shaking as you pull the rest of it out of him. “I tried to,” He winces with another unintentional moan. “I didn’t think it would feel that good.”

You smile both proudly and fondly, watching him stumble through his words and whatever excuse he tries to come up with. 

“I don’t think you know how hot you look right now.” You finally say, in a more stern voice. “You couldn’t have stopped me if you wanted to.” 

Only now, when he’s absolutely drenched himself in his release does he open his eyes in a drowsy way. He looks at you and that little smile on your lips and decides that, yeah, he can believe you. He trusts you, and he’s entirely obsessed with you. 

“But we still haven’t–”

You cut him off quickly.

“We have all night. All day tomorrow. All week, month, year. I don’t care.” You dead-pan, reaching for his, somehow, still hard length. “Chan.” You add, gripping it and testing the actual hardness of it. “You’re still hard, which is fucking amazing by the way, and you have no idea how wet I am right now.”

Oh, my god. He forgot. 

“You– you’re turned on?” He asks, looking away from you. 

“So fucking turned on.” You confirm for him, now releasing his length to give him a bit of a rest, considering he must not realize he’s still shaking. “Look, feel.” 

You say it as you crawl up and on top of him, seating yourself right up against his abdomen and grabbing his hand. 

He just stares, watching you guide his hand straight to the seat of your shorts. 

“Oh.” He sighs out. 

“Even through my shorts. See? Feel it.” You continue to move his hand against you, trying not to rut your own hips up much like he was doing before. 

Brain malfunction. He doesn’t even have a fucking IQ at this point as his cock immediately reacts in all of it’s sensitive, pathetic glory. 

“Do you want me to, um,” He swallows around a breath he didn’t know he needed. “touch you? Can I try?”

You sigh, relieved that he’s willing and immediately push yourself off of him and take care of all of the busy-work as quickly as possible. ie: taking off your clothes.

Unfortunately, you somehow briefly forgot that the man is still a fucking virgin. You can very nearly see his mouth fall open at your nude body being revealed to him. Even more so, you can see the dribble of saliva that he doesn’t quite catch fast enough, and his cock reacts. 

“You’re so cute, god.” You praise with the same compliment you’ve been giving him all night. 

And when you seat yourself next to him, hugging one of his arms and tucking it between your legs before closing your thighs around it, you smile at him and the way he literally cannot stop staring with his mouth agape. 

“Babe, you’re drooling.” You chuckle, shifting your hips a bit to rub yourself against his knuckles, where you’re still hugging his arm. 

Only then does he slurp up his embarrassment and try to remain calm. His fogged brain comes back to him quickly upon your comments as he wills himself to sit up beside you. 

He gets to….touch you. 

And boy does he. 

Eagerly, messily, and quite frankly, kind of embarrassingly. 

You make it easier for him though, laughing as you flop back and spread your legs for him. He’s quick to simply…explore. He’s not aiming for any singular area of your pussy because to be quite honest, he’s still struggling to stop staring at the entirety of you. 

You watch his eyes, the way they stare at your tits, then your thighs, your pussy being petted by his fingertips, and then– eye contact. 

He seems so sure of himself despite still managing to barely touch the clit. It doesn’t bother you one bit, because his eager fingers still find ways to touch you beautifully. There’s so much intent behind the messy movements. 

Slipping and sliding two fingers between your lips, up your folds, and then stopping just short of your clit before sliding back down and feeling where his cock would go if he manages to make it this far. 

I mean, surely he will, right? He’s losing his virginity as he does this right now, even. Foreplay still counts, right? 

And then, after several minutes of him exploring, learning, and practically teasing you half to death, you reach down to guide him. 

“Right here,” You soothe out in a soft voice, pressing his fingers against your clit and seeing him take note of it. “And here.” You trail his fingers down until they reach your clenched hole, and you very slightly press against his fingers so that the tips just barely enter you. 

He tilts his head at you, concentrating on where you lead him before releasing his hand and essentially leaving him to his own devices now. 

And you know, he did tell you he was a quick learner, because almost immediately he’s experimenting with putting a finger into you, and using his other hand to find a rhythm to rub against your clit. 

The whole time, he checks for your reaction, noting when your breathing hitches and when your body tenses. He continues, trying to only do things that make your body react and soon, you’re already turning to mush beneath him.

His fingers circle and tap your clit at a quick pace, with the other twisted inside of you. When he slides his finger out, and then back in, he rubs your clit harder, and god, yeah. Okay. You see his effort, and it’s such a good fucking effort too.

“Feels good,” You finally moan out for him, allowing yourself to give in to the pure arousal of the entire situation taking place. Thinking hard about what it would feel like to have such a desperate cock inside of you. “Use two fingers?” 

He listens instantly, moaning along with you when he slides the other in with the next thrust. His fingers against your clit trail down shortly after, curiosity getting the best of him when he spreads your lips open to see you stretch around his fingers. 

“It’s so warm–” He comments more to himself than to you, watching the way you pulse around him, watching the way your slick seeps out of you. It’s so hot for him to see it up close like this, and his pace slows at the image before him. “Can you take more than two?”

You lift your head in amazement at how he could ask such a thing. 

“Chan.” You smile at the way he jumps in surprise at your sudden, louder voice. Fingers nearly slipping out of you. “I can take way more than just two fingers.” You glance down between his legs. “Way, way more.”

He glances down to what you’re looking at before letting out an embarrassed sob.

“You’re really going to let me?” He nearly whines in excitement. 

You nod, reaching for him and pulling him to you by his shoulders. You land a kiss against his lips, trying not to shake at the way his fingers angle different inside of you as he moves to chase your lips.

“Mhm,” You soothe against his lips, intentionally scooting your hips down to your best ability to sink his fingers into you more. “Move your fingers– it feels good like this.”

He listens, feeling you throw your arms around his neck and cling to him through it, all while moaning and groaning right up against his lips. You’re not even kissing him, you’re just….acting like this and it’s fucking great.

He thought he would be the only one to be desperate in this situation, yet here you are, clinging to him as he works his fingers in you. 

“When?” He finally asks upon noting the way you start to move your hips against his fingers. 

You peek your eyes open and pull back to look at him. 

“Now? Do you want to do it now?” 

He nods, slipping his fingers out of you and inspecting how wet they’ve become. 

“Can I?” 

You finally fall back, leaning against your elbows and spreading your legs wide in front of him. Lending him a nod, you watch the way he just freezes after the fact. 

All you can do is laugh at this moment with the way he loses any ability to remember how sex works. 

Then again, you wonder if he ever even watched porn, considering how he’s acting and couldn’t manage to find the clit. 

“Do you want me to be on top?” You question, blinking up at him and his blank expression.

He shakes his head at you, still frozen in his spot before his eyes slowly make their way down to the glistening sheen against your pussy. 

“Don’t we like, need a condom or something? I can’t promise I’ll be able to pull out.” He asks, finally glancing away. “I don’t know if I can last as long as you want me to….”

And with that, all you do is lunge forward, grab your boyfriend by the cock, and pull him to you. 

He laughs, you laugh, and then it’s silent when he leans over you, feeling his length lay against your core, already feeling spent but so, so ready to give himself to you. 

“I’m on birth control. You don’t need to pull out.” You smile evilly, wiggling your hips and watching the way he closes his eyes tightly as if to regain his composure of those words. 

“I’m seriously in love with you.” He mutters, pushing his hips forward and letting his length slide through the mess he made of you. 

You smile, feeling that by this point, your face may actually be stuck like this permanently, and lift your head to kiss against his lips once more. 

“You’re ready?” You ask quietly, against his lips. “I can help you adjust to where it needs to be. After that, I want you to do what feels best for you, okay?”

He nods timidly, taking in a deep and nervous breath before feeling your hand guide his length to the opening. 

“Go on, slide in it.” You encourage him. 

And he does. 

Slowly at first, gently, until he feels your wet hot walls envelop the head of his cock in full, clenching, pulling him in. 

His arms shake from either side of your head as he balances himself there, and it doesn’t take long for him to drop his head against your shoulder in deeper breaths than he was taking before.

The sensation is so much, it’s no wonder people like to have sex. It’s so good, you feel so, so good around him. He can’t help it when he slides in deeper, not stopping until he’s releasing a wet moan against your shoulder and holding onto you as if his life depends on it. 

He thought that once he got it all the way in, it would get easier. But it doesn’t. Even as the two of you are unmoving, with your hands in his hair and soothing him through it, you still clench him. Your pussy still stimulates it without either of you doing a damn thing.

You on the other hand, won’t admit to struggling through that one, long and languid thrust inside of you. It felt as if he was splitting you open despite how wet you already were, and still are. The heaviness, the consistent twitching, all of it stretches you out more than you even knew you’d need and god, it feels so good to have him just hold onto you like, to have him adjust to the feeling. 

He’s no longer a virgin, and that’s not even what matters right now. 

What matters is the way he continuously nuzzles his nose against you, snaking his head to your neck and moaning consistently against your ear when he manages to finally move. 

He pulls out only a little bit before his hips stutter at the sensitivity, then he pushes back in. 

In and out, in and out, until–

“Fuck.” He moans, lifting suddenly from your neck, sitting up, staring directly  at where his cock sits inside of you, and he just… lets go.

Knuckles white against the grip of your waist, he powers through the sensitivity, he fucks through it. Fast, with no real rhythm or ability to realize just how deep he’s pushing himself into you, and then….

He’s done for. 

“That’s it,” You encourage him through half moans at the feeling, your swollen clit begging for a little bit of attention too. “Shit, Chan, that’s it.” You continue, losing yourself in his reaction to you. 

He only moves faster, his hips only stutter more, and thank fuck he already came once because he wouldn’t have made it a solid inch into you before coming undone if he hadn’t. Now though? He’s pleasantly surprised to be lasting even this long. 

Until he’s not, of course. 

And there, between your legs, he presses in as far as he can reach and loses his breath. 

Eyes rolling back, eyebrows furrowing, mouth agape, a deep moan rumbles from his chest as his shiver flows through his body at the first release inside of you.

You immediately shoot your hands to your clit, feeling it pump inside of you much like it did in your mouth. Already so much, you feel entirely full, and entirely ready if he can manage to keep coming for as long as he did before. 

You fingers assault the swollen nub so fast, working yourself up much like you would during a quick session of masturbation, not wanting him to miss out on what it feels like to have a girl come on him– 

It hits you faster than you can realize. 

Even when he buckles and falls back to your chest out of breath, you can’t even tell him that it’s happening. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t move just yet. Well, until he feels your pussy clench him tigher than before. In a rhythmic way, almost. 

Only barely can he lift his head to watch you, and that’s when he notes that you’re holding your breath. 

You pussy is pulsing, and then–

“Are you?” He questions, experimenting with the idea of trying to thrust into you as he asks. 

There’s the breath you’d been holding. 

“Yes!” You call out, both to answer his question and to appreciate that little thrust he gave you.

Even if his cock is slowly becoming flaccid, you’re still full, and he can still feel the orgasm wash over you. 

He’s silent through it, wincing at his hyper-sensitive cock and very nearly cursing it out for not having waited just a minute longer to release– then, you’re hugging him. 

Tightly. So tightly, you’re holding onto him and breathing into his hair. He can barely breathe himself with this hold you have on him. Still, he doesn’t fight it, he simply lets you. 

Letting you cling, letting the last jolting pulses of your core push the rest of him out of you. There, he manages to lift from your weakening grasp and throw himself beside you. 

Out of breath, sweating, a total mess, he looks at you like he truly will never be able to love another person the way he does right now. 

And it falls silent for a long while before you roll over, throwing both an arm and leg over him. 

“Man,” You sigh out. “How does it feel?” You ask this time, opening your eyes to playfully look at him.

“Huh? What?” He asks, quirking a brow. 

“You know, now that you’re not a virgin anymore. How does it feel?” 

He thinks hard for like two seconds before taking in a deep breath and smothering himself against the top of your head. 

“Like I’m in love with you, maybe.”

And you know, given that this relationship is barely even considered one in the eyes of most people. You don’t think you care. 

“Because I made you feel good, or because you want to let me make you feel good for like…” You pause, lifting your head to look him in the eye. “the rest of your life?”

He doesn’t even have to think twice. 

“The second reason.” 

“You’re such a simp, Chan, really.” You joke, skewing your head fondly to look at him. “But I think it’s worth a shot.”

~

#seventeen smut #lee chan smut #dino smut #svt smut

[xxladyballadxx]

A Surprise Party

Eiji Arashiba x f! reader

Note: Just wanted to write this fanfic for this dorky man's birthday ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

☆ dividers by @saradika-graphics ☆

Your plan was to put up a birthday party at the Titan cafe, with a lend of hand from Kazuma and Yamato. Kagami didn’t do much besides reading his book 24/7 on the couch. Yamato’s younger brother Minato insisted on helping them with the decorations. The presents, the food and the cake were all set. Minato helped Kazuma to bake a birthday cake since Yamato cannot be trusted. 

Although Eiji didn’t want to do anything special for his birthday, which is today besides spending time with you and his friends, you just planned ahead by setting up a birthday party in secret. Kazuma surprisingly agreed to help you with it, so did the others too. Good thing Eiji is out for a while doing a job. 

“Alright, all done.” You finished putting the candles on the birthday cake, you went to check on Kazuma and Minato to see if they were finished prepping the food. Yamato seemed to be getting scowled by Kazuma for not following simple instructions. Minato tried to calm Kazuma down. You watched in silence, covering your mouth as you walked off with a little laughter. 

You headed out for a bit to get some fresh air and to grab a few things from the convenience store. As you were drinking a bottle of soda in front of the store, a police officer walked up to you, “Oh hey (Y/n)!” you hid your annoyance away when Kouga appeared. “Hello Kouga, surprised to see you here.” you greeted with no happy expression. 

“Say, where is your boyfriend Eiji at?” Kouga asked with a bitter smirk. 

You answered simply, finishing off your bottle of soda, “He’s out doing a job.”

“Really? I’m surprised he’s not here with you.” Kouga sipped his can of coffee, a cheeky smirk still planted on his face. ‘This guy is irritating as fuck, his presence annoys me…” you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes as you looked away. 

“Flirting with my girlfriend when I’m not here, Kouga?” Eiji spoke in a little sarcastic manner, he appeared out of the blue and walked up to you. He must have finished his job as fast as you thought. “Eiji-boy!” Kouga backed up a little with his hands raised, “You know I wouldn’t do that, especially when she’s your pretty little lady.” 

Eiji puffed out a smoke from his cig, “Shouldn’t you be working or something?” he asked with a hint of annoyance that was slipping through his tone. “Actually, I’m on my break. I came here to get some snacks until I spotted your girlfriend out here.” You truly wished you could punch that fucking smirk out of Kouga’s face. 

“Let’s go, (Y/n).” Eiji put back his cig between his lips while he held onto your hand as you both walked away. “By the way…” Kouga paused, sipping his coffee, “Happy Birthday, Eiji-boy.” He finally walked the other way, waving goodbye to you and Eiji. 

‘How the fuck does that bastard know it’s my boyfriend’s birthday today?’ You asked yourself in wonder, looking over your shoulder. 

“What were you doing out here, babe?” Eiji wondered, a sign of concern showing up on his face. You believe he worries a lot when you go out by yourself. Not to mention he can be protective at times. But hey, he’s just looking out for you since you’re his girlfriend. 

“I just came out here to get some fresh air…and to grab a few things from the store. Also I didn’t expect to see you here, I take it that the job was quick to finish?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, I’ve just had to shoot these guys down and save the kid they kidnapped. The kid is now safe and sound.” Eiji said with a proud smile. 

“That’s great to hear.” Your phone came up with a message notification. From Kagami, saying that everything is now set. You slipped up a like emoji to the message and put your phone away. Nuzzling up to Eiji as he smiled warmly and kissed your forehead romantically. 

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

As soon as you both returned to Titan Cafe, Eiji realized the lights were not turned on. “Why the-” 

“SURPRISE!” Yamato and the others waved their hands in the air, you kissed a Surprised Eiji on the cheek as he looked over to you, “Happy Birthday Eiji. I know you didn’t want to do anything special today but we just wanted to do something nice for you and-” 

Eiji shushed you by pulling you into his arms to kiss you. Yamato covered his little brother’s eyes, not wanting him to see this. Kagami chuckled, he knew this was coming. “Guys, please, get a room.” Kazuma put up his hands to shield his eyes from the two of you kissing. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help it.” You moved away from Eiji for a moment, covering your mouth as you let out a chuckle. “You will have to get used to it, Kazuma.” Eiji grinned, motioning his arm to hold you close. 

Kazuma huffed in annoyance towards his big brother, “Yeah, well, I don’t think I ever will.” 

The lights dimmed out again as Minato brought out the cake with candles lit up on top of it. You and your friends began to sing happy birthday. Once the song was over, Eiji made a wish and blew out the candles. He opened the presents that were brought for him. You got him a pretty cool gun keychain which he loves very much. 

You and your friends had a slice of cake afterwards, chatting away while munching down the cake of deliciousness. Baked by Kazuma, with a lend of hand from Minato. You headed out to get some air, standing outside in front of the cafe. Eiji noticed your mood changing so he walked out to check on you, “Hey, everything okay?” Startled by the sound of his voice of concern, you turned around and asked, “Eiji, was the party too much?” 

Eiji cocked his eyebrow into wondering why you ask such a thing, “No, of course not, babe.” 

“I know you didn’t want to do anything for your birthday and such, I feel like I might have overdone it with the decorations and-” Your lips became sealed when Eiji hugged you in a tight embrace. “Babe, I love it. The party, the presents and the cake, everything.�� He pressed his forehead against yours, his blue starlit eyes locked on you, “Honestly, the best part of my birthday today was spending time with you and the others.” 

You buried your head into his chest with a blissful smile, your arms attached around him. Eiji flinged his hands over behind your back, his head pressing gently against yours. “I love you so much, (Y/n), you literally mean the whole world to me. Thank you for this and everything, I think this is what I needed.” 

A smile of joy gleamed across your face, “I love you too.” You leaned close to him to press a gentle kiss at the corners of his lips, “Happy Birthday, Eiji, my silly dorky man."

★・・・・・・★

a/n - This is actually my first time writing a birthday fanfic for a fictional character I'm stupidly in love with! (>/////< " )

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SILLY DORKY MAN THAT I WILL NEVER TRULY STOP THINKING ABOUT!! (>////<) MWAH*

★・・・・・・★

#project scard #project scard praeter no kizu #praeter no kizu #scar on the praeter #eiji arashiba #arashiba eiji #project scard x reader #eiji arashiba x reader #arashiba eiji x reader #x f!reader #birthday fanfic #happy birthday eiji my silly dorky man ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[masterofengene]

COULD i also request an idol!K oneshot/longshot (perefered fem reader but also wtv you are comfortable w) inspired by you are in love by taylor swift and its like suuper fluffy and he is so sweet and kdramary and like theyre wondering around the city or smth(can you tell I just finished binge watching i-land and immediately need compensation for the pain it caused me 😭😭😭) omg maybe like a friends to lovers trope and he realises how much she means to him and its like a she fell first but he fell ten times harder like IM SO SORRY FOR RAMBLING I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT OF MEJFDHSKDFGJ like im just imagining confessions in the rain after a miscommunication which left them both rlly sad and then she runs after him in the middle of a city street at midnight. honestly PLS TAKE complete creative freedom because as you can probably tell my thoughts rn r super messy and delulu ajshgfhkfhkgdjhsdfhgfdjkg i literally just have been thinking abt a long fic to get immersed in w K bc i have seen ltrly none😔 THANK U SMSMSMSMSMMS ASDKJFH.

Here i am!! So i finally got back to my writing and this one got those creative writing juices flowing and it gave me so many ideas so enjoy!!

…………………………………………………………………………….

Coffee at Midnight.

K! X fem reader based off the song “ you are in love “ by Taylor Swift.

…………………………………………………………………………….

You and K had been friends for what feels like forever. You guys had gone to the same school and were close in age so you two naturally grew closer. Before you even realized, you two were best friends. But as time went by you couldn’t help but look at K differently, Over the years he had filled out and his features grew more defined. Anyone who knew K would notice this, unless they were blind.

But you hadn’t even registered your own feelings changing, not until you were head over heels for him. You two shared a love of the performing arts so when he debuted, he managed to get you an audition and then he stepped back and let you handle it. He knew you’d land the rest yourself, he always had a blind faith in you. He trusted you more than you trusted yourself. It was a little bit after that, that you realized you’re own feelings towards K.

It was one look, and a dark room, a light hearted joke.

It had been a few months since you had begun your training, and to say that you were exhausted was a major understatement. It was well past 10 at night your monthly evaluations were right around the corner and you couldn’t quite nail the choreography that you would be tested on. Your body was tired and you were drained but you couldn’t just give up. Your eyes were aching so you had dimmed the lighting just enough to relieve the dull ache.

You were so into your practice that you hadn’t heard your phone going off, you didn’t hear the messages that k was sending to check on you. And lets just say when he got no response, he went to check on you himself. Because how dare his best friend not answer him.

What you did hear was the door to the practice room opening. You had thought for a second that it would be an instructor coming to kick you out of the room, luckily it was not. It was just K.

“You weren’t answering me…i was worried about you.” K said, being the one to always speak his mind. But he could read you like a book. So why bother hiding your exhaustion. Without saying anything, you let out a sigh and not-so-gracefully sat down on the ground. You laid back and simply said. “I have been at it for hours and i cannot get it right no matter how hard i try. Im not that much of a dancer.”

And then he gave you that look, the look that would make you feel so loved and cared for that it unlocked all of those hidden feelings.

“Please don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing so well. Even if you do not realize it. You know….i think i saw some janitors, trainees… even a few pigeons watching you dance through the windows. An amazing performance.” He said jokingly, although he truly meant that you did an excellent job. He had just wanted to see you smile instead of looking like you would cry any second.

And after that, your feelings for him kept growing but you were certain he would never see you as anything more than a friend. Still you always had hope that he /could/.

That was until you had gone to the mall one day and were window shopping by yourself, you had invited K along but he had said that he was at a practice. You didn’t think anything of it, they had a comeback coming up anyway. You really didn’t give it a second thought. Well…until you did.

You had walked into your favorite store, the place where you got all of your clothes from. It was locally owned and they only had this one location. Everything about it made you smile, from the dresses to the shoes, to their jewelry. You were happily browsing but that soft peaceful smile that you had faded in an instant.

Right in front of you was K and a girl you had never seen before standing in front of a bracelet rack. They were clearly close, leaning closer to each other as they talked.

In that second, it felt like your whole world had came crashing down. Why had he lied to you about practice? Why was he here with /her/? And why was she standing so close to him? A thousand questions raced through your head as K looked up and made eye contact with you. There was panic in his eyes in that second, and without a word you turned around and left. If only you knew the real reason that he was so panicked….

Unknown to you, the reason he was there in the first place was because he had wanted to buy you a bracelet and confess his own feelings that had grown. He wanted it to be romantic and special. A sweet confession. He had asked his cousin to come along and help him pick out something that you would like. He only wanted to surprise you and not hurt you.

He thought situations like this only happened in the dramas that he watched on the television. But K had seen that devastated look in your eyes and he felt the pain that washed over you in that second. You might have fallen for him first but he fell harder that’s for sure.

it was midnight when you decided to go to the convenience store and get some coffee, your head was still swirling with emotions, and the weather outside represented how you were feeling, windy and stormy. Then you felt your phone go off and found that K had texted you, saying that he was on his way to your apartment. All you said in return was that you were getting coffee, to come a different time.

As you rang up your coffee and a little sweet treat, you pulled your hoodie up to cover your hair before going back out in the rain. You wee still hurting but you couldn’t see K until you felt calmer. You didn’t want to lose him entirely.

The bell sounded from the door and before you knew it you heard your name bing called. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“she is my cousin.” That was all k said as he walked up to you. And you were still in shock because how had he known that you were at this convenience store.

“This is the only place open that has coffee near your place..” He seemed to hear your silent question, then you noticed that his hair was soaking wet from walking in the rain.

“still. I thought you had practice.” The hurt in your voice had said enough as you walked around him heading back inside. It was all a fresh feeling for you and you still had so many questions left unanswered.

“stop and listen please.” K said following you outside into the pouring rain. That’s when he let the truth slipped past his lips as he let like he was losing his best friend. He grabbed your hand and you felt a smooth, cool metal press against your hand. “I didn’t know that you felt this way about me until i saw that look in your eye today. (Y/n) i was planning to do this in a better setting but ill just tell you now. She was helping me buy you a bracelet, I couldn’t tell you because it was going to be a surprise. But i really like you, actually no. You’re my best friend and you mean the entire world to me, i love you. Im sorry you had to find out this way.” The look in his eyes was a desperate one.

You felt shocked, you had never once considered any of the things that just fell past his lips, and as if he saw your shock he let go of your hand and left the bracelet there. He rocked back on his heels to give you time to process his words as the rain fell around you two.

“i… you like me? Really? But how did you…. Did you know I’ve felt the same?”

“not until today…i saw that look you had. Like you wee heart broken…I can’t risk losing our burnt toast sundays…” His comment made you crack a smile as all the pieces slowly fit into place.

and the rest…. Well that’s history.

#&team #&team fluff #&team imagines #&team jo #&team maki #&team scenarios #&team taki #&team nicholas #k

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

You read while brushing your teeth?

I sure do!

I started sometime during summer of last year. I had been just playing ad after ad for a shitty mobile game at the time (fuck you cat snack bar you could have been great) and eventually I realized it was a shitty way to spend the time when I would usually just have to spend money to complete an event in time anyway (again fuck you cat snack bar). So, I deleted it and wanted something new to fill those two minutes. And somewhere along the line I had the thought of just... reading.

And there's a few reasons for this!

Time-Blindness. I don't have a clock in my bathroom and unless I look at the clock on my phone or count in my head I can't really tell when two minutes have passed. On my phone, I can go to the clock and see when a new minute starts, start reading, and then glance up to see when two minutes have passed. Time-Blindness solved!

Consistency. It has REALLY helped with my consistency in reading. I have constantly had issues where I will start a book with one chapter, get distracted by life, and read another chapter a month later, and then have something big happen that distracts me from it for a couple months or longer, so when I get back to the book, I just feel like I have to start over. It sucks! It's one of the reasons why a majority of my books that I got for my birthday almost a year ago have sat on my nightstand, as unread as the day I found them in the store. It's also the reason I often end up returning my library books at their due date having hardly read any of them. So, having reading incorporated into a part of my daily routine has really helped; even if it is only 1-2 pages during each time, I've read every single day for the past six months, and I was able to finish a whole book with that method without facing any problems with consistency! I have read from a book every day until I finished it, and I cannot remember the last time I did that! I am also having much more consistency in brushing my teeth as well, by incorporating it with something I like.

It's helped me take steps towards solving the problem of, put simply, my brain not letting me read. Reading is one of my favorite things to do, and because of this, my brain sort of puts it on a pedestal as a Special Reward that I can't do for fun unless every other task on my agenda has been managed - even optional ones that can afford to wait another day, or things that aren't urgent matters at all (but this doesn't mean I get those things done, it just means I make myself settle for social media). That's one of the other reasons so many books I've gotten have gone untouched; my brain tells me I'm not allowed to read them yet because it's rendered doing that a reward only for meeting difficult standards. But by reading while I brush my teeth, it helps me incorporate something that my brain was convinced is a Special Reward with an ordinary part of my routine, and it helps me deconstruct the sort of... complex my brain has around reading & recognize it for what it is; something I like to do that I don't need to earn permission from myself to do. Now, I'm starting to read a little before bed as well!

Those are the biggest reasons. I don't think you were expecting an essay of an answer, but it's been helpful and it's a part of my routine that I'm very happy with! I hope that maybe it helps someone else too :>

#answered #reading #books #thanks for the ask :>

[lingshanhermit]

Ling Shan Hermit: How has your sense of responsibility and shame been eroded?

On the afternoon when the news of Maradona's death was made public, I saw this joke: "A child is eating ice cream, and a passing adult says to him, 'Kid, don't eat too much ice cream, it's bad for your health.' The child looks at him and says, 'My grandma lived to be 102, do you know why?' 'Why? Because of eating ice cream?' 'Because she never meddled in other people's affairs.'"

I think this must be a freshly baked joke. I loved humorous jokes when I was a child. I've almost read all the joke books that could be found in the market. I often saw some old jokes being repackaged and presented as new ones, but I've never seen this one. So, it should be a new joke. The function of this joke is to dissolve our sense of responsibility towards others. Our sense of responsibility, which was already minimal, is now even less.

The devil isn't simply intelligent, he's exceptionally, extraordinarily so. His cunning is such that you would not even realize when you've been deceived by him, as he subtly erodes our remaining virtues. If the devil were to bewitch you, what form would he assume? Would he possess two horns atop his head? Certainly not. Instead, he would present himself in a guise of tolerance, openness, and rationality. He would seem polished, affable, and logical. For, how else could he beguile you? He would firmly advocate for the freedom of choice for all, insisting on the respect of other's decisions, not interfering with another's freedom, even if that other is but a child.

You don't see any problem with these sentences, do you? That's why you can be beguiled by the devil and led astray. Not just you, most people are powerless against such words, most people cannot see the consequences of this viewpoint. However, many of your pains and quarrels today are directly related to the fact that most people have already accepted such views.

Every day, we see all kinds of funny videos, jokes, and clever words on our phones. Many of these things come from the devil, and these things are slowly eroding your original virtues and sense of responsibility. A few years ago, a phrase was popular: "If I borrowed money based on my abilities, why should I pay it back?" This is actually the devil eroding shame, making your remaining sense of shame disappear completely. Confucianism in China talks about propriety, righteousness, integrity, and shame, as well as benevolence, righteousness, courtesy, wisdom, and trust. These virtues are being eroded from us every day, they are decreasing daily. Once, I saw a girl openly say, "How could people give up money for the sake of dignity?" We all know that Buddha has many incarnations, but in fact, so does the devil.

Initially, you might dismiss these words, but slowly you'll be influenced. When more and more people around you think and talk this way, you will shift from being repulsed, to feeling indifferent, and then to acceptance, and finally, you'll also think the same way. This is how the devil conquers our world.

This article was first posted on Ling Shan Hermit's Sina Weibo, Google Blogger, and other self-media platforms on September 15, 2021. All rights reserved. Any infringement will be prosecuted.

All rights reserved, no infringement intended. All articles of the Ling Shan Hermit, in both Simplified and Traditional Chinese, English and other languages, are copyrighted to the natural person who owns "Ling Shan Hermit". Please respect copyright laws. Any media or individual (including but not limited to Internet media, websites, personal spaces, blogs, WeChat public accounts, print media) wishing to use this content must first obtain authorization from Ling Shan Hermit. No modifications to the article are permitted (including the author's name, title, body of the text, and punctuation). We reserve all legal rights.

[alwaysinlimbo]

Body Image

-----If you're not a fan of discussing body issues than i urge you not to proceed and I am sending you love-------

A journal prompt for tonight

How have the media and societal standards affected your body image?

Back in 12th grade, there was a girl in my writing class that was taking a survey: "Have you ever felt self-conscious due to social media?" I said no. I lied.

Social media has been one of my favorite things, but has also been the bane of my existence. On one hand, I see it as a scrap book for my life, where I can share things with my friends and pretend I'm pretty cool for a little while. I enjoy sharing. Sometimes oversharing. I take it that stems from childhood trauma too, as most things seem to.

As of right now, I currently have instagram and tik tok off my phone. for one, cause I am in my senior year of college studying STEM and need to focus on finals, but also because I found myself in the never ending loop of comparison again.

I often see people online, and even knowing full well that social media is completely fake, I still compare and compare and beat myself up over stupid things. It's a dumb thing really, looking at a place full of filters and perfectly chosen photos and thinking "wow I must be a real wreck huh." simply untrue.

I deal with chronic bloating, and because of this over the past year and a half, have become very self conscious in my day to day life. My most recurring thought is "what if someone thinks I'm pregnant???" I have spent so much time pondering why that's my first thought and why I am so scared of people's perception of me (something I cannot control might I add). I've come to realize that I find myself doing that at times, looking at another woman and having that thought. But then I thought to myself, where did I get that from??? Well, I've chalked it up to social media. How many times do you see a celebrity post a photo where maybe her tummy isn't perfectly flat, and suddenly, the comments are flooded with pregnancy skeptics.

It's terrible. If people would stop commenting on other peoples bodies I think the world would be an easier place to live in. But either way, whether you like it or not, seeing repeated comments like that, you end up being conditioned into having those thoughts yourself. I once read somewhere years ago that your first thought is what you've been conditioned to think, and it's really your second thought that matters.

Social media now has also been overtaken by trends upon micro-trends upon consumerism galore. A terrible cycle really. Every week it seems there's a new buzzword for a new micro-trend, and then Shein picks it up and adds loads of clothes under that buzzword, and then millions of trend followers run after and spend all their money on those clothes, only to follow the next micro-trend a week later.

I found myself falling into this cycle I wont lie. I will always say that I hate trends, I've never been someone that NEEDS to follow trends. If a trend happens to be something I like, then I'll be on board and if not, I'll just keep doing my thing. But the problem is that with the rise of tik tok came the rise of these aesthetics and names, and then these tik tokers who make these aesthetics their entire personalities. And when you see someone have millions of people love them for sticking to one aesthetic, you get stressed and start telling yourself that you have to stick to one aesthetic or you'll be a poser, or people will stop liking you.

It's simply not true, it's a poison that the internet has fed us, and I'm convinced they've done it as a way to make fast fashion companies richer, but that's a story for another day.

What I want to say now is that it's all complete bullshit (I hope I'm allowed to swear on here still, I haven't been on tumblr in ages so if not tumblr i'm sorry). We are human beings, and human beings are complex creatures with complex brains. We weren't built to only like one specific thing. We were made to be curious, and continue to expand ourselves and our interests. We are not an "aesthetic."

I have spent many wasted hours and days sitting and pondering my entire existence because I don't fit into a box. I'm cottage-core, but I'm also goth, but I'm also punk, but also I'm goblin-core, and I'm also 2000s twee, but I'm also a 70s rocker, but also an antique 20s girl, but don't forget that I'm 90s grunge, oh and trust me, I'm also midwestern Americana and southern gothic. Read that sentence over again if you couldn't figure out whats wrong with it. and again and again and again until you get it.

WE. ARE NOT. AN AESTHETIC.

You are allowed to dress however you want. There are no rules. These "rules" that seem to be unspoken but very loud, they're completely fake. Made up by mouths that could not process the information their eyes received correctly.

We are so complex, and that complexity creates such beauty. It's quite cliche but when you really think about it, it holds: If we were all exactly the same the world would be a horribly boring place.

I hope this gave some solace to anyone who stumbled across it. I know it certainly quieted my mind in the way I needed it to today. If you're hear, thank you for taking the time to listen to what I had to say, and I hope if you related, your days get easier and your heart feels less heavy. Much love <3

[doctorofmagic]

My thoughts on What If... Doctor Strange Lost His Heart Instead of His Hands?

The very title of the episode sends a shiver down my spine. And this is where we’re going to start.

~ long post under the cut ~

A year ago, I wrote this post as an attemp to dive into one of the most important traits in Doctor Strange’s personality: love. Stephen is a being made of love, made to love, no matter which interpretation you have when you watch Infinity War. If you don’t read comic books, you’ll understand the moment you meet Donna. You’ll begin to understand how her death reshaped his entire subjectivity out of fear of failing, being powerless and unable to control everything around him (especially death), thus the arrogant and yet a disaster of a man we all know.

Where do I even start? Stephen loved her sister deeply and felt responsible for her death. And then, slowly, he also lost his parents and his brother. He fell in love with Clea but he also pushed her away. He loved Zelma platonically and lied to her, which was enough for them to break their bond. He felt attracted to Kanna but screwed things up, even though they remain friends. He was forced to kill the Ancient One, the only father figure he had ever since his father died. And lastly, the only person who would never leave his side... also left. Yes, even Wong. Stephen has SO much love to give but he’s also afraid because he’s cursed. He truly believes his love in poison. And would you look at that? What If really delivered a story where this is actually true.

What If Doctor Strange Lost His Heart Instead of His Hands?

The level of understanding when it comes to the character is... inconceivable. What could possibly reshape Stephen into following a dark path but love? The very premise of the whole episode. This is so much more than a love letter. This is literally too much, in all senses.

Fine, let’s begin.

What if the best of intentions has very strange consequences?

No. You used the word “strange” for the pun but this is not the word. Nah-ah. I’d go with ATROCIOUS, for starters. Things are gonna escalate so quickly, my friends.

Seriously, tho? Christine is SO SO SO SO beautiful, they’re so cute together. I have this feeling that MCU!Stephen was quite toxic because of his arrogance and this is why they didn’t work out. But WhatIf!Stephen???????? He’s always praising her, teasing her in a healthy way, respecting her and listening to her. HE TRULY LOVES HER, I’M GONNA CRY ALL OVER AGAIN, PLEASE, NOT THE CRÈME BRÛLÉE, PLEASE

I’m going to leave this shot here because we need to go back to it later. Hold that thought.

And bonus points to “Yeah, well, I would call that quite remarkable.” / “Well, I would say the same about you.”

GODS. THE PAIN. STOP THE PAIN.

So in this reality, Stephen didn’t caused the car accident because he was checking his phone while driving. Also it was not the reckless attempt to pass the truck. Well, maybe it was the consequence of this act? The fact is, the car behind them loses control, which makes them crash. Does it matter? We’ll learn later that no, it doesn’t.

And yep... Christine dies. Have you noticed the shattered heart? Ah, the pain only gets better and better.

Again, Stephen blames himself. More than anything, this is so important because Stephen is all about guilt. We still need to meet Donna so we can add yet another layer of guilt. But the feeling exists. This is what corrupts Stephen’s heart and soul in all his iterations. This is what makes him the character I love so much. I love this SO. MUCH. In addition, his stubbornness to accept his condition. Man won’t take a no. This, this is Doctor Strange in character. Stop complaining about NWH Stephen, it’s pathetic.

Okay, “grief-stricken”, Stephen found the Mystic Arts and became a sorcerer. That’s when he learned about the Time Stone, the Eye of Agamotto and Dormammu. Nothing changes, he saves the universe. But time does not heal his deepest wound.

I love Wong so much. Every time Wong does something, the world is healed. Really. We’re going back to him as well but for now I’ll just leave this shot.

BUT STEPHEN, DOING SOMETHING RECKLESS? HE’D NEVAH

Aaaaaaaannnnnnd then he did.

He goes back in time. It’s been two years since he lost Christine. I think he reacted pretty nicely, despite the circumstances. Now let’s go back to that shot I said I was saving for later.

Stephen is so light-hearted here. Also, during the first time he lost Christine, he had no idea what “The Price is Right” was. He knows now, which means he probably tried to learn more about the show because of her, because of grief. HAHAHA MORE PAIN

AND THEN HE

AND THEN SHE DIES AGAIN

AND THEN HE KEEPS GOING BACK IN TIME

AND SHE KEEPS DYING

AND THE MUSIC

AND HIS VOICE

AND HE TRIES TO CHANGE FATE BUT IT CAN’T BE AVERTED

HE EVEN TRIES TO STAY AWAY FROM HER LIFE BUT SHE DIES ALL THE SAME, WHY

AND EVERY TIME THEY CRASH, HE FEELS THE PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL PAIN AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, WHY

I’M-- *ugly sobbing noises*

Apparently, not.

And this scene when he simply... closes his eyes before she dies again...?

This is where this episode had me in endless tears. It got me the four times I watched it. I’m dead serious.

Okay, so, next the Ancient One appears to Stephen, explaining that Christine’s death is an Absolute Point in time. It cannot be changed. Stephen needs the accident to become the Sorcerer Supreme and defeat Dormammu.

And this is where Stephen starts his journey into darkness. “Nothing is impossible, you taught me that. I only require more power.” Disobeying the Ancient One, Stephen then travels in time, seeking the Library of Cagliostro. Now, if you’re not aware of that, Cagliostro was a sorcerer who studied time in comics, and later became Sise-Neg (there’s a recent post on this because of the new Defenders run). It’s funny to think that Sise-Neg also destroyed the world when he became a god, however he grew past his pettiness and remade reality. Stephen did not possess such power, as we’re about to see.

PS: “Stop torturing yourself, Stephen.” Naur but he should use this line like a mantra. Especially comics!Stephen.

Not gonna lie, tho. This place reminds me of the Temple of the Vishanti from T&T (of course I was going to insert T&T somewhere, it’s me).

And of course they’d go for a pun with his name haha. I don’t know how to feel about this, tho. I feel like the episode is too heavy and dark for comedy. But it is what it is.

Okay but why some books are in cages??????????? And wow, it seems Cagliostro also gathered knowledge about several fields of magic.

And then Stephen learns that, in order to break an Absolute Point, he needs to absorb more power. This is when I went “oh-oh, here we go”.

And for real, is this Shuma-Gorath? Why are they keeping his name a secret? Is this the same creature from the first episode with Captain Carter, right? RIGHT? It has to be Shuma-Gorath.

Of course he tries to be polite and ends up all hurt haha. O’Bengh warns him about love but he will not listen. “Love can break more than your heart. It can shatter your mind.”/ “Is she worth the pain?”. Please, this is Stephen. He eats pain for breakfast.

Also, also, let’s take a break. We’re finally going to get monsterf0cker tentacle-lover Stephen Strange. It will cost us everything but here we goooooooooooo (yes, I went frame by frame for your more obscure fanservice needs)

Gods, I love this sequence so much it hurts. Okay, here we go.

Shmebulock???????????

AND HE STOLE THE CAPE??????????? AND DREW THE LINE ON BUGS??????

The grasp this man is holding on me right now...

Some of you will understand. I’m with you.

And here are the grostesque ones. These are hard to take SS but I had to.

Animation, sound effects, OST? CHEF’S KISS TO ALL

And lastly... the tentacles. Yeah, if you’re new... this is a thing.

Fanservice. Fanservice everywhere. (low-key the reason I also waited to write this review, I wanted to enjoy this part so badly but I was too sad for that lmao)

Okay so. O’Bengh is suddenly OLD and DYING, until we realize that Stephen spent CENTURIES absorbing mystic beings. CENTURIES. WTF STEPHEN. He had nothing in mind but the goal to save Christine. And people wonder why he went insane???? I’m sorry, O’Bengh, but I can’t take you serious when you still call Stephen Sorcerer Armani. Oh, and also because you watched him absorb beings for centuries in silence lmao. But I guess I have to because you said that Stephen is split in two since the Ancient One cast a spell on him, splitting the timelines and making them exist in the same reality before he could travel back in time. I know, it’s complex. Anything for the plot.

And now good!Stephen has an evil!twin who wants to absorb him back in order to become whole and break the Absolute Point. Cool.

I said I wanted to talk more about Wong because I think people are not talking about him enough. Wong is so important in this episode. He’s the one who’s trying to heal Stephen after Christine. He’s Stephen’s anchor.

Also, THEY FINALLY USED A SPELL WITH THE NAME OF THE VISHANTI. HOORAAAAY

So, for the sake of our understanding, I’m addressing the characters as evil and good!Stephen. Let’s go. Evil!Stephen summons good!Stephen and gods, he still holds such a strong grasp on me... unbelievable. THE DEEPER VOICE BENEDICT USES???? PLEASE, DIDN’T WE HAVE ENOUGH?

Imagine his strength to hold so many beings inside him, fighting to control him. BRO, THIS IS TOO TOO MUCH

Fine, I’ll not post SS about the fight because I’d be here all night long but I WILL say this: NOT CLOAKIE!!!!! NAAAAAAAAAAUR

Also if you ask me if I recognize any of the spells? Maaaaybe the Flames of Faltine, the not-so-crimson Bands of Cyttorak and a little trick Magik does with her portals. That’s how far I go.

I’ll not comment on the “seducing yourself to stay in the trap”. I will not. I’ll just say that the first person Stephen thought of when “Christine” was talking about the crème brûlée was Wong. That’s it.

And finally evil!Stephen absorbs good!Stephen and releases... UNLIMITED POWER (I love when the stone goes red as if it was bleeding aaaaaaa)

I can fix him...

This scene here? Poetic cinema. (I love his wings so much)

And when Stephen says her name and the other monsters’ voices echo “Christine”, AAAAAACKKKK

AND OF COURSE CHRISTINE WOULD FREAK OUT, BRO. LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE BECOME BECAUSE OF YOUR TWISTED LOVE. I’M NOT DOING FINE.

Oh, but it’s too late anyways because Stephen broke reality haha. This scene is interesting because Stephen is the only one who sensed and/or talked to the Watcher until now. I read an interview that the Watcher kinda showed up but it’s also about Stephen’s keen senses. Bit of both, let’s say. Still, man, 616-Watcher is not that cold. 616-Watcher would watch this and say “how about I intervene anyway?”. WhatIf!Watcher is brutal.

The way Christine looks at Stephen one last time also KILLS ME, DESTROYS ME, BREAK ME INTO A MILLION PIECES.

And this is where my soul left my body.

This is how they end the episode. This is how you leave me speechless and with teary eyes. This is how you give me a whole existential crisis.

This... this was brutal to watch. Really.

What can I say after this? I’m used to reading painful things when it comes to Stephen. Aaron’s and Cates’ runs are heartbreaking on so many levels. Hickman’s New Avengers is not easier. Coincidentally, What If? Magik Became Sorcerer Supreme and The End. And now Death of Doctor Strange. And yet, after everything I’ve been through, I’d never expect to watch something so brilliant, so tragic, so heartbreaking and unexpected in the MCU. Never. This is top tier content and this is my favorite character with SO MANY LAYERS and SO MUCH UNDERSTANDING. I can’t put into words how meaningful this whole episode is to me, or how deep it touched my heart and soul.

I’ve been struggling to find the proper words since then, I still can’t. All I can add is, I cried for the 4th time now. This is too, too much, even for Stephen stans. Even for the ones who are used to pain, regardless of which media you’re into: comic books, live actions or animated movies. This is literally more than I can take and yet I’m so, so grateful. The voice acting, gods, how did Benedict manage to create a better Stephen than the one he’s literally playing in real life???????????? HOW

This episode really took the max potential Stephen had to offer as a character, added tons and tons of layers based on his grief, depression, arrogance and need to control everything and created a tragic masterpiece. In 7 years of being a Doctor Strange fan, I've never read or watch something that could go this deep into the character. The closest I can think of is Mr. Misery and the metaphor of Stephen's depression. This is a whole new level of respect and understanding. This is more than a love letter. This is peak maestry. It’s perfect, it’s heartbreaking, it’s... gods, I can’t.

Sorry for dragging you until this far. Before I wrap up this review, I just wanted to remind you all that Stephen will appear again, he will smile again, he will be surrounded by people again. So this is not the end. It was painful but be brave. We still have a few more steps to take.

#what if...? #doctor strange #stephen strange #what if doctor strange lost his heart instead of his hands? #wong #christine palmer #the ancient one #long post #review #he did nothing wrong #so what? he destroyed a whole universe #/j #benedict cumberbatch

[shijiujun]

[END 2020] My Top 9 Danmei Novel Picks of the Year

As a part of my Round Up post for the year, here’s my pick of favourite danmei novels, that I’ve read! This is sort of an accompaniment to my previous danmei rec list over HERE, so there may be one or two overlaps, but I’ve read WAY MORE after that and am prepared to like give more options here 

Note: There should be English translations for all via novel updates if you do a search of the English name, but I don’t think most of them are completed.

If you wanna see my full reading and queue list (it’s all in Chinese tho, for my own records), it’s here.

I’m leaving out the usual MXTX and Priest ones, because they’re already good and we all know that and there’re many carrds and posts dedicated to them.

I am also a sucker for fainting but smart men, and not too overly angsty/complicated storylines, just putting it out there first, which is why I haven’t read a lot of some of the ones on my queue list.

-------

1. 一剑霜寒 | A Sword of Frost by 语笑阑珊

Summary: Jing Yan Ran is the Emperor’s brother and wields military power in the novel, and it starts with an object being stolen from the palace. Jing Yan Ran has to retrieve the item secretly, and so enlists the help of Feng Yu Sect’s Sect Master, Yun Yi Feng, who heads the martial arts world’s one and only information trading post. Yun Yi Feng does not deal in business that involves any royalty, but Jing Yan Ran offers him something he cannot refuse - the Blood Red Lingzhi, a rare and mystical herb that is rumoured to be able to treat his life-threatening condition. 

Yun Yi Feng was used by his shifu when he was younger to test out all kinds of poisons and cures, and since then, his body flushes dangerously hot and cold frequently, with bouts of severe coughing fits in between. Throughout the first mission where he spends time with Jing Yan Ran searching for the stolen object, he allows Jing Yan Ran to take care of him, and they fall in LURVE pretty much like 10 chapters in.

Of course, they have to uncover a plot and conspiracy against their enemies who are plotting to dethrone the Emperor, and also reveal the secrets of Yun Yi Feng’s birth.

My Thoughts: AN ABSOLUTE FAVE AND GEM, I’d say this is my favourite danmei novel ever. This is both hilarious and tears-inducing, to be honest, because for most of the novel YYF knows he doesn’t have long to live and so in the beginning he knows of his own feelings for JYR and JYR also shows him that he loves him, but he is unable to officially reciprocate because he knows his body is like weakening day by day. Halfway through the fear that he’s literally about to die as they are JUST about to find the cure is real, and damn I cried so much at that. Some highlights:

YYF falls asleep very easily in baths and everywhere actually, and pretty much within the first 10 chapters he gets used to JYR carrying him around (even naked from the bath, he’s like oh well, okay cool) and taking care of him, and JYR ALWAYS makes sure he is warm and toasty under his cape

YYF LOVESSSS RICHES, PLAYING THE ZITHER AND COOKING - He’s good at gathering the first one, but he FUCKING SUCKS AS THE LAST TWO - It’s so funny because he’s so beautiful and handsome right, and when he sits down at the zither everyone is like OH DAMN WHAT A DREAM- and then he plays, and everyone’s fantasies is shattered, he’s ABYSMAL at it, and the same goes for cooking

JYR doesn’t actually have the Blood Red Lingzhi, and throughout the first arc, he feels SO DAMN GUILTY because YYF even carved out a pendant that looks like what he thinks the herb looks like, and like carries it with him everywhere LMAO

Available: Novel Online and Manhua on Bilibili

2. 高能二维码 | High Energy QR Code by 青色羽翼

Summary: CEO Xing Ye’s brother Xing Shuo has just passed away at the age of 24, and nothing will make him believe that Xing Shuo died of natural causes despite autopsies and experts telling him that he really died simply of a heart failure. Xing Ye, who has impeccable memory, suddenly recalls the last time he saw Xing Shuo. His brother called out to him just before Xing Ye left for a business trip, and looked as if he had something to say, but ended up just wishing him a safe trip.

At that moment, there was a QR code on Xing Shuo’s phone, and the phone screen was strangely turned out towards Xing Ye, and Xing Ye, with his incredibly high IQ and memory, realizes that Xing Shuo wanted him to see the QR code. Quickly, he reproduces the QR code by pen and then scans it, and finds himself in a game world.

There he meets a narcissistic but also cute mirror which can speak, and finds out later that his name is Lu Ming Ze. Xing Ye’s mission is to clear the game missions in each round that is set by the black and white cubic game system, a system that continuously tempts its players into giving in to committing sins such as killing someone else, stealing and other things. He soon realizes that if he cannot stay on a path clear of these sins, he will never be able to triumph over the game system and return Lu Ming Ze back to his body in the real world. 

At the same time, he gains new teammates and friends for life, and also finds out what role his brother played in this game. 

My Thoughts: MY GOD I LOVE THIS. I LITERALLY JUST FINISHED READING THIS YESTERDAY, and honestly it’s one of my faves. I don’t like game systems very often (I’ve read three others so far, and this, and KOD are the only ones I’ve liked) but this one is *chef’s kiss*. So LMZ was born like with a really handsome face, like SUPER HANDSOME, and that’s why he’s like a harmless narcissist that cannot bear to look at ugly things LMAO, but he’s not spoilt, he makes sure that Xing Ye stays true to himself, and help him keep his head clear. 

THE ONLY THING ABOUT THIS FRICKIN NOVEL IS THAT LU MING ZE STAYS A MIRROR, LIKE DIFFERENT KINDS OF MIRRORS, in the first TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY CHAPTERS. I KID YOU NOT. I FRICKIN KID YOU NOT. I swear I was sooo touched starved at the end of the novel, because they couldn’t even kiss?!! Like Xing Ye kisses the mirror, and then uses his thumbs to like hi-five mini LMZ in the mirror back, they can’t even hug. Do you know how empty my arms felt when I read this book?!! And my arms have never been filled!!!!!!

I really like this one because each game world is set up in such a brilliant way, but it’s not so unnecessarily complex that you literally don’t know what the fuck is going on. Xing Ye’s intelligence as he outmanoeuvres every single one of his enemies and convinces his would-be loyal teammates to trust him is so satisfying, world after world, victory after victory.

Humour is also absolutely ON POINT. A lot of it is centred on Xing Ye getting caught in the real world kissing his handheld mirror (LMZ) by LMZ’s parents (who cannot see him in the mirror) and LMZ’s parents going like ???!!!!!!!! 

Available: Novel Online | Physical Novel is coming out on 10 Dec (freebies are, you guessed it, a mirror)

3. 妻为上 | The Wife is First by 绿野千鹤

Summary: This is set in a historical setting where men can marry other men, but it’s usually reserved for sons who were not borne by the official main first wife of the patriarch of the family, i.e. a son born by a concubine in a family may be forced to marry a man to keep him from being able to become the next family’s patriarch for example. This is because any family’s next leader needs to be able to have children with a wife who married in as a zheng shi (lawful wife), and not a ce shi (second wife) or any other concubines/mistresses etc. Most of these men who marry other men have to take them as their zheng shi and lawful spouse in a sense, and the same goes for the royal family.

The story starts with third prince Jing Shao, who was forced to marry Mu Han Zhang, a Marquis’ second son, by the Empress and Emperor, thereby officially and effectively cutting him out of the race for the throne. He’s mocked by the public as everyone knows what this means, and for the next 10 years, he neglects Mu Han Zhang, blaming him for his predicament, and deliberately showers his three other concubines with affection in front of him, but 10 years later, when Jing Shao is accused of treason, everyone leaves him except for Mu Han Zhang. They are chased to the edge of the cliff by soldiers, and Mu Han Zhang dies in his arms having taken an arrow meant for him earlier, and Jing Shao jumps off the cliff with his dead body, and promises that if there’s a next life, he will do everything Han Zhang says, and love him.

He wakes up immediately on the night of his marriage with Han Zhang, and realizes that he’s been given a second chance to make everything right. Han Zhang is definitely afraid of him, humiliated and angry when he first wakes up after how rough Jing Shao was with him earlier on their wedding night, and he has no memories of their past life. Jing Shao then sets to SHOWER HAN ZHANG with affection, love and basically everything, because he realized that this is the only person who stayed by his side until the end, and then he falls in love with Han Zhang properly this time, and also deals with every single person who maligned and schemed against him in his previous life, with Han Zhang by his side.

My Thoughts: OKAY BEFORE YALL GO INTO THE ‘WIFE’ terminology discourse and everything, in this case they do use the term ‘wife’ literally, and it’s a position, that while men frequently fall into (there are a lot of male ‘wives’ in this story), is also used to cut off like sons from inheriting the family and the fortune, and even titles. Male ‘wives’ aren’t looked down upon in this setting, in fact, Han Zhang gets a lot of leeway as one, and in his case he was also able to rise up the ranks to be an actual official later on, but the sad thing comes from sons who are most of the time forced to marry a male ‘wife’ for whatever reason, and then they are neglected as the son goes and find concubines, women he actually wants to sleep with - this is sad af yall. I don’t know, on one hand, yay for equality in marriage in this setting, but on the other hand like, damn, must you use same-sex marriage like that argh.

ANYWAY THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVES TOO?!!! I mean, especially when Jing Shao literally just goes into doting mode 200% and Han Zhang is totally like wtf why is he so nice to me is he scheming or something? And then he realizes that Jing Shao is really, really gentle towards him despite his reputation as a cruel, dark military commander, and Jing Shao always smiles at him. In any situation, especially in the beginning, when Han Zhang thought Jing Shao would not stand with him, Jing Shao literally just protects him no matter what, gives him everything, and cries, I love it. 

Especially because Han Zhang is the son of a concubine and he was bullied a lot in the Mu family, and the official Lady Mu married him off to Jing Shao in hopes that he would be unhappy for the rest of his life, and I suppose that came true in the first life, but in the second, Han Zhang gets all the love, respect and support he never got before in this family with Jing Shao and that makes me WEEP.

Available: Novel Online and Manhua on Kuaikan

4. 死亡万花筒 Kaleidoscope of Death by 西子绪

OOOH I intro-ed KOD here in my previous rec list. Still one of my faves and all-time re-reads, especially under the covers in the dark hehehe.

5. 你的距离 | Your Distance by 公子优 

Summary: Ting Shuang is a student at a German university, and has this handsome professor Bai Chang Yi who he swears kind of hates him. He’s just broken up with his longtime boyfriend, and then goes on this dating app that matches a profile with him based on distance. The app can also show the matched profile’s distance from him once they enter the same area, and Ting Shuang starts chatting with this Chinese guy on the app, who he finds out later, is 36 years old, 187cm in height and wears glasses. 

The guy is a little aloof and cool, very mature in his replies on the app, and somehow Bai Chang Yi finds out who he is later, as Ting Shuang starts complaining to him about his professor to Bai Chang Yi. Instead of getting angry and offended, BCY is pretty much amused and finds Ting Shuang cute. A few days later Ting Shuang finally realizes who it is he’s been texting, and after getting past the initial embarrassment and fear, they start dating for real, and they really fall in love!!!!! 

My Thoughts: This is sweet and also hilarious af, if you need to like satisfy your sweet tooth, this is definitely one for you. It’s really funny because Bai Chang Yi runs in the same circles as Ting Shuang’s dad, who he’s estranged from because the dad doesn’t want to recognize a son who is gay, and then BCY convinces him later in the funniest of ways, and there’s a small subplot at the end in which Ting Shuang is pretty cool, and yep, short and sweet! BCY in the manhua is handsome af too guys ;-;

Available: Novel Online, Audio Drama on Maoer FM and Manhua on Bilibili, 

6. 神木挠不尽 The White Cat’s Divine Scratching Post by 绿野千鹤

Summary: Mo Tian Liao, a weapons forger and master who ruled the Demon Tribe, was hunted down and killed by other righteous sects in the region when he managed to forge an incredibly destructive weapon that could end the world. Before he died, he placed the only thing he loved, a white cat, into a hole in the tree behind him to protect it. The only thing he was grateful for was that he did not create a blood pact with the cat, Xiao Mao, because if he had done so, when he died, Xiao Mao would have died along with him as well.

Right before he dies, unbeknownst to him, Xiao Mao who is no simple demonic cat, wraps part of his consciousness around Mo Tian Liao, and MTL’s spirit ends up floating about for 300 years, until he finds a suitable time to return with a body made out of a special tree and its wood. The first thing he does, of course, is to find his white cat, but he’s poor, and the body he has isn’t powerful, so he joins Wo Yun Sect, the only sect that did not hunt him down that day hundreds of years ago.

There, he is chosen by Qing Tong shizun to be his direct disciple, much to the astonishment of other shizuns in the sect, and Qing Tong’s shixiongs. MTL has never seen a person as beautiful and gorgeous as his shizun, and if only he could find that cat (who’s actually his shizun, who recognizes him and protects him, even if MTL doesn’t actually need much protection).

My Thoughts: This was hilarious as well, and so romantic?!!! Qing Tong/Xiao Mao waited for MTL to come back, and the moment he came back, Qing Tong was there ready to grab him, and then before he went to sleep that night, Qing Tong thought to himself, “I’ve gotten my person back, I can sleep well now” and AHHHHH at this point they weren’t even like a couple yet? MTL ‘kidnapped’ Qing Tong when he was a young demon cat by accident because he likes pretty things (like his shizun lmao) and Qing Tong is attached to him because MTL never forced a blood pact on him, and gave him everything he wanted as a younger cat before MTL died. Gosh, a mirror in #2 and then a cat now with this one. XD

Available: Novel Online

7. 破云 | Breaking the Clouds by 淮上

Summary: Three years ago, Captain Jiang Ting and his team of the Narcotics division perished in an explosion due to a wrong call of his, and he returns three years later under a new identity ready to deal with the people who set him and his team up. He’s caught in what seems to be a simple murder case almost immediately and meets Yan Xie, who’s Vice Captain and in charge of this case. Yan Xie realizes who Jiang Ting is shortly after, and begins to unravel the huge mystery surrounding the events of three years ago, and falls in love with Jiang Ting along the way as well.

My Thoughts: Okay out of the FOUR crime/detective/thriller danmei novels I’ve read, the poyun and tunhai (below) series is the one that MIRRORS actual narcotics division and undercovers the best. It has the complexity and depth of the drugs/narcotics world, and both this one and its sequel focuses a lot on the position of an undercover and mole. I liked this one a lot because there are SOOOO many twists especially in the last arc, like you honestly won’t see any of them coming until it hits you? And Yan Xie is such a confident, rich-ass narcissist, and he keeps asking Jiang Ting if he can “just touch” him ONCE lmao, he’s thick-skinned af, but that’s why he and Jiang Ting are so compatible ;-;.

Available: Novel Online, Novel Print, Audio Drama and Manhua on Bilibili

8. 吞海 | Swallowing the Sea by 淮上

Summary: Sequel to Po Yun. Yu Wu is a young-looking new detective under Captain Bu Chong Hua’s narcotics team. Bu Chong Hua is Yan Xie’s cousin by actual relation, but brother in relationship because BCH’s parents died early and Yan Xie’s parents have been taking care of him mostly. He cannot stand Yu Wu, who seems to want to coast through at work and keep to a 9-5 work schedule. 

It’s only after an altercation and Yu Wu dumping his nonchalant facade to snarl at BCH that he realizes that YW is actually more interesting and mysterious than he thought, and he begins to try to get close to him, understand him. It turns out that Yu Wu is a famous undercover who nearly died a year ago during an operation, and due to various reasons, he was assigned to BCH’s team by higher ups so he can peacefully live the rest of his life out there. However, his past catches up with him quickly, and his enemies turning up forces him to rely on BCH. 

With BCH, Yu Wu’s resentment of having to be an undercover in the past and being so easily discarded by his team’s leaders, and of him being forced to be in the shadows while others can announce their achievements to the world, is slowly erased, because BCH sees him, knows him, and understands him more than anyone else.

My Thoughts: I actually liked this one better than the first one - Yu Wu is such a pouty, angry little thing?! And for good reason (there’s a bit of cannibalism in the book, not by choice when he was younger and in a poor village in Cambodia, where some militants forced survivors in the village to eat the meat of boiled corpses of other villagers, so YW is a vegetarian, like if he eats meat he gets really sick) and the twists here are even more amazing?! BCH really, really, devotes himself to YW the moment he realizes how much he likes him, doing a 180 degree turn. Instead of Yan Xie’s flamboyance, BCH is much steadier, grouchy, like an old uncle, but also looks at things even more clearly than Yan Xie does sometimes. Yu Wu is understandably bitter about what he had to go through, and BCH is the ONLY person who can calm him down, whom he listens to, which I LOVE. Some highlights:

Yu Wu grew up in a poor village and thus loves money, and he fights in underground betting rings to earn more money - The stash of hidden money he collects I think is half for his escape money, but if he happens to never need it, his dream is to donate the money to his village so they can open up a school there - ANYWAY because Yan Xie’s parents, and technically BCH’s ‘parents’ are soooooo rich right, Yan Xie’s mom shows her approval to her son-in-laws (Jiang Ting first, then Yu Wu), by giving them winter pants. It’s kind of like inside warmers, and usually meant for older ladies to wear LOLOL so Yu Wu was like staring at the pants when he finally got them and looked soooo reluctant until Jiang Ting told him it costs $6,000 AND HE WAS LIKE :333333 okie

He acts a lot like a kid?!! He likes eating like some snack but it’s really unhealthy for him, and BCH the mother hen keeps catching him in weird places like the toilet, where he’s hiding from BCH so he can eat his fave snack?! And the whole police station knows not to give YW what he wants in terms of snacks and smokes because once BCH finds out, he makes life very difficult for them HAHAHAHA

9. 穿成反派如何活命 | How to Survive as A Villain by 伊依以翼

Summary: Rich and handsome CEO Xiao Yu An finds out he has a terminal illness (cancer), and dies while he’s reading this online novel, where a king mistreats the crown prince from a neighbouring state which sent him over as hostage after losing a war, and ends up being killed by the crown prince years later (SVSSS much?!). He wakes up AS THE KING, and afraid of dying, he immediately goes about befriending the prince, Yan He Qing. Yan He Qing falls in love with Xiao Yu An while being his friend/hostage/bodyguard, and Xiao Yu An tries to avoid all the deaths he read in the book, while making sure Yan He Qing manages to find his three/four wives, including Xiao Yu An’s sister.

Of course, because Xiao Yu An showed him warmth and kindness, Yan He Qing ends up falling for him instead, and Xiao Yu An is an absolute oblivious idiot because he REALLY doesn’t realize until much later. Yan He Qing ends up declaring war on Xiao Yu An’s kingdom because he is duty bound to do so, but doesn’t hurt Xiao Yu An, wanting to keep him by his side, but YHQ’s scheming uncle drives a wedge between them, and XYA leaves, breaking YHQ’s heart.

They meet again a few years later, where XYA is training to be a physician in a small village and chances upon a severely injured YHQ. There, he realizes that it was all a misunderstanding, and that YHQ actually LIKES, LIKES him, but before they can enjoy this short period of happiness, disaster strikes again.

My Thoughts: THIS WAS really enjoyable, and with the manhua visuals, it is *chef’s kiss*. I think this transmigration version actually delved into the part where XYA is unable to change everything, and if he saves one person, someone else is destined to die, and that moral dilemma devastates him a lot. In this novel he actually transmigrates TWICE, once into the king’s body, and the second time into a neighbouring state’s prince/king’s body, who looks exactly like his modern self after. YHQ is real sweet to him istg, and I like that the epilogues are SUPER EXTENSIVE, including an arc where YHQ and XYA transmigrate back to the real world and everyone who died is alive and close to them, and gets their happy ending ;-;

Available: Novel Online and Manhua on Bilibili

#danmei rec list #stebeee recs #a sword of frost #your distance #swallowing the sea #breaking the clouds #kaleidoscope of death #High Energy QR Code #How to Survive as A Villain #The White Cat’s Divine Scratching Post

[honestlyfragile]

We Meet Again - d.s.c oneshot

This was a little too long to be a drabble, but let’s be sad together

Pairing: Winwin!Fem reader

Angst, exes, mention of alcohol and cigarettes

wc: 1.5k

This was it. The night you've looked forward to but at the same time, dreaded like hell. When your friend asked you, "Would it be okay if I invited him?" who were you to say no? Just because he was your ex? You were better than that. So you convinced yourself it would be fine, 3 years was long enough right?

You've played this in your head over and over, but things like this never go as planned. When the night of your friend's birthday party came, you dressed to impress. Who? None other than your ex. Pathetic.

But who cares if you did? They wouldn't know that you've been dying to look your best for Sicheng.

When the night of your friend's party came, you made sure that you were early enough to arrive first while tagging another friend along. The first thing you did was scan the venue for any signs of him—none.

And you exhale as much as you could. It wasn't long until he finally arrived, with Ten, Xiaojun and Yangyang whom you also haven't seen in a long time. But you pretend to not bat an eyelash at their presence, you had to convince everyone in this place that you were unfazed and unbothered.

But of course there was always that one person that could read you like an open book. "You okay?" your friend asks and you crumble inside.

"I wanna step out for a bit," You say, trying to defeat this billowing feeling in your chest that grew by the minute.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'm good on my own." Sure you were. Until you realized you had to pass the table he was assigned to on your way out. But it would be too embarrassing to turn back. You held onto your clutch and looked towards the exit and that direction only. The clicking sound of your heels against the tiled floor giving you a tad bit of confidence.

You saw it, you saw him. From your peripheral vision, you knew that the moment you passed by, he reached for his phone and pretended to be occupied with something.

When you were finally out to gather some fresh air, you took time to appreciate how clear this night was. You take a cigarette out of your bag and pop the tip into your mouth, and search for your lighter in your purse. But before you could even do so, your mouth was left agape because of the absence of the cigarette stick.

"You only do this when you're stressed," He says, delicately holding it in between his pretty fingers.

You cross your arms, "It's none of your business." And snatch it back from Sicheng. Who does he think he is?

But god damn if you didn't think that he looked absolutely stunning—more than ever. Until you remind yourself that you absolutely do not have anything to do with him anymore.

You walk further away and look for a spot where he wouldn't bother you and finally lit your cigarette; your puffs heavy and aggressive. When you were done, you drop it on the floor and stomp the burning tip with your heels.

You walk back to the venue feeling unhinged by his presence, it was harder than you thought.

"Too early to be grabbing some drinks hm?" Ten playfully says while appearing at your side.

"Oh my god! It's been so long." You give him a hug and kiss his cheek. You've always stayed in good terms with his friends, especially Ten. You couldn't deny the fact that you missed them a ton.

He flashes you the brightest smile, "I know." He says, contemplating whether to ask you about Sicheng or not. "Have you..." he trails off.

"Have I..." you mimic him.

"Have you spoke to him?"

You chuckle, "Nah." You leave the encounter awhile ago out of the conversation.

Ten simply nods, not wanting to make it awkward and proceeds to ask how you've been, you tell him that you were fine and just always the same girl he knew. He was happy to hear that.

And when the universe cannot hold your encounters with Sicheng off any longer, you decided to let it be. You can't avoid him forever.

When yours and his table merge, he takes notes of the names of the people that he met tonight and recites them out loud, but leaves you out of it. You pout and playfully said, "What about me?" like you were out of your mind.

He chuckles, amused. "How could I ever forget you." He says and the crowd roars. Of course they knew your past.

You shake your head and take another shot of whatever drink you picked out from the selection at the bar and continued to try and belong to this circle.

"How have you been?" He asks, completely sober. Good for him.

"I've been alright. You?"

"Same." And left it at that. When you couldn't stand it any longer you left his side and took more shots for the sake of enjoying this night, giving your friend quite a hard time getting a hold of you.

And when you knew you've had enough, you sit at the empty table because most of the people have left the venue already; it was getting late.

To your surprise he also pulls out a chair and sits right in front of you, trying to take in your drunk and pathetic figure. Or if that's what you'd like to think.

"Are you okay?" He asks, brushing off the hair that had managed to clump in front of your face because of the sweat that consuming alcohol gave you.

You could cry right now, you felt so damn vulnerable that if you looked straight into his eyes, you would simply just lose everything it took you to be here. "I'm alright" You say, looking at every direction possible but his.

"How are you?"

You chortle, "You asked me that a while ago. I told you I'm good."

He purses his lips in disbelief, "I'm asking you for real."

"What do you want to hear from me Sicheng? That I've been an absolute mess without you?" Fuck. You did not just say that.

"No," He clenches his jaw. You might have gone a little too far. "You haven't changed." he says disdainfully.

"So have you." You shrug, having absolutely no control over your thoughts and words to even formulate proper sentences.

But despite everything he still manages to say, "You look beautiful."

To hell, if you could cry right now. Why the hell did he make it so hard for you, even when you weren't together anymore. "You don't look bad yourself," you retort, not knowing what to say at this point.

He asks you about how your mom was doing since they used to be close when you guys still dated, she even thought that you'd end up with him for good. She was devastated when she found out you broke up. You say that she's doing fine, but never really accepted the fact that you weren't going to get back together anymore.

He didn't know how to respond to that. Because he felt the same. He hated the idea of you not getting back together anymore.

“But are you?”

“Am I what?” 

You waited for him to respond, “Have you been a mess without me? Because sure as hell I have been without you.” 

There was a long silence. He’s unbelievable. You thought. He thinks he could just sway you with his words again, 3 years later you were back to square one. You couldn’t let him get his way again. 

Finally, you say, “No. I was asking if that’s what you wanted to hear,” you pause and gather all your courage to ask this question ever since you found out from a friend. It had been bothering you for 3 years. “Did you really cheat on me?” 

He takes a deep breath, and answers, “No. She was a friend. A friend I was leaning onto when we were falling apart. We never became an item.” 

You laugh bitterly, not being able to help the escape of your tears. “Right.” was all you could say. 

Your friend saves you from the awkwardness, “___ it’s time to go” She says from afar and you gather your strength to get up from your seat, but you trembled. He held your arm to keep you still. 

You didn’t know if you should shake his hand, wave goodbye or just walk away. But before you could even decide, he had already engulfed you into a hug. Your head on his chest, staining his white button-down with your tears as his hand lightly pressed your head onto him. His scent was still so familiar to you, his hands still as gentle and delicate when it came to you.

You couldn’t take this anymore, you had to break away. You couldn’t throw away the 3 years you spent on yourself to get better. You swallow, “I have to go.” And didn’t wait for his response. 

“Take care.” You faintly hear him say from a distance, you didn’t look back. 

#nct #wayv #winwin #dong sicheng #nct 127 #taeyong #jaehyun #yuta #mark #doyoung #jungwoo #winwin smut #winwin fluff #winwin angst #xiaojun #ten #kun #yangyang #hendery #haechan #taeil #johnny #wayv smut #wayv fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst

[svenotes]

drabble #1

❝ the one where your one night stand turns out to be your boss ❞

[ PAIRING ] : jeon jungkook x reader | bff!hoseok x reader

[ GENRE ] : office au (not the tv show lol) + crack, smut (mentioned)

[ WORD COUNT ] : 1.7k

[ WARNINGS ] : mentions of sex, a lot of banter, jungkook only appears for like two seconds so this is more best friend!hoseok and oc bickering 

[ AUTHOR’S NOTE ] : i’m trying to get back into writing, so here’s some funny banter w plot

drabbles | masterlist | wattpad cross post | ao3 cross post

“Besides, when have—!”

“No.”

Hoseok frowns, eyes narrowing on you. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Going through your mental checklist, you neatly place the documents in your hands on your boss’s desk. Today has been a hectic day at the office. It was a miracle that you even managed to finish everything by the end of your shift. On days where you can barely tell the difference between left and right, you found yourself clocking extra hours. You suppose you have Hoseok to thank for that. By some grace of God, he was assigned on the same project as you and as annoying as your friend could be, he also knew when to keep things professional.

He’s already set to leave for the day, waiting for you to finish up. Since the days are getting shorter, he’s made the habit of walking you to your car after work. He stares at you with a dubious look in his eyes, and you hold it for a moment before you walk towards your cubicle to pick up your keys.

“I know you,” you start, grabbing your purse and keys. “I know what you’re going to say because I know you.”

Hoseok scoffs at that, crossing his arms over his chest. A part of you hopes he stops his questioning and drops the topic altogether. However, you know Hoseok. Dropping a subject isn’t his specialty, even if the world demands that he should.

As you try to leave your office, Hoseok blocks your path. “Y/N.”

You keep a straight face. “Hoseok.”

“I am your best friend—!”

“Debatable.”

He ignores you and continues, “And I love you—!”

“Also debatable,” you murmur.

“—which is why I cannot for the life me understand why you would keep secrets about your sex life from me.”

He catches the attention of a few of your co-workers. You brush them off with a smile, wishing them good-night before you pull Hoseok inside an empty office by his loosened tie. He lets out a choked cough as you drag him in and shut the door behind him, keeping your conversation away from prying ears.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Hoseok hisses, rubbing his neck. “I just want some details about the new guy you’re screwing. How’d you meet? How long has this been going on? Why was I never informed you were dating someone?”

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “For the millionth time, I am not dating anyone. And there’s nothing to know—!”

“You’re lying! Again!” He points a finger in your face. “You left the bar with someone on the night of Ellie’s birthday and you’ve been secretive ever since.” He narrows his eyes. “Who are you hiding?”

You swat his fingers away, brows furrowed. “I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide.”

“Bullshit. You're as open as Yoongi.”

“How is Yoongi?” You ask, not-so-subtly deflecting. “It's been a while since I’ve seen him. You need to stop keeping him all to yourself. I miss my ex-roommate.”

Hoseok and you have known each other for as long as you’ve been working for the company. He sat in the cubicle beside yours and over time you became good friends. Yoongi, your roommate at the time, stopped by the office to drop off some lunch and met Hoseok before you could introduce them.

At first, the two despised each other, their personalities crashing — Hoseok too bright, and carefree and Yoongi more mellow and conserved. However, things began to shift between them over time and now Hoseok walks around with a ring in his jacket pocket at all times.

Hoseok’s cheeks dust pink. “I haven't proposed yet if that's what you're wondering.”

“Just let me know who’s best man I’m going to be,” you laugh.

“None of ours, ‘cause I’m going to ban you from the wedding—!”

Your eyes widen, appalled. “Why—!”

“Who are you dating?”

Your mouth clasps shut, glaring at him. “No one.”

It’s not a lie, Jungkook and you are not dating. Your relationship with him was far from romantic. However, Hoseok doesn’t know that and you’re not sure how you're supposed to tell him. Especially when it seems as though your past is trying to relive itself in the form of another man. You worked hard to move on from when you fell in love with your co-worker — you’ve worked so hard to put the past behind you and keep your professional life separate from your personal. Yet, it’s as if all of that hangs by a thread, threatening to slip through your fingers because history is trying to repeat itself.

How were you supposed to know your kind-of one-night stand was the youngest heir of Jeon Enterprises? You wouldn’t have dared to take a bite of the forbidden fruit if you knew.

A headache forms at the very thought of Hoseok’s lecture once you explain to him you unintentionally fucked your boss. It’s why you’ve been avoiding him and deflecting his questions throughout the day. You sigh, meeting his eyes.

What Hoseok doesn’t know cannot hurt him, right?

His eyes narrow on you, mouth opening for a rebuttal, but the knock on the door silences him. Your attention turns towards the door and you forget to breathe at the sight of the man at the door.

Jungkook's eyes immediately find yours, a small smile tugging on his lips. He looks sweet — innocent, even. Nothing like the man who feasts on you like fine cuisine. Your breath gets caught in your throat when you vividly remember the sinful things he can do with those lips — that mouth. You push the thoughts to the side, mirroring his smile despite the rapid pace of your heartbeat.

“Mr. Jeon,” Hoseok speaks first, clearing his throat.

Jungkook's eyes widen a fraction as he finds Hoseok standing a few feet from you, mirroring the shocked expression you wore moments ago. As if he didn’t even notice Hoseok’s presence.

“Please, call me Jungkook,” he starts, sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “There’s no need for formalities.”

Hoseok simply nods. “Right. Jungkook.”

“I — uh,” you clear your throat, ignoring the heat that rises to your cheeks as Hoseok's scrutinizing gaze flickers between the two of you. “Did you need anything?”

“Ah,” Jungkook’s eyes flicker towards Hoseok. “Nothing in particular. I was going around trying to get to know the team better. You just seemed preoccupied earlier and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I thought I’d catch you now.”

“Oh,” you say, stupidly.

“We were was just about to head home,” Hoseok adds, glancing between the two of you. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

"I see,” Jungkook hums and his lips curl into a frown momentarily. “It was nice meeting you today. I look forward to working with you both.”

You hold his gaze for a moment before you respond, “Yea, likewise.”

“Me too,” Hoseok deadpans.

Swallowing, you ignore the look Hoseok sends you. It’s clear, he knows; he's put the pieces together. You will the heat in the apples of your cheeks to dissipate as you keep your composure.

“Goodnight.” Jungkook nods at Hoseok before returning his attention to you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Night.”

As he leaves, his gaze lingers on you for a second too long before he walks away. You let out a breath of air you didn’t realize you were holding, hand resting against your thundering heart. Hoseok waits for the door to shut and for Jungkook to round the corner before—!

“I’m not going to lie,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “that was painful to watch.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re fucking him.” It wasn't a question.

“We slept together a few times,” you sigh, pressing your fingers against your temple. “He said he worked at his father’s company, but I didn’t know his father was CEO of Jeon Enterprises. It didn’t even piece together that he was the Jungkook our team manager was talking about until I saw him this morning.”

He lets your words sink in, humming as he studies you. “He was totally gonna ask to fuck you tonight.”

“Shut up.” You throw your keys at him, but he catches it with ease. “We’re… supposed to meet tonight.”

He raises a brow. “To fuck?”

“Mhm.”

You’re supposed to meet tonight for a date, but Hoseok already knows too much. Telling him you decided to humour Jungkook for a date will only worsen your headache. Mainly because Hoseok will tell you the only reason you’re humouring him is since you like him.

Only two weeks have passed since you first met and look at the mess it’s already created. What should’ve been strictly a fuck-buddy relationship has turned for the worst.

“You probably shouldn’t.”

“I know.” You slouch, defeated as you lean against the desk beside him. “I know.”

“Wow — wait.” Hoseok’s shock turns into a frown. “You bailed on me Sunday night for mediocre dick, didn’t you?”

“Not mediocre dick,” you sigh, reminiscing the last time you went over. Although, it doesn’t last for long — “Ow! Hoseok, what the fuck?”

“That's for bailing on me,” he snorts before flicking your forehead again. “And that was for telling me his dick game is good.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but that doesn’t stop the rush of memories from last weekend. Limbs entangled between sheets, hands grazing every inch of your bodies and lips twined with yours. Your body still remembers the comfort of his warmth as he brought you to euphoria over and over again. A mere memory makes your knees weak.

Your phone buzzes in your hands and you suppress your groan.

[ 6:14 pm ] jungkook (dude w the nice dick): you still coming over?

You don’t realize Hoseok leans over to read your text until —!

“Booty-call.”

Flicking his forehead, you ignore Jungkook’s message. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Alright,” he says, following after you. He keeps quiet until you’ve both entered the elevator, away from other’s prying ears. “Are you going to visit him tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

Your thoughts are torn between right and wrong — your career and pleasure. Meeting him tonight and ending things would be the right decision, but you’re not entirely sure you would be able to avoid his advances if you tried.

You’re screwed.

It’s been long since you crossed the Gates of Eden and sunken your teeth into the divine fruit, and now you’re addicted to the taste.

You are so incredibly screwed.

all rights reserved © 2021 svenotes

#jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #hoseok imagine #bts imagine #bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #hoseok #jung hoseok

[specialagentsergio]

now i’m getting colder || part one

summary: Emily’s been dating you for nearly a year and she’s never been happier--until her past come to call. Then she’s gone, and Spencer’s left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: (faked) major character death, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), swearing

a/n: i got such a great response from the original fic, so after some requests, i decided to continue the story. thank you all for your support!

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist || masterlist

After the night in Connecticut, Spencer expects everything to change.

He expects you to start spending less time with him and more time with Emily, openly. He expects to have to watch you kiss her, listen to you gush about her to him. He thinks you may even be upset with him for exposing your relationship. So to say that he’s surprised when barely anything changes at all is an understatement.

The amount of time you spend together does go down, but only by about three hours and seventeen minutes per week. (Not that he calculated it on purpose—it’s one of those things he keeps track of without really meaning to.) You still spend a lot of your time with him, listening to him tell you about the books he’s reading and discussing what’s going to be shown at this year’s Georgetown foreign film festival. You don’t talk about Emily that much; at least, not any more than you did before.

Your behavior at work doesn’t change much, either. You and Emily keep things professional there for the most part, enough so that he can almost pretend that you aren’t in love with someone else.

Almost.

Three weeks after Connecticut, his attention is drawn away from his paperwork when you reach over the partition between your desks and tap on the wood.

“Spence.”

“What?”

“Are we still on for the Doctor Who marathon tomorrow?”

He blinks. “Oh, um.” He’s been so caught up in... well, in sulking, that he’s actually forgotten something. “Yeah, I guess. If you still want to. It’s okay if you don’t.”

You frown at him. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“I mean, I just figured...” He leans back in his chair, rocking it a bit. “I figured you’d rather spend time with Emily.”

“Oh.” Your expression doesn’t change much; you still look confused by his words. “Just because I have a girlfriend doesn’t mean I want to stop spending time with you, Spencer. You’re still my best friend.”

“Really?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Really,” you affirm with a small laugh. “One o’clock, my place. Don’t forget the snacks.”

“I won’t,” he replies quietly, trying to ignore the little bud of hope sprouting in his chest, the thoughts of maybe things aren’t going well between you two and that’s why you want to spend Saturday with him, maybe you and Emily are going to break up—

You rest your chin in your hand as your expression shifts into something serene. Your gaze moves from his face to behind him and he follows it, turning in his chair to see—

Emily’s just walked back into the bullpen with a stack of files. Your eyes follow her the entire time as she makes her way to Hotch’s office, a small smile gracing your lips. You don’t even notice him watching you; you just look back down at your paperwork once she’s out of sight, that smile staying on your face.

Spencer’s chest physically aches, the bud of hope crushed. He returns to his own work, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes. You’ve never looked at him like that, and he would give almost anything for that to change.

---

Emily had wanted to smack herself when she realized that she was catching feelings for a coworker again.

It’s different than it was with JJ, though. With JJ, she had felt an instant connection. She had felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. And just like a moth, she had been burned—JJ had never felt the same towards Emily as Emily did to her. She might have, someday. But then JJ met Will, and the rest was history.

You’re something entirely different. Emily’s always found you attractive, but for a long time, she didn’t have any desire to do more than simply enjoy the view. It takes her a while to really get to know you, since you spend so much time with Reid. But as she does, she finds herself more and more interested in you. A year passes, then two. One thing leads to another, and another, until one day she finds herself, slightly tipsy at one of Rossi’s dinner parties, looking at her friend and thinking, god I’d like to kiss her.

Following that realization, she notices a few things—you gravitate towards her at work, save her a seat on the jet and request to room with her when you have to double up. She thinks you’ve started touching her more than normal, too, placing a hand on her as you walk past and picking stray cat hairs off of her clothes.

The profiler in her recognizes these as signs of attraction. Now she just has to get up the nerve to make a move.

It happens in a hotel room in Phoenix. You return there from the FBI field office, both still riding the high of a successful takedown. You’ve always worked well together, and this case was no exception. You were the ones who made the breakthrough on it, leading the team right to the unsub.

You’d also been the pair that ended up at the location where he was. He’d tried to run, but you’d worked together without conscious thought. Emily had pursued directly while you took a side route. You cut him off quickly, and moments later had him in handcuffs and on his way back to the SUV. No injuries or additional casualties. It’s just about the best ending to a case that you can ask for.

You’re practically vibrating with excitement and leftover adrenaline when you turn to face her in the hotel room. And that smile on your face—god, it’s one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen.

To hell with it, she thinks, and in the boldest romantic move she’s ever made, says, “I want to kiss you.”

She doesn’t even have time to feel nervous, because you answer immediately by taking her face in your hands and pressing your lips to hers.

Emily’s kissed women before, plenty of them. But none of those kisses had ever felt like this. No other kiss has felt so... right.

She can’t keep her hands in one place as she kisses you back; they roam everywhere, from the back of your neck, to your shoulders, your waist, your hips. You seem to be having a similar dilemma; she can feel you touching her everywhere, as if you can’t get enough of her. It becomes clear where you’re hoping this will go when you push her blazer off her shoulders. She has absolutely no complaints about that, and guides you to the bed that’s closest.  

After, curled up in her arms, legs entwined with hers, you say, “I want more than just this. Not that it wasn’t fantastic,” you add. “It absolutely was. But I want this to be more than just sex, you know?”

“You want a relationship,” Emily infers.

“Yeah.”

She puts a finger on your chin and nudges it up so she can look you in the eye. “That’s what I want, too.”

You smile at her and kiss her again, gently this time. You sigh in content as you settle your head back on her chest.

Emily doesn’t think she’s ever felt happier.

---

A case the BAU gets in a gated community turns out to be a unique challenge.

“And that is the whole kit and kaboodle on each of your sixty-four suspects,” Garcia says. “Nothing really stands out.”

“That’s pretty much the main problem we’re going to have here,” Spencer says. You’ve got your back to him right now, so he’s taking the opportunity to watch you.

“Yeah. Vanilla doesn’t make your job any easier.”

“No, it does not.”  

“So, um,” Garcia starts. “How’s it going with the agent whose father was a... you know?”

He frowns. “How’d you know that?”

“I might have looked into someone’s hidden background,” she admits. When he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “What? I am not gonna let some strange new person travel with my family and not find out who they are.”

Spencer glances at Seaver before returning his gaze to you. You’re wearing a sweater he’s never seen before today, and it’s really working for you. “I don’t know, she seems fine.”

“What is that in your voice?”

He scrunches his eyebrows. “What’s what in my voice?”

“Oh my god, you think she’s pretty!” she exclaims.

“What? I never said that!” he protests. He starts to panic—Garcia is notoriously bad at keeping secrets; she absolutely cannot know how he feels about you—before realizing that she’s still talking about Seaver.

“Ho, ho, you totally do,” she practically cackles. “Ha ha! PG out, lover boy.”

He frowns down at his phone before putting it back in his pocket. Whatever his tell was, he’s going to have to figure out what it is and stop doing it. He’s lucky Garcia wasn’t there to see who he was actually looking at.

“What was that about?”

Spencer jumps a little. You’ve snuck up on him, coming over when he wasn’t looking at you. “Oh, uh, n—nothing. It was nothing.”

You raise your eyebrows. “I don’t believe you. Your voice did that thing.”

“What thing?”

“You know, the thing where it jumps an octave when you’re surprised,” you say, pointing up.

“Oh. Right.” He clears his throat. “It was just Garcia being... you know, Garcia.”

“Uh-huh.” The expression on your face says you still don’t quite believe him, but to his relief, you move on. “Did she find anything in our suspect pool?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah. I like your sweater, by the way,” he blurts out, the words completely bypassing his brain-to-mouth filter.

You give him that smile, the bright, genuine smile that he absolutely adores. “Thanks!” you say. “Emily got it for me.”

Spencer’s never been able to look away from that smile before.

There’s a first time for everything.

---

When Reid stumbles upon the two of you kissing outside of the hotel room, Emily’s actually relieved. You’d both been talking about taking your relationship public for a while, and now she doesn’t have to come up with a way to actually do it. (You’d vetoed her “just stop keeping yourself quiet when I go down on you in hotel rooms” suggestion.)

But you don’t share that relief. Instead, your mood has changed from playful to anxious—she notices your nervous tic as you both enter the room.

She guides you to sit with her on one of the beds. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

“I...” You chew on your bottom lip. She waits patiently for you to gather your thoughts. “That’s not how I wanted it to go,” you say eventually.

“It’s not how I pictured it, either.” She tilts her head, unsure what to say to make you feel better. “It could’ve been worse, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“It could’ve been Rossi.”

That gets a small laugh from you, but the smile doesn’t last. It drops mere moments later as you look at the wall your room shares with Reid and Morgan’s. “Do you think he’s mad at me?” you ask.

Emily blinks. “Why on earth would he be mad at you?”

“Well, it’s Spencer,” you say. “’Trust issues’ is practically his middle name, and I’ve been keeping this—us—from him for months.”

She takes a moment to consider this. You’re right, of course—no one knows Reid better than you. He does have trust issues; abandonment ones, too. But she still can’t imagine him ever being mad at you.

“I’m not sure it’s even possible for him to be mad at you.” She takes one of your hands in both of hers. “But I’ll talk to him, let him know this is on me.”

You relax a little, but still say, “You don’t have to.”

Emily shakes her head. “I want to,” she assures. “Besides, it’s the least I can do, since you’ve gone along with my boundaries for so long.”

“Of course,” you say quietly, and tip your head to rest on her shoulder. “Thanks.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” She squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

---

There’s something going on with you and Emily.

He sees it in Emily first, noticing that she’s biting her nails and acting hypervigilant, constantly scanning her surroundings as if she’s looking out for something.

He can tell you’re worried, too. You’re watching her more than normal, but with a frown instead of a smile, and you’re quick to look away if she glances at you. Your bottom lip is getting chapped and irritated from how often you’re worrying it between your teeth.  

Spencer isn’t sure what to make of it. It doesn’t help that he’s having headaches more and more often, and getting through them is taking up most of his energy. Even worse, you’re so focused on Emily that you don’t seem to notice that something’s wrong with him, too.

He desperately wants you to, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. He just wants to talk to someone, needs to talk to someone about these headaches, about how much they’re scaring him and how all the doctors say he’s fine but he doesn’t believe them. He knows you would listen, but he just can’t seem to bring it up, can’t overcome his fear of being a burden.

He needs his best friend, but she just doesn't seem to be around right now.

---

“I swear to god, Ian, you come anywhere near her, and I will end you.”

The words she’d spoken just two weeks ago when Doyle brought up your name echo in Emily’s head as she looks down at Tsia’s body. She knew he was hunting all of them, but she didn’t expect this. She’d thought she had gotten Tsia out of harm’s way. Instead, she’d sent her right into it.

She’s usually fine with corpses and blood. After all, she’s seen far worse than a gunshot because of this job. But this is her friend, she was talking to her just yesterday—

Morgan finds her out by the fence lining the building with vomit on her boots. He asks what he can do, and she convinces him to swing by her apartment on the way back to the BAU, not only so she can change, but so she can get rid of the necklace.  

Hotch has just barely started the briefing when they return. His words fade to white noise as she looks over her team, her family. Doyle’s killing families, and now that they’re on the case, hers is next. They just don’t know it.

Her eyes come to a stop on you. The entire team was awake most of the night and everyone’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, but you look as beautiful as ever.

Emily knows you’ve been worried about her this past month, but you’ve also been so patient. You’ve never asked her outright what’s going on, instead dropping hints like you can talk to me about anything and have I ever told you that my college psychology professor said I’m a great listener? When you notice her keeping an odd schedule, leaving for hours at a time, you only ask that she text you when she gets home for the night so you’ll know she’s safe.

When Doyle had revealed that he knew what you were to her, Emily’s first thought had been that she should break up with you, for your own safety. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. You were her safe place, her calm in the center of the storm, her sanctuary.

Her profiler brain had backed her up: Ian wasn’t going to care about the official status of your relationship. He already knew she loved you, and he’d recognize that calling it off right after their meeting would be about protection rather than a change in her feelings.

So she had stayed with you, retreated to her safe place when it all became too much. This past month had been hell, but it would have been even worse without you there to keep her head above water.

You are, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to her. And she’ll be damned if Ian Doyle was going to take that away from her.

Enough.

It was time to end this.

---

The only word Spencer can use to describe the hospital waiting room is surreal. It’s eerily quiet. No one is talking, not even Garcia; she’s scribbling in a notebook instead. People switch between sitting and standing. He paces for a while before sitting next to Penelope, hunching forward in a way he knows is going to make his back hurt in a few hours. Everyone’s restless, even if they try to hide it.

Everyone, that is, except you. You’ve barely moved at all.

It had all happened so quickly. Not long after the briefing, they realized Emily was gone. From the document she had gotten from her informants, the team had quickly been able to deduce that four of the names were spies—and through that, that Emily was one, and she was on Doyle’s list.

Hotch found her gun and badge in her desk.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Spencer had said. “Why run? We’re her family. We can help.”

“That’s why,” you’d responded hollowly. “He’s killing families. She ran to protect us.”

It had been a comfort to see JJ walk back into the bullpen, and she was able to get ahold of crucial information: Emily had gone undercover as Lauren Reynolds and began a romantic relationship with Doyle in order to profile him.

It was information that didn’t sit well with most of them, Morgan especially. But you hadn’t seemed too bothered, almost as if it wasn’t news to you. Spencer had brought it up as you were both collecting your go bags for the flight to Boston.

“That didn’t seem to surprise you. Emily sleeping with him,” he clarified when you just raised an eyebrow at him.

“I knew there was a guy she was with for a while,” you’d said. “She told me a bit about what their relationship was like. Said it wasn’t real to her. I didn’t know he was a terrorist.”

Overall, you had handled this as well as could be expected. If it were you instead of Emily, Spencer thinks he would have been an absolute wreck. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to work the case as well as you had. There were some points where the stress had gotten the better of you, though, like when they were watching the video of Emily’s failed ambush and Morgan voiced his discomfort with it.

“She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car. She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

“No,” you had said bluntly.

Rossi had immediately tried to smooth it over by saying, “Well, three bad guys.”

Seaver is the one who makes the breakthrough on the case, posing the question of, why families? Hotch is able to convince Clyde to help, and Garcia tracked down Doyle’s son. You had recognized Emily’s hands in the photos of Declan’s faked death, and everything had clicked into place, the final piece of the puzzle of her past.

Morgan was the only one on the team to go into the building. “We’re already bending the rules by doing this ourselves,” Hotch had explained. “Our connection to Prentiss compromises the case. We can only afford to send one of us in there. The rest of us will wait outside in the case that he calls for backup.”

Morgan’s call over the comms had given Spencer emotional whiplash. “I’ve got her!” sparking intense relief, but quickly followed by, “I need a medic!”

Hotch had kept everyone from crowding the ambulance. They’d only gotten a brief glimpse of Emily being loaded into the back of it. Morgan had come over to the group once the doors shut and updated everyone on her condition.

“She, um...” He cleared his throat, clearly trying to reign in his emotions. “She was stabbed. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Okay,” you’d said faintly. Then you’d walked a few feet away and thrown up on the pavement.

You haven’t said anything since.

When the team had first arrived at the hospital, you had just stood in the middle of the waiting room, barely moving, until Garcia guided you to sit in a chair. Spencer had tried to talk to you a few times, just to check in, see if you needed anything, but you hadn’t responded at all. Your eyes were unfocused, and he could tell you were lost in whatever was happening in your head.

They wait for a long time. Spencer knows the exact number is floating around in his head somewhere, but he doesn’t care to track it down.

JJ walks in. Everyone looks up. The look on her face says everything he needs to know.

“No,” Garcia whispers at his side.

JJ draws in a breath. “She never made it off the table.”

His body moves on its own; he stands from his chair and tries to leave the room, but JJ stops him with a hand on his chest. “Spence.”

“I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye,” he says, only able to glance at her face once.

“Come here,” JJ says, her voice just barley audible, and pulls him into a hug.

His face crumples, and he starts to cry. His feelings about Emily may have been... complex the last few months, but regardless of any jealousy or anger, she was still one of his closest friends, and he loved her. She was like the big sister he never had, always looking out for him. Being told she’s gone—it doesn’t feel real.

JJ is the one to break the hug, pulling back from him as gently as she can. When he turns back to face the team, his eyes land on you.

You’re sitting next to Rossi and you’ve practically collapsed into him now, your body shaking with silent sobs. Rossi has a few tears of his own falling down his face as he runs his hand up and down your back.

Spencer doesn’t bother to wipe away his own tears as he makes his way to the vacant seat on your other side. He gently places his hand on top of one of yours and says your name quietly. You don’t move except to turn your hand palm up, put your fingers through his, and grip it so tightly, it’s as if you’re hanging on for dear life. He supposes you are.

You’re going to need your best friend to get through this. He knows that because he’s going to need you as well. He may be hopelessly in love with you and long for you to feel the same way, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

It doesn’t matter, because Emily is gone. She’s gone; she isn’t coming back.

And the world feels colder without her.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

#spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss x reader #spencer reid fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #angst #spencer reid #emily prentiss #my fic

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (3/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Not gonna lie, I forget I'm writing this story, remember, and then the moment I sit down to write, I get called away. But here's part three!

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: One | Two | Three

-/-

His head is pounding. It’s been awhile since it has pounded like this. Usually, it’s from a lack of sleep from the nightmares or the stress. This morning, he knows it’s from the rum. He did everything he could to cancel it out – coffee, water, food, medicine – but his head is still pounding. He is a bloody lightweight now.

Huh.

Killian is making it sound like that’s a bad thing, when really, it’s good. A week ago he was standing with a beer bottle in his hand early in the morning tempted to drown his entire day away. Last night, he made it the entire day without wanting to get pissed and only had two small drinks to toast his friends goodbye.

That’s progress.

This hangover, though, damn. It’s a sign he’s making progress, but damn.

Or he’s simply getting old, which is something else he doesn’t want to think about.

“Fuck,�� Killian moans, pressing his fingers against his temples as he opens his eyes. His neck is also killing him, probably from how he slept on this damn couch all night. He should have driven home, but he didn’t trust himself to. Besides, Ariel had offered the couch before she went to bed.

Emma had too.

He’d nearly left after she offered. She was likely only doing it because she assumed Ariel or Eric already offered. He gets the feeling the woman doesn’t like him, which usually isn’t something that happens with him, and that intrigues him. It also makes him realize how much of an asshole he is.

How has he gotten to a point in his life where he expects women to always fancy his company?

Killian sits up, his muscles aching, and slowly, he rises from the couch. The lights in the house are all off, and he knows he can leave now with no one knowing the wiser that he slept over, that he felt bad enough to not be able to drive home. Or maybe that he didn’t want to spend another night in that giant house by himself.

The floor creaks beneath him with each step he takes, but no one seems to stir. Killian finds a notepad and pen in the kitchen and quickly scribbles a note to Ariel and Eric. He said his goodbyes to them last night, and he’ll talk to them on the phone at some point today. He doesn’t need to stick around to say another goodbye this morning. It’s still early enough that the sun hasn’t risen, and they won’t be up for hours. Killian finishes his note, grabs his wallet and keys from the counter, and heads out the front door to his car. It takes him a moment to find his car, to remember what said of the road they drive on over here, but he eventually spots it across the street under a large tree when a light from the house turns on.

Killian turns to see it’s coming from an upstairs window, and Emma Swan is standing between the curtains. He nods, and he swears he sees the slightest nod in return before the curtains rustle and she turns off the light.

She didn’t get in until two this morning, and she’s up at six. How the hell is she functioning?

Then again, how is he functioning?

Killian’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and after he gets in his Jeep, he checks the message.

Elsa Jones: The girls say thank you for their new Leggo set. My bare feet do not.

Killian laughs and puts his phone back in his pocket. That’s how he’s functioning. He may have flown across an ocean, but he’d never leave Ally and Sophia. They’ve already lost enough, and Liam will have his head, someway and somehow, if he doesn’t do everything he can to make sure all his girls are happy.

To make sure Killian is happy too.

“Bloody hell,” Killian whispers to himself as he cranks the engine, “it’s too early to be thinking like this.”

He should be able to have at least a little reprieve from the voices in his head.

-/-

Killian doesn’t leave the house much over the next few days. He doesn’t have reason to. He’s got everything he could possibly need in the house, including his own private stretch of beach that he walks along a few times a day, but the repetition of nothing begins to drive him mad. He trains in almost the same way as he did when he was playing, and while that takes up a good portion of his day, it’s not enough to keep him occupied. He reads the books that the owners of the house left behind but finds it’s mostly romance novels he can’t stomach. For a day or two, he binges Netflix, leaving a permanent imprint of his ass in the couch cushions, but there’s only so much time he can spend staring at screens.

Elsa and the girls call more than once a day with them being on summer holidays, and he gets a call or two from Scarlet, who finally had the bullocks to ask Belle out to dinner. That was good to hear since Killian has been giving Will shit about doing that for years now, and it’s good to see that people are moving on with their lives.

He’s not, not really, but he’s not trying to move on so much as he’s trying to not be a total disaster every day.

Sitting in this house alone all day every day isn’t helping. Why did anyone think sending him to be alone would be a good idea in the wake of his brother’s death? He knows it’s more so the scum English tabloids would leave him alone and he could fix his public image so he doesn’t go broke before he’s forty from loss of sponsorships and possible opportunities to get involved in the league, but damn, this was a bad idea.

At least he’s not drinking himself to sleep anymore.

Or drinking himself awake. He thinks that feat is slightly more impressive.

Killian puts his bottle of water down and opens the door that leads to the deck. It’s cool out today, the sun hidden behind the clouds, and since he cannot stay here anymore, he decides he’ll go for a run. It’s been years since he ran outside and not on a pitch or a treadmill, but maybe it’ll be a good distraction. He’s noticed more people filling into the houses around him, the summer tourists showing up in large droves now, so at the very least he can pass time watching people while hoping no one watches him.

It takes him little time to get dressed, lace up his trainers, and pop headphones in his ears before he’s out the door. The roads aren’t flat around his house, so he drives the Jeep a few miles until he finds smoother, less crowded ground. Maybe it’s a way to keep him from running that little bit longer, but mostly he knows his knees need the flat surfaces right now.

He really has gotten old, hasn’t he?

Eventually, he finds what looks like a good path behind a long stretch of beach, finds a place to park, and then he starts running.

It’s horrible, which was expected, but he does it anyway. There are families lining the beaches, music playing from speakers and phones, and he watches as boats skip out on the water. Maybe he should rent a boat for a weekend and take it out. It’d be nice to be out on the water again. He hasn’t been since Liam’s death, the fear of something similar happening to him despite the unlikeliness, but maybe one day while he’s here. It’s not as if he has anything better to do.

Killian runs until the endorphins kick in and then again until his legs get tired. He’s an idiot, however, because he doesn’t think to turn around to his Jeep.

Bloody hell.

He stops and reaches his hands over his head, stretching out his shoulders, and looks to see what’s around him. It’s mostly beach, but there are several restaurants and shops a few blocks down. He notices the familiar Blue Dog Tavern sign and the long deck filled with their outside seating. That means he’s minutes away from a populated area of shops and restaurants where he could cool down and catch his breath, but he still walks toward the Blue Dog. There’s another diner around here he went to that was horrible, and he doesn’t feel like taking the chance again. He’s still over his phase of twenty-four-hour diners. He doesn’t think he can handle more sticky tables.

Killian cools down on the walk to the restaurant, taking in the people walking along the sidewalk, and he dodges them until he’s inside and the cool air is hitting against his skin. It’s past the prime of the lunch rush, so the place is mostly empty. He thinks of going to the bar again, but as he wants to stay as out of the way as possible, he asks the hostess to seat him at a booth in the corner.

“Is someone coming to meet you?” she asks, smacking her gum as she hands him a menu.

“I’m afraid not. Just me today.”

She smiles, popping her gum again, and leans forward, casually popping a button on her shirt. Killian tries not to snicker at the obvious attempt, mostly because she is attractive, but the last thing he needs is to burn more bridges at one of the few places in towns he likes. “Well, if you want company, all you have to do is come find me. I’m Marina.”

He raises his brow. “Seems like you were born to work by the ocean then.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because your name is Marina.”

She cocks her head to the side and laughs. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, love.” Killian smiles and nods toward the front. “I believe you’re needed.”

She jumps and walks away, obviously putting a little sway in her hips when she moves, and in another life, he’d ask her to join him for lunch and meet her after her shift. He nearly does it now, but the man he’s been and the man he’s trying to be war with each other in his mind.

No burning bridges, he reminds himself. He’s done enough of that in his lifetime.

He orders water and coffee and avoids eye contact with Marina as much as possible, especially when she keeps finding ways to come by his table despite there being no other customers in his section. He texts Will and Rob, sends Elsa some pictures of the beach to show the girls, responds to Ariel about him doing another video conference with a hospital back home, and then he puts his phone away and tries to focus on his meal.

Unsurprisingly, it does not take a hell of a lot of focus to eat a sandwich and chips.

The music coming over the intercoms keeps him occupied for awhile, so does the television hanging over the bar until someone changes it to ESPN, and eventually Killian starts fidgeting for headphones and something to do while he waits for his meal to settle and drinks another cup of coffee. He needs to start the trek back to his Jeep, but that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Heather, I get that you don’t want to be here, but your uncle and your parents want you here. And you either need to take it up with them or start doing some actual work.”

Killian recognizes that voice, and he sinks in his booth. He was hoping to get away with not running into her here today, if only to save himself the headache. He doesn’t have any paper money on hand, so he can’t pay and leave, and he imagines there’s very little chance he’ll avoid her when she’s walking right toward him with Heather, his server from last week.

She’s in those bloody jean shorts again. They barely cover anything and hug her ass to show it off, and the blouse she’s wearing is fitted to her skin. Her hair is down, hitting past midway on her back, and she looks just as gorgeous as she has every other time he’s seen her…which is exactly why he needs her to not notice him.

So, of course, she does.

Right after she teaches Heather how to clean the tables, she looks up and over at Killian, raises both brows, and walks toward him with her arms crossed beneath her chest. “Anything I can help you with today?”

“The check may be nice, Swan. Lovely to see you again.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks over her shoulder, holds up a signal toward Killian’s server, and he hustles to the back, presumably to get the check. “I can recommend other restaurants in the area. This place is great, but I promise there are better ones.”

He shrugs. “I like the food and how calm it is during off hours. Are you enjoying your house with no Fishers in it?”

“I don’t mind when they come to stay.”

It’s a lie if he’s ever heard one. Killian points to his temple and taps. “I know this may surprise you, but I’m actually quite perceptive.”

Her smile is tight, and she tucks her hair behind her ears. “The Fishers are great landlords, and I can’t complain.”

“I’m not going to tell them what you’re saying, love.”

She smiles again, and he can tell she’s still faking it for him. “All I can say is I’m glad not to have strange men scaring me in my kitchen at two in the morning. Now they simply show up at my work.”

He lifts his glass. “It’s good food, and you’re right, I don’t know of many other reliable eateries around here. Some of them seem a little too…made for tourists.”

“And the Blue Dog Tavern doesn’t? I mean, come on. We have a giant blue animated dog cutout outside. We’re on all those lists of ‘Places in Martha’s Vineyard you have to visit.’ We’re made for tourists like you.”

“I am not a tourist.”

“Says the man who is renting one of the big houses out in Edgartown and staying here for the summer. I’m guessing you go to the beach and lounge around the pool and go through way too many of the bad books the owners of the house have on their shelves.”

Killian huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the booth. That was a little too spot on. “How do you know where I’m staying? Wait, no. Ariel, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma smiles, and God, it feels like a hell of an accomplishment to get her to smile. “She went on and on about the great Killian Jones.”

“Ah, so you know who I am then?” He leans forward and waggles his brows, flashing his brightest smile.

“Yeah, a rich British tourist who is friends with my landlords.” Someone calls her name from across the restaurant, and Emma holds one finger up. “Your check will be with you soon. I’ll ask Marina to give you some other restaurant recommendations on your way out. You’ll get sick of this place soon enough.”

“I’m perfectly happy with it, Swan.”

She shrugs and walks away, and Killian chuckles to himself. He doesn’t understand this woman at all, but she intrigues him.

He knows that’s a dangerous game to play.

Killian gets the check, pays it, and before he can escape, Marina corners him to give him more recommendations. She ends up veering into bars and clubs on the island and the surrounding towns, asking him if he wants her to show him around, but he declines and takes the list of places. Maybe he’ll check them out, but the last thing he needs is to go to a club. A bar, maybe, but not a club. He’s learned that there’s a hell of a difference.

He’s also learned that he’s bored to tears in this place, and no amount of calls to Ariel and Elsa can solve that boredom. He finds himself googling pre-season training information, checking up on mates and rivals, and while that’s a bit of a slip-up, he does manage to still stay away from looking himself up. He never used to have the urge to google himself or to read any of the tabloids, but ever since his retirement, he’s been curious. Were people sad? Happy? Did he leave any kind of lasting impact? Or did they all just see him as the drunk, washed up old man with a dirtied past?

That is a path he absolutely cannot go down, and since he’s already run a half marathon today, he decides to shower and get dressed to go to one of the places Marina recommended. If his time alone doesn’t start to get less depressing, he thinks he’s going to have to fly back to London and bother Elsa and the girls until they kick him out. He’ll pay for the remaining time on the house, but he won’t be staying there.

While the sun sets, Killian drives down new roads on the island, going to different towns and neighborhoods to see what others are doing, before ending up at a bar near his house. Marina said it was a spot for locals with good food and a quiet energy, so he doubts Marina has ever stepped foot into it. Killian pushes open the old oak door, and the lights inside are dimmed, the music quiet. There’s a guy playing guitar in the corner hidden between two pillars, and Killian finds himself sitting at the opposite end of the bar on a stool that’s cushion squeaks when he sits down.

Charming.

“You eating, drinking, or both?” The bartender asks, wiping his hands off with a cloth.

“Eating. Have any recommendations?”

“You have an objection to seafood?” the old man asks.

“Not a one.”

“Good. I’ll fix you up with the daily catch.”

Killian nods as the man makes his way through a door behind the bar, and then Killian swivels on his stool, looking around the place. He doesn’t know about the food yet, but Marina was right. It definitely has a quiet energy to it. There are people in nearly every booth and at every table, but there’s a hushed tone except for a laugh in the booth nearest him. His eyes are drawn there, and to both his surprise and horror, he finds Emma Swan with her head tilted back with laughter.

Fuck.

She’s definitely going to think he’s stalking her, and as hungry and bored as he is, he’s still tempted to leave. So of course, that’s when Emma stops laughing and looks directly at him.

Bollocks. Utter bollocks.

She blinks and stares at him a little longer, her brows raising before falling, and then she turns back to whoever is sitting in the booth with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her arms moving, but he turns on the stool until he can see her no longer, wishing at the very least he had a water to nurse.

“Hiya. Come sit in our booth with us.”

Killian twists and looks at the brunette who’s now sitting next to him. “Pardon?”

She sticks out her hand, and he takes it, shaking it. “Ruby Lucas. You’re Killian Jones, the – ”

“There’s no need to – ”

“ – the guy who scared Emma half to death at her house in the middle of the night,” Ruby completes, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “And I must say, you are much more attractive than she described.”

“So she talked about me then?”

“In her own special Emma way.” Ruby tilts her head back toward their booth. “And in my own special Ruby way, I’m inviting you to eat dinner with us. It’s me, Emma, and this super wholesome woman named Mary Margaret who will take you home and bake you cookies while asking you about your childhood because she had a good one of those.”

Killian chuckles, cheeks still flushed from him thinking Ruby knew who he was earlier – he is a pompous, entitled ass obviously – and from being invited to their table. “I couldn’t intrude.”

“I insist that you do.”

He likes her, he decides. She’s stunning and funny with no filter, but she reminds him too much of a dirtier version of Anna. It’s a rather peculiar comparison, but it’s true. It’s also half the reason he agrees to switch tables, rising from his stool and walking toward the booth. The other half a reason is the blonde woman with her face pressed into her forearms against the table top.

She looks beyond thrilled for him to be joining them.

“Oh, Emma, you were right, he is handsome!”

Emma bangs her head into the table as who he presumes is Mary Margaret smiles at him from across the booth. Killian slides onto the seat and elbows Emma’s side before patting her shoulder. “It’s alright, darling. I told all my mates you were beautiful, so we’re even.”

“Go to hell.”

He laughs, grinning at her, and slowly, she peels herself off the table. “Just so you know, I’m only here because Marina recommended it.”

“Remind me to fire her in the morning.”

“So,” Mary Margaret interrupts, tucking her short hair behind her ear, “tell us about yourself, Killian. Where are you from? What do you do for work? How long are you planning on being here?”

“Good God, Marg,” Emma sighs, slumping down, “give the man some room to breathe.”

“What? I’m curious.”

“You’re nosy is what you are,” Emma corrects.

“Aren’t we all?” Killian shuffles in his seat, hoping they move on to another subject, but when Mary Margaret turns to him, he knows she isn’t one to forget. “So, how long are you staying?”

“I have the keys to the house I’m renting until the first of October, but I imagine I’ll leave sooner.”

“And why’s that?” she asks.

Killian shrugs as the man behind the bar drops off a glass of water at the table and tells Killian his food will be ready in ten minutes. “I’m afraid no matter how nice it is here, I don’t know many people. I miss the people I’m closest to. A man can only spend so much time alone.”

“Then why’d you book a house for so long?”

“I needed to get away.”

“Yeah, but – ”

“Marg,” Emma interrupts, placing her hand over her friend’s, “please. You don’t have to know everything about him. Not everyone wants to reveal their entire life to complete strangers.”

She’s right. He doesn’t. But for some inane reason, he doesn’t think he’d mind revealing most of his life to her.

He has obviously lost his damn mind.

But it’s nice to spend a night with other people, to be included in the conversation, and while Mary Margaret and Ruby are delightful, he finds Emma captures his attention, not that this surprises him.

What does surprise him, however, is how much friendlier she is in this environment. He knows it’s her friends and not him, and maybe the glass of wine she had with dinner, but it’s nice to see her laugh freely and blush when Ruby tells stories of Emma he cannot imagine knowing otherwise. He can’t imagine Emma ever scaling a building to break into an ex’s apartment to get her favorite sweater back, but then again, that seems exactly like something she would do if she wanted it badly enough.

He fancies her.

He has no business fancying her, none at all, but when he ends up driving all three women to their homes because Ruby and Mary Margaret had too much to drink and Emma can’t drive the stick shift in Ruby’s car, he accepts Emma’s invitation inside for a cup of coffee.

He also accepts her invitation upstairs into her bed.

To hell with the consequences and burning bridges. He’ll deal with those in the morning when he isn’t so enticed by the trail of freckles running down Emma’s bare stomach.

-/-

-/-

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#I hope we never see october #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan

[moonlit-han]

love letters ↠ han jisung

genre: high school au, coffeeshop au, fluff, romance, humor pairing: han jisung x femme reader word count: 2.6k warnings: mild swearing request: yes a/n: hi anon who requested this! i couldn’t resist making this a coffeeshop au, too, heheheh~ enjoy!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

Oh….

Your locker looked slightly different today.

It was festooned with ribbons, little pictures of cats and, inexplicably, squirrels, star and heart stickers, and glitter. There was even a card dangling from the knob. You stood stock still in front of it, trying to process the tableau? creation? mess in front of you. There was only one person in the entire school you knew would try something like this. And, here he came down the hall, a wide grin on his face.

“Han Jisung, did you do this?” you demanded as he approached. Shouldn’t a senior have more dignity than this?

“Do you like it?” Jisung replied, leaning against the lockers beside yours.

“I’m not sure what I think, but I know that it’s now practically impossible for me to get to my locker.” You tried to push some of the decorations out of the way. “Why did you have to do this?”

“Did you at least read the card?” Jisung asked hopefully, pouting a little.

You cursed him for looking so cute when he pouted, then mentally shook yourself. “No, I didn’t. And it’s almost first bell, so if you could move? Please?”

Jisung’s face fell, but he moved away slightly. “Aw, come on, princess! Can’t you read the card while I’m still here?”

“Jisung, please leave me alone, will you? It’ll be hard enough getting through all this stuff as it is.”

Jisung laughed lightly, giving you a fond smile that was completely lost on you as you struggled with his decorations, then strolled away into the crowd of onlookers who, by now, were used to his outrageous displays of affection for you. “Remember to read the card, Y/N!” he called over his shoulder.

You let your head fall against your locker and got a face full of glitter for your trouble. Damn it, Jisung, you thought as you hurriedly tried to wipe the glitter from your forehead. Then, after a two minutes of wrestling with the Jisung’s additions to your locker door, you managed to retrieve the books you’d need for the day.

In your first class, a couple people gave you strange looks because of the remnants of glitter on you, but no one said anything about the locker decorations. It would only be a matter of time, though, you knew. At lunch when your best friends found you, they gently teased you about “lover boy.”

“How many times has he done something like that this year, Y/N?” Irene asked, smirking at you.

“This is the fourth,” you muttered, looking down at your food. “Two other letters, too.” You could feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“He really is insistent, isn’t he,” Mei commented, shaking her head. “Aren’t you at least annoyed?”

You were silent for a moment as you chewed. “No, amazingly not annoyed. I guess I’m just indifferent?” you lied. In reality, you kind of liked how much Jisung tried to get your attention, but you were going to make him work for your affection. But not too much because that would be mean.

“Like hell you are,” Irene laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “You’re into him, aren’t you.”

“I’m not!” you insisted. “Really!”

Irene and Mei just gave you disbelieving looks, but continued eating their lunch all the same.

When you went back to your locker that afternoon, Irene and Mei in tow, the ribbons and such were gone, but the card… The card was slipped through the crack between the frame and door of the locker, and fell to the floor when you opened it. Receiving cards from Jisung was nothing new, and you didn’t mind much because he was never creepy about it. Sighing, you retrieved the card and opened it.

“What the hell?” Mei coughed, the scent you knew Jisung wore wafting up from the card-stock on which he’d penned his letter. “Did he really have to do that?”

You just shrugged and leaned against your open locker to read.

Y/N, oh beautiful Y/N!

How could I ever write anything as beautiful as you are?

Your eyes sparkle like the glint of sunlight off a puddle that has just a bit of oil in it—you know, so it’s like a rainbow? Your voice is as melodious as the song birds that wake me up in the morning. And your words… They’re like acupuncture needles: relieving of stress and pain but capable of just the same.

I wish to present my heart to you, to simply give it to you like a flower.  But alas, I cannot as that would be messy. I would give you my service were I a knight and you a lady, or put myself in your power like a human subjugate to a vampire. Because, all that I do is to win your heart, your wondrous, wondrous heart!

Dearest Y/N, I’m like a volcano of love for you—erupting with love and affection all over the place. I hope my words don’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, since I wouldn’t want your words to become anything short of honey.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

You stood there for a moment, trying to keep a straight face as your friends burst out laughing and exclaimed at how cheesy Jisung was. They weren’t wrong. But— Jisung had really written all that to you, and beneath the slightly strained metaphors and verbosity, you could tell that his feelings were true. You playfully shoved Irene, who was now trying to wrest the card from your hands.

However overblown Jisung sounded or dramatic his displays were, you knew he was a good person. You couldn’t be mad at him, especially when he was just so damn cute. Quickly stuffing the letter into your backpack, you slung it over your shoulder and said goodbye to your friends. They called after you that they’d also erupt all over the place with love for you. You just rolled your eyes.

As you scuffed your boots through the small piles of snow that had drifted into the walkway and buried your face in your scarf, you could still faintly smell the perfume Jisung had added to the letter. It wasn’t that bad, after all, and the spiciness of it reminded you of the feeling when you’ve settled down with a good book under a thick blanket. You could definitely get used to it.

↠↞

Ah, February. As soon as the first day of the month arrived, you were wary of what Jisung might decide to do on any of the days surrounding Valentine’s Day. But, you barely saw Jisung. That in and of itself was odd, since you had two classes with him that semester, including Western Literature from 1750 to 1920; but it was odder still because he usually made a point of talking to you once every day, if not more. You’d never admit it to anyone besides your raccoon plushie, but you found yourself disappointed every time he didn’t talk to you or wave or flash one of his ridiculous smiles your way in the halls.

At the end of the first week, you received another letter, also slipped into your locker. This time, you waited until you got home to read it. The letter was far more staid, with none of the extravagance or hyperbole of the other one; no whiff of perfume graced the card-stock, either. Jisung was straightforward, expressing that he found you attractive and even apologizing for being so outrageous in his attempts to woo you. You read the last lines as you curled up in bed.

I hope the depth and sincerity of my feelings are plain to you and that you can at least accept them, if not return them. I would be blissfully happy if you did return my feelings, but I hold no expectations for you. Please know that I admire and adore you, Y/N, light of my heart.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

As you read his words over and over and over again, unable to tear your eyes nor thoughts away, you realized that, yes, you did return his feelings. You hadn’t quite internalized that, but reading his sentiments had certainly put things in perspective for you. If you didn’t give him some indications of your mutual feelings soon, you could quite possibly lose Jisung altogether.

I admire and adore you…..

On February 13th, you decided to treat yourself to a nice tea and a snack at a local coffeeshop. You knew it would be fairly busy, but didn’t mind; sometimes, the bustle of people was a welcome change from your usual, studious existence.

The smell of baked goods, coffee, and cardboard met your nose as you opened the door, letting a blast of warm air out onto the street. Carefully, you made your way into the line that snaked through the small shop, and tried not to eavesdrop on the conversations around you. That plan, however, did not work well. You enjoyed taking in all the sounds around you far too much to ignore something as integral as conversations. Person by person, the line moved forward until you were one away from the counter.

And, of course, your phone buzzed just at that moment with a text from Mei. You quickly responded, but didn’t notice that the person ahead of you had been helped.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up to see none other than Han Jisung standing behind the counter, looking just as shocked as you felt.

“Oh! H-hi, Jisung,” you stammered and shoved your phone back into your pocket, embarrassed.

“What would you like today?” Jisung asked politely. You could tell he was trying to remain on his best behavior, as he was at work.

“Could I have a scone and an Earl Grey tea, please? With just a little cream. Thank you!” you chirped, glad that your nervousness over ordering food hadn’t taken hold of you today.

“Sure, thing,” Jisung smiled. “Just pay and one of us will come find you with your order.” Then, because he clearly couldn’t help himself, he winked at you.

You shook your head, your mouth quirking up at the corner a little, and moved over to pay for your food. Since the cafe was more than a little crowded, you chose one of the few seats open by the window. There, at least, you could look out onto the snow-dusted shops and people watch if, and when, you became bored with your homework.

Shortly thereafter, you felt a presence next to you and found Jisung poised to place a steaming mug of tea and your scone on the high table in front of you.

“Here you are,” Jisung said, voice warm and kind as he set the food in front of you. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. Enjoy!”

Before you could say anything else, Jisung had turned and slipped away through the maze of occupied tables and chairs. Thoughtfully, you took a minute sip of your tea and sighed. It was delicious as always, and the scone was just as good, too.

An hour later, the cafe had nearly emptied but you were still there, nursing your tea. Perched at the table in the window, you could simply soak up the last of the afternoon sun as you worked on drafting an essay for your Literature class. It was the perfect arrangement—the cafe owner didn’t mind if you stayed there for a long time, and you had a place in which you could peacefully work while remaining energized.

Beside you sat the plate with your half-eaten scone on it, and the mug of tea. Absentmindedly, you reached for the mug and brought it to your lips to take a sip. You frowned when no tea met your lips. Before you could so much as move, Jisung was beside you.

“Hey, I noticed you were close to finishing your tea, so I made you another,” he said as he exchanged one mug for another. “It’s on me.” You stared at him, and he shifted self-consciously. “And, um, make sure to check under the mug, okay?”

“I— Thanks, Jisung,” you said, surprised at how gentle your own voice was. “I will.”

Jisung smiled at you before returning to the counter where a new customer had just arrived. You looked after him, amazed that he’d noticed you were coming down to the dregs of your tea. Lifting up the mug, you saw a small, folded piece of paper stuck to its bottom—it looked like receipt paper. Knowing what you’d find when you unfolded it, you carefully detached the paper—the letter—from the mug and read:

Dear Y/N,

I don’t want to keep acting like a gaudy peacock around you. I’m sorry. I know it must make me seem a bit…insensitive or outrageous or something like that. Someone I don’t want you to think I am, I guess.

You are incredible, intelligent, beautiful, kind, and caring. In short, the loveliest person I’ve ever had the honor to meet or know.

I hope… Well, you know. You must know.

All that is to say: I love you.

- Jisung

You reread the letter once more, feeling tears prick the back of your eyes as what felt like all the tenderness in the world welled inside you. Turning round in your chair, you looked to the counter where you saw Jisung nervously looking at you. The vulnerability in his eyes, the hope, the worry, the passion, everything made your breath catch. In something like a trance, you slid from your chair, still clutching the note, and made your way to the end of the counter where Jisung stood.

Taking a deep breath, you said to the shift manager—if their badge was anything to go by—“Could I speak with Jisung outside for a moment? It’s a matter of the heart. I hope you understand,” then grabbed Jisung’s hand as the shift manager nodded. Jisung did not protest as you pulled him outside with you, the cold air hitting you both like a hammer.

You didn’t let go of Jisung’s hand as you turned to face him, looking up into his deep brown eyes that were so dark that they seemed to lead to another world. You knew now that you’d gladly travel to that other world. Jisung’s lips parted slightly as he prepared to speak.

“Jisung,” you breathed before he could begin, “your letter… All of your letters, really… They’re everything to me. This one,” you held up the small piece of paper in your hand, “in particular, is perfect. And, I do know.”

Jisung didn’t wait for you to say anything else. He drew you toward him, one hand coming up to gently brush over your cheek as the other held your waist. Then slowly, so slowly, leaned down to brush his lips against yours. He was hesitant, as if he expected you to turn and run, but when you didn’t let him pull away as you locked your lips with his, Jisung knew that all his fears were unfounded. You wrapped your arms around his neck as Jisung cupped your face, kissing him back like you wanted to memorize the feel and taste of him. Again, you were overwhelmed by the feelings you felt and clutched Jisung tighter, making him smile against you lips.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as he hugged you to his chest. “You really are the light of my life.”

#inkidz #districtninewriters #stayhavennet #0325net #ultkpop #han jisung #han jisung fanfic #stray kids fanfic #han jisung imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids han jisung #han jisung scenarios #han jisung fluff #stray kids high school au #skz #skz fanfic #skz han jisung #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz scenarios #han jisung drabbles #han jisung reactions #stray kids reactions #moonlit-han #.moonlight

[searidings]

i have thoughts on the wonderful “i can’t hold enough of you in my hands” and have decided to make it ur problem :)! (it was truly lovely btw)

“Lena.” A third time. An invocation, maybe. A prayer.”

reminded me of that text post that said kara means beloved (or something along those lines) in Gaelic so every time lena said her name, her heart would say beloved 🥲

“That’s how she’d come to pull just the right combination of discreet strings at Catco that had allowed her to investigate Kara’s desk and work computer after hours, checking for the recordings.” imaging for my own benefit that theres a photo of supercorp in one of the drawers, if not, a group pictured displayed with lena in it

“Lena doesn’t even realise she’s crying until the worn grey Henley she’s clutching fiercely between her fingers is spotted dark with tears, stained more black than anything” theres been a flood in the uhaul unit lena stores her emotional shit in cause bOxeS are LEAkINg

“There are tapes upon tapes upon tapes. Lena watches the immortalised image of Kara reveal her identity over and over and over again. Watches the onscreen version of herself take it badly each and every time.” kara, i would do anything for you, danvers vs. lena, i want you to love me like i love you, kiernan luthor

“To say, here I am. Love me anyway. Because of, rather than despite.” thanks for this bestie! going to see my therapist early this week! (sn: definitely going into my quote book, this is achingly beautiful)

“She sees, quite simply, that they cannot live without one another. And such a realisation, the bare-faced reality that their symbiosis is now so complete that separation has become synonymous with destruction” saw this and thought of, ”We make each other alive, does it matter if it hurts?” (Ingmar Bergman) just gonna yearn in tears

“On the fourth watch-through, Lena sees the tapes for exactly what they are. A declaration of love.” this gave me so much hope faye, and then i saw how much left i had to read and like lena ive had “emotion wrung mercilessly from her (my) body”

“If she ever gets Kara back, Lena will show her how much she’s learned.” hc that after kara brings her back, and they process in healthy ways, they just start conversing in kryptonian when its just the two of them. lena fumbles some of the pronunciation and kara always gets a small smile on her face before wrapping lena in her arms from behind, and whispering the correct way to say it in her ear. lena fumbles on purpose sometimes

“They’re too good, she knows now. Too noble. Too prepared to put the collective good above the individual. Lena has no such qualms. Not when it comes to Kara.” What am I Catholic? text post vibes. also violence is the question and the answer is yeS

“Lena can only imagine that Alex and J’onn would be vehemently opposed to involving the imp at all and so, she tells no one of her plan.” lena saving the day for the 16478th time, also im just imaging the superfriends all dejected in the tower and then kara ApPeArs and theyre like ????? and she realizes lenas not there but mxy iS and by the confused looks on space dad and alexs faces, they have no iDea what’s happening and she holds mxy against the wall by the throat (please release the written footage of kara threatening mxy please 🙇, would love to see kara crossing some lines)

“The imp has appeared in Rio de Janeiro, of all places.” this just made me smile cause i thought of rio the movie :)

“pulling out her phone to call upon the seemingly boundless resources the Luthor name still affords her.” sugar mommy lena would never leave herself without assets to spoil her baby 💅

“The imp mutters something that sounds suspiciously like oh Christ, and Lena swallows hard” i just KNow if theres nothing on his inter dimensional imp television, he checks in on karas life to see if obliviouscorp has gotten together yet

“One lifetime banishment for another.” totally thought she was gonna trick mxy into taking lex but the angst of her going was delicious

“Kara’s voice is so sweet, Lena muses. The sweetest sound she’d ever had the privilege of hearing. She should have appreciated it more while she could. At least she can hear it again now, though it’s a barbed facsimile at best. At least she can take comfort in this one small remnant of home before she’s inevitably forced to watch Kara die all over again.” just imaging lena with the cloudy eyes and a blissed out smile at karas voice and kara just getting increasingly more worried trying to get her to focus and shes like 💡 “ABS”

“Her milky eyes widen. Beneath the press of her palms is material, sleek and smooth, and beneath that there is warmth and a firm softness and the pounding thud of a heartbeat.” THE ABS HAVE REJUVENATING LUTHOR POWERS

“Now that she can feel Kara again, she cannot feel enough. Cannot get close enough, cannot hold her near enough, no matter how hard she tries.” they are attached now, after medical checkups no one is going see or hear from them for aT leasT a week, theyre too busy snuggling and possibly the deed

“ He didn’t dare refuse me,” Kara mutters, suddenly harsh against Lena’s ear. Her voice is dark and low, full of the wrath of an avenging god.” FUCK HIM UP BABY

“You know what I did. You have to know that I’d choose you, Lena. Every time. Over anything.” its summer, my eyes are sweating

this was so beautiful faye i- u are a *kith* GOD TIER WRITER and i hope YOU are having a wonderful day

broski when i tell you on all levels including physical this is me rn

#i want to inject this comment directly into my veins #THANK U FOR THE SARAH TONIN #my god. my GOD #where do i even begin #my good dude #this is hysterical #'there's been a flood in the u-haul unit lena stores her emotional shit in cos boxes are LEAKING' #when i tell you i SCREAMED #that's a quote i'll remember forever #as im sure you're sick of hearing me say: quote-back commenters i would die for you #and this is GOD TIER quote-back commenting!!!!! my god #the commentary. the meta. the quotes #I AM GIRL ON FLOOR DOT JPEG #anon maybe i lov u not kidding #:) #tysm for this words cannot express my adoration adequately #this is one to add to the collection for when i feel like #going back to look at nice comments/asks/tag rants like a solider in the trenches stroking a well worn telegram from his lover #anon i hope you and you specifically are having the best day of your life today #asks #anonymous

[dannypuro]

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?” 

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters. 

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves. 

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance. 

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words. 

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa. 

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!” 

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders. 

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this. 

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin. 

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive. 

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course. 

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat. 

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-) 

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly- 

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly. 

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered. 

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

.

They watch a documentary. 

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he- 

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new  constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so. 

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not. 

Damn it.

.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching. 

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again. 

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return. 

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question. 

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.” 

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close. 

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

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