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hoshifighting · 4 days

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Stripper! Reader x Business Man! Lee Chan

Synopsis: Workaholic Lee Chan's Friday night takes an unexpected turn when he joins friends at a strip club, only to find himself captivated by you, a dancer he can't seem to stay away from. Despite his reservations, Chan finds himself drawn to your company, booking time with you night after night.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: Strangers to lovers, smut, mentions of alcohol, strip clubs, money throwing, booking, fluff, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), riding, g'spot stimulation, clit stimulation, male sensitivity.

Request: Yes

Lee Chan held the weight of being the CEO of the imperium that his dad left at a very young age. Frat parties, hanging out, late-night talks? Nah, not for him. He had to take care of the company and honor the inheritance that fell into his lap. His co-workers could remember very well the times that Chan walked around and around his office, shoulders tense as if he carried the world on them.

His days started early and ended late, filled with back-to-back meetings, strategy sessions, and endless paperwork. The once carefree and spirited young man had transformed into a focused and driven leader, his every move calculated to ensure the success and stability of the company.

Chan's office was a testament to his dedication—shelves lined with business books, awards, and framed photos of his father, a constant reminder of the legacy he was determined to uphold. The large windows offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, but Chan rarely had time to enjoy it. He was always too engrossed in his work, too preoccupied with the responsibilities that consumed his every waking moment.

Even though his life felt like being stuck in traffic on a rainy day, Chan couldn't deny that he loved the results of his hard work. He looked at the luxurious cars parked in his garage—sleek, powerful machines that represented the pinnacle of automotive engineering.

His closet was a veritable treasure trove of sartorial excellence. Different types of watches, ties, suits, and shoes from every high-end brand imaginable filled the space, each piece carefully chosen to reflect his impeccable taste and status. The feel of finely crafted leather shoes, the weight of a bespoke suit on his shoulders, the precision of an intricate timepiece on his wrist—all these were constant reminders of what he had achieved.

Chan's wealth allowed him to indulge in the kind of extravagances most people could only dream of. He could spend an exaggerated amount of money in a matter of seconds on something completely futile, like a super shaver with a gold coating—exotic and utterly unnecessary.

The week was ending, and Chan listened to the fuss inside his friend group about hanging out this Friday. Jeonghan, seeing his colleagues leaving their desks, noticed Chan still at his desk, tapping his fingers on the glass table. With his bag slung over his shoulder, Jeonghan approached him.

"I know it's a stupid question, but will you come with us?" he asked. Chan was usually seen only at corporate events. Jeonghan couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a beer with his friend.

Chan looked up, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. He opened his mouth to respond, the automatic refusal ready on his tongue, but something made him pause. He glanced around the office, now emptying out as people headed off to start their weekends. The thought of another solitary night of work made him feel a twinge of longing for something different.

"Come on, man," Jeonghan urged, sensing the hesitation. "Just one night. It’ll be fun. You need a break."

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew Jeonghan was right. The constant grind was wearing him down, and maybe, just maybe, a night out with friends was exactly what he needed.

"Alright," Chan finally said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'll come."

Jeonghan's eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously?"

Chan nodded, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "Yeah, let's do it."

Jeonghan grinned, clapping him on the back. "That's the spirit! You won't regret it."

Before they left the building, Chan paused and asked, "Jeonghan?"

"Yes?" Jeonghan answered, turning to face him.

"Where are we going?" Chan inquired, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Jeonghan just smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You'll see," he said, leaving Chan to wonder what the night had in store for him.

[...]

"A strip club? You must be kidding me!" Chan exclaimed as he took in the sight of the half-dark establishment. Neon lights flickered and danced around the room, casting colorful glows on the walls. Music blasted from speakers, filling the air with a pulsating beat.

He could see several women with different curves, colors, and hairstyles, dressed in scanty outfits—or sometimes nothing at all. The atmosphere was electric, a stark contrast to the corporate environment he was used to.

Jeonghan laughed, clapping Chan on the back. "Come on, man, loosen up! It's just for fun."

Chan hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. He felt a mix of discomfort and curiosity. "I don't know, Jeonghan..."

"Relax," Jeonghan said, guiding him further inside. "We all need a break sometimes. Just enjoy the night. You deserve it."

Chan took a deep breath, deciding to go along with it. Maybe Jeonghan was right—maybe he did need this. As they found a spot to sit, Chan tried to shake off his reservations.

His friends immediately ordered bottles and bottles of soju, beer, whiskey—whatever the bar had. Chan downed his whiskey in a single gulp, exclaiming, "If my dad knew I was here..."

Chan's eyes widened in surprise. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Jeonghan replied, pouring more whiskey into Chan's glass. "He said every hardworking man deserves a break. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh?"

Chan couldn't help but laugh at that. The thought of his father, the man he idolized for his strict work ethic, letting loose in a place like this was almost too surreal.

As some of his friends disappeared one by one, Chan found himself alone on the couch they had booked. "Great," he muttered under his breath, feeling a twinge of discomfort at being left alone in such a place.

Just as he was about to sink further into the cushions, the little stage that he hadn't even noticed until now suddenly lit up. A tall pole stood in the middle, and Chan tilted his head in curiosity.

Then, a pair of really, really high heels appeared, and Chan's throat went dry. You emerged onto the stage, your skin shining under the purple light. The outfit you wore was scandalous, barely covering anything, and Chan couldn't help but notice the little glitters spread on your skin, catching the light as you moved.

You took hold of the pole and began to dance around it, moving with a grace and confidence that left Chan mesmerized. Your movements were fluid and controlled, every sway of your hips and arch of your back drawing him in deeper. It was as if you were performing just for him, and Chan felt like he could get lost in the rhythm of your dance forever.

As you held yourself up on the pole like a pro, Chan couldn't tear his eyes away. He felt like he was being swallowed by the couch, completely captivated by the sight before him. In that moment, nothing else mattered but you and the hypnotic spell you cast over him with your dance.

As you made eye contact with Chan, a devilish smile played on your lips. He looked like a new piece of meat, a pretty young man who had never been seen before in the club. You got down from the stage, the sway of your hips drawing all eyes to you as you walked towards him.

"First time here, sweetie?" you asked, laying your hands on his shoulders. Chan felt like he couldn't breathe with the view of your tits practically in his face.

"My eyes are up here," you said, chuckling as you caught him ogling your chest.

Chan blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, tearing his gaze away from your cleavage. "First time."

You chuckled, running a hand through your hair as you leaned in closer. "Well, lucky for you, you've got me to show you the ropes," you said, your voice low and sultry.

"You're tense," you observe, noticing the stiffness in Chan's shoulders. Without waiting for a response, you step behind him and begin to massage his shoulders, your fingers working their magic as you knead the tension away.

Chan lets out a sigh of relief, his muscles melting under your skilled touch. "Yeah," he admits, his voice soft. "Work's been... stressful lately."

You nod in understanding, continuing to work out the knots in his shoulders. "I get it," you say, your voice soothing. "But you're here now, and tonight is all about letting go of that stress and just enjoying yourself."

Chan leans back into your touch, closing his eyes as he relaxes into the sensation. "I guess you're right," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smile too, glad to see him starting to unwind. "That's better," you say, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his skin. "Just focus on the here and now. Forget about everything else for a while."

Chan nods.

You walk around Chan again, swaying your hips seductively in front of him. His mind races, unsure of what to do next, but before he can even think, you're sitting on his lap, circling your hips against his.

Chan smiles shyly, feeling the heat from your body as you move against him. He can't help but notice the money tucked into the sides of your little shorts, a reminder of where he is and what's expected of him.

It's exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once, but there's something undeniably thrilling about having you so close, your body pressed against his.

As you continue to dance, Chan's hands hover uncertainly over your hips, unsure of where to touch or how to respond. He feels a flush of embarrassment at his own inexperience, but he's determined not to let it show. Instead, he focuses on the way your body moves against his.

And you smile knowingly, sensing his hesitation, and guide his hands to your waist, encouraging him.

Chan's hands move from your waist to your hips and then down to your thigh, his fingers grazing the soft skin as he explores the contours of your body. His pulse quickens as he feels the warmth of your thigh pressed against his pocket, and he can't resist the urge to reach into his wallet and retrieve a pouch of money.

With a mischievous grin, Chan brings his hand to the top of your head, letting the notes rain down on you like confetti. You laugh, delighted by the unexpected gesture, and give him a big smile.

"What's your name?" you ask, your voice playful.

"Chan," he replies, feeling a surge of confidence.

You lick your lips, your gaze lingering on his. "Nice to meet you, Channie," you purr, the nickname, and Chan blushes.

[...]

The next Monday, Chan sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. His mind raced with a million thoughts, his thoughts still consumed by the events of that night. He was lost in his own thoughts, replaying every moment, every touch, every glance.

A knock on his door startled him out of his trance, and he quickly tried to compose himself, pretending to be engrossed in some papers spread out on his desk.

"Come in," Chan called, his voice slightly shaky.

The door opened, and Jeonghan stepped inside, giving Chan a knowing smile. "Hey there, sleepyhead," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Chan felt a flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks. "Oh, hey Jeonghan," he replied, trying to sound casual.

Jeonghan chuckled, walking over to Chan's desk and leaning against it casually. "So, how was your night?" he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

Chan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a suitable response. "Um, it was... interesting," he finally managed, his voice trailing off uncertainly.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Interesting, huh?" he said, his tone teasing. "Well, if you ever need any pointers on how to navigate the world of strip clubs, you know who to ask."

Chan's cheeks burned even hotter, and he couldn't help but laugh at Jeonghan's playful teasing. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass," he said, relieved to have the topic of conversation shifted away from his night of unexpected adventure.

Chan spent the entire weekend consumed by thoughts of you, unable to shake the memories of your encounter at the club. As Monday rolled around, he found himself itching to see you again, the usual routine of work feeling dull and uninspired.

Deciding that today was not the day for extra hours at the office, Chan made his way to the club, a sense of anticipation building in his chest. He arrived at the club, his eyes scanning the room eagerly in search of you.

As he looked around, a receptionist approached him, sensing his lost expression. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice polite and friendly.

Chan nodded, grateful for the assistance. "Yes, I'm looking for a girl with hair like this," he said, mimicking the length and curl of your hair with his hands.

The receptionist's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, you must be looking for Y/N," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "Follow me, I'll take you to her."

There you were, dancing around the pole with a big smile on your face, as if you were truly enjoying every second of it. Chan watched from the corner of the room, his arms crossed and a big smile on his face as he observed you.

The club was crowded, with many people gathered around you, admiring your performance. Chan felt a pang of jealousy as he watched others vying for your attention, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

As the night wore on and people began to leave, Chan noticed you finally catching sight of him. Your eyes met his, and you gave him a playful wink, rolling your hips as you glanced at him over your shoulder.

Chan's heart skipped a beat at your playful gesture, and he couldn't help but grin back at you. Despite the crowd around you, it felt like you were dancing just for him, and in that moment, Chan felt a surge of warmth and connection unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

As you took a break from dancing, you bent down to pick up some notes from the stage floor. Before you could gather them all, Chan approached, leaning on the stage with a playful grin.

"Leave it on the ground," he said, extending a big wad of money towards you. "Take it."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I didn't even have time for you today," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I ask?" Chan replied, his smile widening. "Take it."

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful response, taking the money from his hand. "You liked me that much, huh?" you asked, knowing full well the answer. You were well aware of the power you held.

"Hmm, I think I need to see more," Chan teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You giggled, enjoying the banter between you. "Well, if you want me all to yourself, you'll have to book," you replied with a playful wink.

Chan's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Can I book all of your agenda?" he asked eagerly.

You stood up, giving him a coy smile. "Don't be greedy, Channie," you teased, enjoying the way he looked at you with eager anticipation.

You glanced down at the wad of money in your hand, barely able to fit into your shorts, and then looked back up at Chan with a playful smile.

"Well, I think I can spare some time for you," you said, glancing over at the clock on the wall. "But just a little while."

Chan's face lit up with excitement as he nodded eagerly. "That's all I need," he replied, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

[...]

As Chan began appearing almost every day, he became a familiar face at the club, a quiet yet eager client of yours. The receptionist would often give you a knowing look, silently conveying that Chan had arrived and had booked time with you once again.

Of course, there were other loyal clients who frequented the club, but none seemed to hold the same level of fascination for you as Chan did. There was a certain shine in his eyes whenever he entered the club, a distinct aura of anticipation and eagerness that set him apart from the other customers.

You couldn't help but wonder why you had let him know about the option to book time with you. Perhaps it was the way he looked at you with such genuine interest and excitement, or maybe it was the thrill of having someone so captivated by your presence. Whatever the reason, you found yourself looking forward to his visits, eager to see where each encounter would lead.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of surprise when Chan didn't show up for his usual visit. It was as if a small piece of the excitement and anticipation that had become a part of your routine was suddenly missing. Without even realizing it, you found yourself scanning the crowd, searching for his familiar face.

Then, just as you were starting to wonder where he was, you spotted him entering the club. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him make his way to his special seat, right in front of you. His genuine smile lit up his face, and you couldn't help but smile back, the warmth of his presence washing over you like a wave.

With renewed energy and enthusiasm, you danced with even more passion and heart than before. You knew that Chan was watching, appreciating every move, every moment.

Over the following weeks, Chan's visits became a cherished routine. Each time he arrived, you could sense the anticipation in his eyes, the unspoken hope that maybe tonight would be different.

One evening, as you were finishing your performance and making your way to his table, he finally mustered the courage to ask. "Hey, would you like to grab a drink with me sometime? Outside of here, I mean," he said, his voice full of genuine warmth and a hint of nervousness.

You smiled softly, appreciating his boldness but knowing you had to set boundaries. "I'm flattered, Chan, but I don't hang out with customers outside of work," you replied, your tone gentle yet firm.

A few nights later, he tried again, this time with a different approach. "There's this amazing new restaurant that just opened up downtown. I'd love to take you there," he offered, his eyes hopeful.

You shook your head slightly, maintaining your friendly demeanor. "I appreciate the invite, but I have a policy about not mixing my work life with my personal life," you explained, hoping he would understand.

Undeterred, Chan continued to ask, each time finding new ways to express his interest. "There's a gallery opening this weekend. I thought it might be fun to check it out together," he suggested one night, his enthusiasm palpable.

Once again, you gently declined. "That sounds lovely, but I really can't. I have to keep things professional with my clients," you said, feeling a pang of regret at having to turn him down yet again.

Each time he asked, you could see the slight disappointment in his eyes, but he always respected your boundaries. And despite your refusals, he never stopped coming back, never stopped watching you with that same genuine admiration and respect.

Tonight, you made sure every detail was perfect. Your hair cascaded in flawless waves, and you wore your best outfit, accentuating every curve just right. You were eager to dance for Chan, feeling a flutter of excitement as you anticipated his arrival. Sure enough, Chan appeared, booking the rest of the night with you as he had been doing lately.

When he approached, you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, a small gesture that had become part of your interactions. "Hey, Channie," you said with a playful smile. "So, what’s it gonna be tonight? Shorts or no shorts?"

Chan smiled warmly, a bit of that usual nervous energy in his eyes. "Actually," he began, his tone softer than usual, "I just want to talk tonight. I want to spend time with you."

You blinked, taken aback. No customer had ever asked for just your company before. "You... you just want to talk?" you repeated, making sure you heard him right.

He nodded, a sincere expression on his face. "Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love watching you dance. But tonight, I just want to get to know you better. You know, beyond all this," he gestured vaguely around the club.

Still processing his request, you motioned to the couch. "Alright, let's sit then." You both settled onto the plush seats, the atmosphere suddenly feeling more intimate and less transactional.

"So, what do you want to know?" you asked, trying to mask your nervousness with a casual tone.

Chan leaned forward slightly, his eyes earnest. "Everything. What's your favorite color? What's your dream vacation? What do you do when you're not here?" He paused, then added with a chuckle, "I know it sounds silly, but I really want to know the real you."

You smiled, touched by his genuine curiosity. "Well, my favorite color is …" you began, feeling a bit shy. "As for a dream vacation, I've always wanted to visit Santorini. The pictures look so beautiful, like a place out of a fairytale."

Chan listened intently, his focus unwavering. "Santorini sounds amazing. I can picture you there."

You chuckled, the image of you in Santorini bringing a warm feeling to your chest. "And when I'm not here, I love to paint. It's my way of unwinding, letting my creativity flow."

His eyes lit up. "Painting? That's incredible. What kind of things do you paint?"

You shrugged lightly, feeling more comfortable as the conversation flowed. "Mostly landscapes and abstract pieces. It's like putting a piece of my soul onto the canvas."

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, both of you absorbing the depth of the conversation. Chan finally broke it, his voice soft. "You know, I've always admired how dedicated you are to what you do, I know it's now easy at all. But hearing about your passions and dreams, it makes me admire you even more."

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you found yourself opening up more than you had with anyone in a long time. "Thank you, Chan. It means a lot to hear that."

He reached out, gently squeezing your hand. "Thank you for sharing with me. I know this isn’t what you usually do, but it means a lot to me."

Chan observed the small figurine on the table, curiosity lighting up his eyes. “Where do you get these?” he asked, leaning closer to get a better look.

You smiled, a bit shyly. “I make them myself,” you said, enjoying the surprise that flickered across his face.

“Really? That’s amazing,” he praised, his admiration evident. You shrugged modestly.

“It’s not that hard,” you replied, still smiling. “They’re always small.”

Chan chuckled, a warm sound that made you feel even more at ease. He started to remove his blazer, and before you knew it, he placed it gently around your shoulders, covering a good part of you. The gesture was so kind and considerate that it made you feel even more comfortable, despite usually feeling at ease in your usual skimpy outfits.

As you nestled into the blazer, you couldn’t help but notice how much more at ease you felt. Chan’s presence was different; it wasn’t just about the physical attraction or the lavish spending. There was a gentleness, a genuine care that made you feel safe and valued.

“I don’t usually do this,” you admitted, looking at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Chan smiled back, his eyes soft. “It’s my pleasure. You deserve to feel comfortable.”

The conversation flowed easily as Chan began to share bits and pieces of his life. He spoke about his responsibilities as CEO, the pressure of living up to his father’s legacy, and the sacrifices he had to make. His words were carefully chosen, mindful of not coming across as boastful despite his affluent lifestyle. You could tell he was trying to be as honest as possible while downplaying the extravagance.

“And that’s pretty much my life,” Chan concluded with a slight sigh. “It’s demanding, but it’s what I have to do.”

You admired his humility, realizing how grounded he remained despite his wealth. “It sounds like a lot to handle,” you said softly, your eyes reflecting your newfound respect for him. “But you do it so well. It’s impressive.”

Chan’s expression softened, a mixture of gratitude and weariness in his eyes. “Thank you. It’s not always easy, but I try.”

“You’re more than just a pretty boy,” you teased lightly, wanting to lift the mood. “You’re a hardworking, humble man.”

He laughed, the sound filling the space between you with warmth. “And you’re not just a beautiful dancer. You’re talented and creative.”

[...]

The next morning, you were chatting with the girls—your coworkers—as they finished their hair for the night.

“And he just wanted to talk,” you said, a bit incredulously. “He even asked about my favorite color.”

The girls collectively let out a heartfelt “Awww,” their eyes wide with interest and affection.

“Seriously?” one of them, Mina, asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “That’s so sweet.”

“He seems different,” another added, giggling.

“Yeah,” you nodded, still a bit surprised yourself. “We just talked. It was...nice.”

Before the conversation could continue, the receptionist entered the room, a knowing smile on her face. “Ya! Y/N-nie! Your Channie is here,” she announced, her tone teasing.

It was unusual for any customer to visit on a Saturday morning, a time usually reserved for the staff to unwind and prepare for the week ahead.

“It’s Saturday morning,” Mina whispered, nudging you playfully. “No customers come in unless they lost something.”

“Let him in,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual but feeling the flutter of anticipation.

As Chan walked in, he was met with a scene unlike the usual vibrant atmosphere of the club. The girls were dressed in comfortable clothes, some with bobs in their hair, others doing their nails or simply lounging around.

You were drying a glass behind the bar. He looked around, slightly surprised but smiling.

“Good morning, girls,” he greeted, his voice cheerful. "Good morning Y/N…" He says in a special and tender tone, just for you.

“Good morning,” the girls chimed back in unison, their eyes following his every move.

You put down the glass and walked over to him, a wide smile on your face. “Channie, what are you doing here?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I wanted to see you,” he replied, his gaze soft and sincere. He seemed a bit out of place in the relaxed environment, but his presence was a welcome one. You could feel the girls watching the exchange with rapt attention, like they were watching an opera unfold.

Chan noticed that you didn’t have bobs in your hair like some of the other girls. Gesturing toward your hair, he asked, “No bobs for you today?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s my day off. I’m not dancing today.”

The girls exchanged knowing looks, some stifling giggles. One of them, Lisa, leaned over and whispered loudly enough for you to hear, “Looks like someone’s here to see you even when you’re not performing.”

You blushed, glancing at Chan, who seemed equally flustered but amused by the comment. He recovered quickly, his smile returning.

Chan stood there, his eyes filled with hope and a hint of nervousness. "Would you like to spend the day with me?" he asked, his tone gentle and inviting.

You chuckled, a playful glint in your eye. "Hmm, I've already told you about hanging out with my customers," you teased, enjoying the banter.

Before Chan could respond, Mina chimed in from the background, her voice filled with encouragement. "Oh, come on! You should accept it!"

Chan seized the opportunity, smiling wider. "You’re not on your work schedule now, are you?"

That shut your mouth, leaving you momentarily speechless. The girls burst into giggles, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Well, when you put it that way…” you trailed off, pretending to think it over.

Chan’s smile grew, sensing victory. “So, is that a yes?”

You sighed theatrically, then grinned. “Fine, you win. I’ll spend the day with you.”

“Great!” Chan said, visibly relieved and excited. “I promise it’ll be fun.”

You nodded, your smile widening. “Let me just finish up here, and we can go.”

As you gathered your things, the girls couldn’t resist a few more teasing comments, but it was all in good fun, as Chan waited patiently.

As the day unfolded, Chan took you to places you hadn't had the time to visit in years. You sipped coffee at a cozy café, strolled through the park, and even caught a movie at the cinema. With each passing moment, you found yourself enjoying his company more and more, feeling a sense of freedom and joy you hadn't experienced in a long time.

"This has been the best day off ever," you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement as you walked side by side with Chan.

His heart swelled with happiness at your words, his smile growing wider. He could have taken you to a luxurious restaurant or shopping for designer labels, but he sensed that wasn't what you wanted. Instead, he decided to let you choose how to spend the rest of the day.

Careful to open doors for you and ensure your comfort, Chan drove you around in his luxurious car, enjoying each other's company and the simplicity of the moment. As he glanced at you from the driver's seat, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him.

"Where to next?" he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

You playfully pretended to ponder your options, teasing him about having more surprises up his sleeve. Chan laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he drove. You noticed that you were nearing your apartment, and the idea popped into your head.

"How about we go to my place?" you suggested, surprising even yourself with the invitation.

Chan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly masked it with a smile. "Your place? Are you sure?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of excitement building in your chest. "Yeah, why not? I'd love for you to see where I live."

Chan couldn't hide his delight at your invitation, his curiosity piqued. He parked the car and walked with you to your apartment building, taking in the surroundings with interest.

Chan's eyes wandered around the apartment, taking in the details of your life that adorned the walls. He saw framed photographs capturing cherished memories – graduations, family gatherings, outings with friends. The images painted a picture of a life rich in experiences and relationships.

His gaze shifted to the plushies scattered across the couch, a playful and endearing touch that brought a smile to his face. It was clear to him that you had a warmth and sweetness that extended beyond the confines of the club where he first met you.

As you disappeared into the kitchen, Chan took a moment to soak in the atmosphere of your home. The tranquility of the space, combined with the personal touches that reflected your personality, made him feel strangely at ease.

In that moment, he realized that he was seeing a side of you that few others had the privilege of witnessing – the real you, beyond the glamorous facade of the club.

As you settled back onto the couch with snacks in hand, Chan joined you, his presence filling the space with warmth. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he began recounting his visit to the strip club earlier that day.

You listened intently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as he shared the details of his adventure. When he mentioned Jeonghan's involvement, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards your friend for unknowingly setting this day in motion.

"Looks like I owe Jeonghan a big thank you," you said, your voice muffled as you took a bite of your snack.

Chan raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, Jeonghan is the reason we met, huh?" he teased, leaning closer to you.

You chuckled, feeling a playful energy between you. "Looks like it," you replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Chan's teasing grin widened at your response, and he leaned in closer, his playful demeanor evident. "Oh, so you're thanking Jeonghan, but not me?" he teased, raising an eyebrow in mock indignation.

With a soft smile, you turned to Chan, gratitude evident in your eyes. "Thank you, Channie," you said, your voice sincere as you expressed your appreciation.

Chan returned your smile, his gaze warm as he listened to your words. "For what?" he asked, though he already had a feeling of what you meant.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before replying. "For everything," you began, your tone heartfelt. "For the moments we've shared, the conversations we've had... Even on the nights you booked me, we talked more than danced," you admitted, a fondness evident in your voice.

Chan's smile widened at your words, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Well, I guess I'm just a talkative guy," he joked, though there was a hint of sincerity in his tone.

Chan's touch was tender as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze lingering on your lips with a mixture of hesitation and longing. You could feel the tension building between you, an unspoken desire hanging in the air.

When he spoke your name, you couldn't help but respond with a soft sound of acknowledgment, your heart fluttering with anticipation. His next words sent a shiver down your spine, his voice barely above a whisper as he confessed his thoughts.

"I know it's not allowed to kiss the dancers in the club," he began, his words laden with a sense of urgency, "but... we're not in the club right?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with possibility. In that moment, the boundaries that had separated you in the club seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, alone in the intimacy of your shared space.

You met Chan's gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you considered his words. Despite the rules and restrictions that governed your interactions in the club, here, in this moment, you felt a freedom that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

With a hesitant smile, you leaned in closer to him, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, "No, we're not in the club." And in that simple acknowledgment, you gave voice to the unspoken truth that had been lingering between you all along.

Chan's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips crashed into yours. His tongue explored your mouth with a fervent passion, and you found yourself breathing hard, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt to deepen the kiss.

The truth was, the more you refused Chan's invitations to dinner, the more you denied the gifts he insisted on giving you, the more you avoided his attempts to kiss you—his feelings for you only grew stronger. And now, seeing his insistence on simply having your company, and not just as the girl who would entertain him at night, made you feel all your girlhood feelings again.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you looked into his eyes, your breath mingling with his. "Chan..." you whispered "Why do you keep coming back? Why do you keep trying so hard?"

He held your gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and tenderness. "Because you matter to me, Y/N. More than just a dancer, more than just a pretty face. I see you, the real you, and I want to know you better."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt a rush of warmth and affection for this man who saw beyond the surface. "But I'm not used to this," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not used to someone caring this much."

Chan's grip on your neck tightened slightly, a comforting reassurance. "Then let me show you how it feels. Let me show you that you deserve to be cared for, to be cherished."

"Show me," you whisper, your eyes locked on Chan's lips. He captures your mouth in a passionate kiss, his lips trailing down to your neck. His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he pulls it over your head. You pull him closer, desperate to feel him, your hands sliding under his shirt to caress his warm skin.

His hands slide to your thighs, lifting you onto his lap, your breasts now level with his face. He glances at the pretty lace bra you’re wearing and lowers the cups, exposing your nipples. He kisses each one tenderly before sucking on one and pinching the other. You melt into him, your hips grinding against his automatically, drawing a groan from deep within his chest.

"Do you know how hard it was to control myself when you grinded on my cock like this?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

A wicked smile crosses your lips as you continue to grind against him, feeling his erection growing beneath you. "I could feel it, Chan," you purr, your voice dripping with seduction. "I could feel how much you wanted me. I wanted you just as badly."

His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements as he presses you harder against him. "God, Y/N, you drive me crazy," he groans, his eyes darkening with lust.

You lean in, your breath hot against his ear. "I want to feel you inside me, Chan. I want you to lose control. Show me how much you want me."

His control snaps, and he flips you onto your back, his body pressing you into the couch. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," he growls, his hand sliding down to unbutton your pants.

"I know exactly what I want," you whisper back, your eyes burning with the same desire. "I want you, all of you."

Chan's lips crash into yours again, more fiercely this time, as his hands work to remove the rest of your clothing.

In a blur of movement, clothes are discarded, and his skin is pressed against yours. He pauses to look into your eyes. "Tell me you want this," he demands, his voice rough with need.

"I want you, Chan," you breathe out, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

Chan giggles softly, his breath hot against your skin. "Wait for me to prepare you," he whispers, his voice laced with anticipation. He opens your legs wide, his eyes dark with desire as he lowers himself between your thighs. His lips find your wet folds, kissing them gently before his tongue delves deeper.

The sensation sends shivers through your body, and you let out a soft moan. Chan's mouth works expertly, sucking on your clit while his tongue teases and explores. As you gasp his name, "Channie," he responds with a moan of his own, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

His hand slides up your thigh, and you feel the gentle pressure of his finger at your entrance. He slips it inside you slowly, his finger curling to find that perfect spot. Your back arches off the couch, your hands gripping the cushions as he continues to worship your body with his mouth and fingers.

"Oh, Chan," you breathe, your voice quivering with need. The way his tongue moves, the way his finger pumps in and out of you—it's all too much. Your hips begin to move on their own, seeking more of the intense pleasure he's giving you.

He adds another finger, stretching you gently, and your moans grow louder. His mouth never leaves your clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue in a rhythm that drives you wild. You can feel your orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

Chan's free hand comes up to hold your hip, steadying you as you writhe beneath him. He looks up at you, his eyes full of lust and admiration, and the sight of him between your legs pushes you closer to the edge.

"Channie, I’m so close," you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper.

He doubles his efforts, his fingers moving faster, his mouth more insistent on your clit. The world fades away, and all you can focus on is the overwhelming pleasure building within you.

With a final, deep moan, you come undone. Your body trembles, your muscles clench around his fingers, and a powerful wave of ecstasy crashes over you. Chan doesn't stop, drawing out your orgasm until you're completely spent, every nerve ending tingling with satisfaction.

Finally, he pulls away, his fingers and mouth glistening with your arousal. He looks up at you with a triumphant smile, his own need evident in his eyes. "You taste so good," he murmurs, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a heated kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it only fuels the fire between you.

"Now," he says, positioning himself at your entrance, "I think you're ready."

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, and with one smooth thrust, he fills you completely.

Your pussy was wet enough, spasming, welcoming him perfectly. Chan's eyes were closed, his face contorting as he tried to compose himself. You reached up and gently held his face, and he opened his eyes, scoffing softly, trying to pretend he didn't almost cum right then and there from the sensation of your sopping cunt wrapping so perfectly around him and the pornographic moan that just left your mouth.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with lust. "You feel so good."

You smiled, your own arousal mirrored in his gaze. "Don't hold back, Channie," you whispered, your fingers brushing through his hair. "I want all of you."

He groaned, his hips starting to move, slowly at first, savoring the way you clenched around him with each thrust. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, the connection between you deepening with every movement.

"You're so tight," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips as he picked up the pace. "So perfect for me."

You bit your lip, your body responding to his every word, his every touch. "Chan," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he hit that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "Don't stop."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he rolled his hips, stopping momentarily before hitting your g'spot with a sharp thrust. He repeated this motion, each thrust more deliberate, and the most sinful moans left your mouth. "Yes, Channie," you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure, "fuck this pussy with that big fucking cock. Yes, yes!"

Chan groaned, the sound deep and guttural, spurred on by your words. "You like that? Hm?" he panted, his pace quickening as he watched the ecstasy play out on your face. "You like how I fuck you?"

"Yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders. "God, yes, I love it. I love how you fuck me– ah! Channie."

"So wet... all for me."

Your body arched beneath him, your hips moving to meet his thrusts, chasing the pleasure that was building to an overwhelming peak. "Only for you," you whispered, your voice breaking with a whimper as he drove you closer to the edge. "No one else, just you, Channie."

He growled, the possessiveness in your words igniting something primal in him. His thrusts became harder, faster, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "Say it again," he demanded, his breath hot against your ear. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," you cried out, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. "I'm yours, Channie, only yours."

His hips snapped forward with even more intensity, and you could feel the coil tightening in your core, ready to snap. "Cum for me," he urged, his voice a low growl. "Cum all over my cock, baby."

Your pussy throbbed as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you, your eyes closing tightly, mouth falling open in a silent scream. You wrapped your legs around Chan's waist, locking him in place as you rode out every wave of pleasure. Chan hissed, his abdomen trembling, signaling that he was on the brink of release but unable to escape your grip.

You opened your eyes to find Chan watching you intently, taking in every reaction. "Sit," you commanded, your voice breathless yet authoritative.

"Hm?" Chan responded, his expression a mix of curiosity and lingering pleasure.

"Sit," you repeated, firmer this time. He complied, a small laugh escaping his lips.

"Are you going to dom me?" he teased, scoffing lightly.

Instead of answering, you simply lowered yourself onto his cock, making him flinch and let out a whiny moan in your ear, your legs trembling from the intensity of your recent orgasm.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. "You like that, Channie? You like when I take control?"

"Yes," he gasped, his breath hitching as you began to move, rolling your hips slowly at first. "God, yes."

You smirked, picking up the pace, each movement sending shivers of pleasure through both of you. "You look so good like this," you whispered, your voice low and sultry. "So desperate, so needy. You want to cum, don't you?"

"Yes," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whimper. "Please, let me cum."

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, riding him harder. "Not yet," you commanded, enjoying the power you held over him. "Not until I say so."

Chan's eyes fluttered closed, his body trembling as he tried to hold back. "Please," he begged, his voice raw with need. "I can't... I can't hold on much longer."

"Look at me," you ordered, your tone firm. His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours. "You’re going to cum when I tell you to, understand?"

"Yes," he panted, nodding eagerly. "Yes, I understand."

You imagined riding him since the moment he entered that club, young, hot, with his sleeves rolled up, the scent of masculine fragrance mingling with whiskey on his breath. Feeling this man, needy and sly, with his cock buried deep inside your pussy, spilling all that pre-cum, and fighting his demons not to cum, made you so horny.

You licked your fingers, circling your clit to help yourself climax, making you clench around him again. A strangled moan escaped his mouth, his eyes were rolling back.

You leaned in close, your voice husky with desire. "You're so close, Channie," you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "I can feel how badly you want to cum inside me. Do it, baby. Give it to me. Fill me up with your cum."

Chan's hips bucked against yours, his grip on your hips tightening. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "I need to cum, please..."

You smirked, your fingers still working furiously on your clit. "You want to empty those balls for me, make me feel every drop of your cum inside me? Hm?"

Chan nodded frantically, his eyes glazed with lust. "Yes, god, yes. Please, let me cum. I can't hold on much longer."

With a wicked grin, you increased the pressure on your clit, feeling the tension building inside you. "Then cum for me, Channie," you urged, your voice a sultry whisper. "Cum deep inside my pussy."

Chan's entire body tensed, his breath hitching as he finally let go, his cum flooding you with warmth. You cried out in pleasure, feeling your own orgasm crashing over you in waves as you rode out the ecstasy together.

As you collapsed against his chest, Chan wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. You could feel your legs trembling in soreness, his cum still dripping from your pussy, and both of your bodies slick with sweat. Despite the exhaustion, Chan's embrace felt comforting and secure.

He ran his hands soothingly over your back, his touch gentle yet firm, as if trying to convey all his affection through his fingertips. You raised your head to meet his gaze, finding him looking back at you with a mixture of satisfaction and tenderness in his eyes.

You pressed a series of soft kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his jawline, savoring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. Chan smiled in response, his own lips curved upwards in a contented –fucked out– expression.

You summoned the last vestiges of your strength just to tease Chan, circling your hips ever so slightly, just enough to elicit a reaction from his sensitive body.

"Wait, wait," Chan gasped, his voice strained with sensitivity. "I can't... I can't take it."

He held you firmly against him, his grip almost desperate as he tried to steady himself. The sensation of your hips circling against his heightened his arousal to a point where he felt like he might lose control at any moment.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. Despite the exhaustion and the intensity of your encounter, you found his vulnerability endearing.

"Sorry," you chuckled softly, the sound mingling with his labored breaths. "I couldn't resist teasing you a little."

Chan let out a breathless laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain his composure. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment before he spoke again.

"You're... you're something else, you know that?" he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "I don't know how you do it."

You grinned up at him, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. Despite the intense physical connection between you, there was an undeniable emotional bond that had formed, deepening your connection even further.

"I guess I just have a way with you," you replied playfully, winking at him before snuggling closer into his embrace.

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delirious-donna · 8 months

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His Hands [Nanami Kento]

an: it's been a hot minute since I wrote for him, but with the latest developments and the insane amount of Kento content on my dash, I couldn't help myself. This is a love letter to his hands...

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: hair pulling, manhandling, light choking, mark marking, daddy kink, dirty talk, mating press, doggy (all implied), some comfort and fluff because he deserves it

Masterlist

Nanami Kento is not a white knight.

He is not a righteous man, nor is he morally virtuous. Nanami makes no qualms about expressing what matters most to him – his time, his students and most importantly, you. If that means he has to stray into the murky grey areas of ethics then so be it. If that means there is collateral damage in ensuring the safety of his precious priorities, it matters not. However, Nanami Kento is a good man.

Fatigue has been his constant companion these past few weeks. His eyes are weary and less focused than usual, his jaw tight with seemingly endless worry and his hair tousled as if he had run fingers through it time and again. You didn’t know the exact cause of his current demeanour, all you did know was that it was your job to relieve it, at least temporarily.

Hazel eyes met yours. A tight smile faint on his lips whilst you moved from being tucked into his side to straddling his lap. Kento’s head fell back against the couch, his gaze bouncing between your eyes, simply content to observe whatever it was you were up to. Your fingers delicately wrapped around his wrist, brushing against the heavy weight of his timepiece and lifting it to your chest. His hands were rough, callouses built up along the edges of his fingertips and palm through extended training and workouts that would see him dripping in sweat.

“Y’know… I’ve always loved these hands.” An exploratory finger ran over his knuckles, the skin shiny and new from where they had not long been split open. It wasn’t an exaggeration–you did love his hands and what they could do.

An amused huff was his reply, fingers flexing in and out of a loose fist whilst you continued your journey over the wide expanse that was his hand—traversing the depths of his life line only to circle down and stroke over the pad of his thumb. How many times had you helped to patch him up after being injured in the line of duty? Too many. Bloody rags filled the bathroom sink and the smell of antiseptic stung your nose, but you’d rather do it yourself than let him tend to himself. There was no point in telling him you worried, he knew that, instead you filled the silence with the mundane moments of your day to distract him from the stark contrast of his horror-filled one.

“They’re strong and they keep me safe,” you muse almost to yourself. Unbeknownst to you, Kento’s eyebrows lift. His eyes sharpen, throwing off the dregs of tiredness to watch more fixedly at you touching him with a reverence he didn’t believe he deserved. Would you still love them if you knew what he had done with them? Of the violence they had been a part of, the injuries and deaths he had inflicted with them. As if you didn’t already know…

“Sweetheart–” The argument he had readied fell away when you lifted his hand higher, towards your throat. His thick fingers could feel the steady beat of your pulse, no jump in fear of danger, only complete trust. He swallowed; the bob of his Adam’s apple near painful.

Your breathing sped up, knees shuffling forward to bracket his lean hips and pressing your delicate skin further into his careful grasp. Memories rose to the surface of your mind like stones skimming across a peaceful lake, rippling outward until the phantom sensations of days gone by washed over you.

The searing burn of Kento’s large palm swatting at your soft ass; whether in encouragement when your thighs tired of riding him to completion or in admonishment for some very deliberate attempts at stealing away his attention in the midst of his paperwork.

The gentle grip of your ankles when he folded your thighs flush against your chest to be able to plunge deeper into your sopping cunt. His tender hold was the perfect counterbalance to how savagely he was splitting you open. Lazy circles of his thumbs against your delicate ankle bones all whilst you ringed his cock with thick cream and his pelvis smacked wetly against you.

The prickle of your scalp at the sudden yank at the roots of your hair. That deliciously big, thick hand that you adored wrapping your hair so tightly into a makeshift ponytail that you had no choice but to rear back. Warm breath fanning your cheek and neck, the deep rasp of Kento’s words caressing your ear despite how depraved his words were. “Fuck… that’s it, baby… Taking Daddy’s cock like a champ… Let me see that arch… Look at this pretty pussy sucking me back in…”

Nanami had a way of handling you exactly as you needed at any given moment. He wasn’t afraid you’d break like some fragile doll, knowing that you more than enjoyed his manhandling. He could sense how turned on it made you when he would scoop you up like you weighed nothing. Taking your weight into his arms when he fucked you against the hallway wall in those moments he simply couldn’t wait to reach the bedroom. You were his pliant little cocksleeve. His perfect pussy.

With the rough came the smooth. How tenderly his fingers would coast down the length of your spine in the warmth of the morning, stopping to admire the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips and the ripple of your backside when he squeezed it lightly.

The soft touches against the bruises he had left the night before on your waist and hips. Each one a mark of his possession that he would never fail to become aroused by. The marks of his fingertips, the indent of his teeth on the swell of your sensitive inner thigh. If he were an animal he would scent mark you like the dog he sometimes felt like, rub himself all over you until you were bathed in his musk.

Interlocked fingers and tickles on the palm of your hands. The reassurance that you were by his side when you strolled the sidewalk together, Kento always nearest the traffic and the ability to tug you close with the flick of his wrist.

“I don’t care what these hands might have done to those that deserved whatever fate they befell. All I know is that I love them, and there isn’t anyone I would trust more to hold my heart.”

He nodded, and you knew that would be the best you would get in the form of agreement to your words. The coiled muscles in his forearm tightened, tendons contracting and his fingers squeezing a fraction tighter atop your carotid arteries. You hummed in contentment, eyelids growing heavy and his hand slipped free of your loose hold to rest over your heart whilst the other pressed between your shoulder blades to bring you to his lips.

So, no, Nanami isn’t a white knight but he is the best man you’ve ever been fortunate enough to meet. You would help him face whatever demons were lurking nearby, and with your support and unconditional love, maybe–just maybe–he’d make it back to you in one piece.

Heaven knows he deserved some time off.

#delirious writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami fluff #jjk smut #jjk fluff

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ginnsbaker · 3 months

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets.

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think.

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body.

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew.

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year.

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand.

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works.

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?”

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place.

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did.

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter.

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face.

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks.

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls.

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to.

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine.

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her?

Will she even let you?

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment.

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt.

He has always been all she has and needed.

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing.

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard.

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control.

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class.

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even.

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls.

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug.

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully.

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice.

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up.

“Have it your way.”

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers.

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit.

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does.

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you.

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance.

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt.

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry��”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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sweetandscarlet · 9 months

Text

unrequited love | pt 4

notes: i missed this series sm,, hope you all enjoy :) the next part will be up soon, picking up straight after this chapter (wink wink).

words: 2.8k

warnings: 18+, stepmom!wanda, stepdaughter!reader, jealousy, angst and fluff, slight smut at the beginning of the chapter.

"have i mentioned how good you look in this pretty dress, detka?" your stepmother husked out at the shell of your ear, as her needy hands roamed your body, her movements possessive as she eventually settled on your hips. "i am so glad i got it for you"

you entrapped your bottom lip between your teeth, your head falling backwards against the wall that wanda was currently pinning you up against. you almost let out a groan as her lips shifted from your ear to the soft skin of your neck, her tongue swirling against it before taking some between full-red lips and sucking slightly.

"i believe you've mentioned it once or twice," you replied, a breathy laugh falling from your mouth. "but thank you, for the dress and the compliment"

wanda continued to suck and kiss at your neck, her tendencies wanton and desperate as she attempted to use up what little free time you had together to finally get her delicate hands on you.

"what are your plans for the day?" wanda asked, her lips shifting from your neck to place a kiss on your cheek. "i was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me?"

heat flushed at your face at the endearing action and you resisted the thought of hiding yourself in the crook of wanda's neck out of sheer embarrassment. "apart from studying for an hour or so, i guess I'd be all yours.. what movie did you have in mind?"

wanda grinned, the innuendo and the fact that she would finally get to spend quality time with you made butterflies fly wild in the pit of her stomach. “well that barbie movie you’ve been talking about released today, how about we watch that?”

you smiled brightly, nodding your head in response. before you could utter a word, you heard a muffled call of your name from the kitchen. rolling your eyes at the interruption from your father, you moved slightly to shuffle from wanda's hold.

"let him wait a second," wanda whispered, her hot breath hitting the flushed skin of your cheek as she returned to her previous exploit against your neck. the knots in your stomach tightened as you felt one of wanda's hands slip from your waist to move under the hem of your dress, slender fingers trailing gently up the inside of your thigh causing you to throb scarcely at the touch. "i've missed touching you, detka.. the way you feel under me, the way your tight cunt wraps around my fingers, how you beg for your momm-"

"coming dad!" you call out, quickly pushing wanda's wandering hand from under your dress and moving away from the close proximity of your stepmother's grasp. "god you're cruel," you groan, fixing the ruffles of the skirt. "i'm gonna go help dad, meet a few friends and i'll see you later after i study, okay?"

you lean forward, placing a kiss on wanda's now pouted lips and you can't help but giggle at her glum reaction. wanda sighs dramatically causing you to giggle once more before she mimics your actions and reciprocates another kiss, although this one lingers and you hum at the taste of her red lipstick.

"have a good day at work mama"

ᗢ

as you stared down at the pages of your notebook, pen in hand, you could feel the words you had written previously start to scramble in your mind, as though the letters were singlehandedly moving themselves around on your paper. instantly, you knew to place your pen on your desk and close your notebook; so that's what you did, your hands moving to rub slightly at your weary eyes.

you glanced at the clock to your left, a plain black and white timepiece that wanda had purchased for you not so long ago. you were one to always let time pass you by, your mind seemingly blind to the hours as they slipped away from you. wanda, in all her caring and perceptive nature, noticed this immediately once your relationship started to flourish. thus resulting in the heartwarming reminder that hung on your wall.

thankfully you finished studying in time as you realised your stepmother would soon finish work and finally, your quality time together would begin. it was something that was quite rare in your day-to-day lives, whether it be your busy schedule, wanda's or both, you unfortunately didn't spend enough time together as you both hoped to.

so as you giggled excitedly to yourself, you walked away from your work desk and headed over to your closet, humming as you reached to pick out an outfit that would be in perfect comparison to the movie you were about to see, and also something you know that would drive wanda absolutley insane.

it didn't take long before you were ready, wanda's voice in the back of your mind rang through as you reminded yourself that you were on a time schedule. so, as you finished the final touches of your makeup, you moved to stand in front of the tall mirror in the corner of your room to get a good look of yourself.

you smiled meekly at your appearance, your eyes trailing over the cowl neck butterfly and floral midi dress and the black boots that you had paired with it. you had to admit, you did look easy on the eyes. the dress accented your chest perfectly and the slit in the bottom of the hem gave just enough view of the skin of your thigh to be modest yet playful.

wanda was going to love this.

just as you stepped over to your desk to check your phone, a text notification came through and you breathed deeply through your nose; your heart rate spiked scarcely as you felt the pit in your stomach swarm with nerves.

mama: hi darling girl, i've just stopped for gas. are you ready?

you smiled brightly at the nickname, the nerves in your stomach increasing ten-fold as you could practically hear wanda's raspy voice purr those words into the shell of your ear. shaking your head, you ignored that all-too-familiar dull ache between your legs and began typing back a response.

you: hi mommy, i'm ready! miss you so much, see you soon :)

you turned towards your bed and reached to grab your charming pink clutch bag that seemingly completed the outfit like a glove. you double-checked you had everything you needed before slipping your phone inside and heading downstairs to await the return of wanda.

ᗢ

staring back at your reflection you smiled widely as you held up your phone in front of the restroom mirror. wanda kissed your cheek from behind you before slipping her arms around your waist and mimicking your smile. after hearing the shutter click from your camera go off, wanda squeezed at your hips gently before moving away.

"i like that, we look good malysh" wanda commented, observing the picture on your phone from over your shoulder. "i wish we could upload it but i guess having them for safekeeping will have to do for now.. will you send it to me?"

"of course mama," you mumbled back a reply, your fingers swiping through the preset filters until you happened upon one that you liked. "i wish we could upload it too, i want everyone to see how dashing you look in your pink in your suit"

the colour of wanda's suit jacket practically melted onto her skin as the redhead's cheeks flushed a hot pink at your words.

"oh shush, detka. look at yourself, you look absolutely ravish-"

your head turned in confusion, eager to know why wanda had suddenly cut off her own sentence. the mystery didn't last long as your eyes quickly averted to her phone and you immediately recognised a picture of you and kate from before your relationship took a turn with wanda.

the sokovians nostrils flared as she gazed back at a picture of you two kissing, her eyes glancing down at the caption that read 'missing my beaut right now, long distance is hard but you're more than worth it!'

"y/n.. what the fuck is this?" wanda gritted out as she tore her attention away from her phone to gape back at you. her pupils soon grew dark, what was once a beautiful striking sea of green was now quickly fading into black as rage brewed in wanda like a mad storm. "why is she posting pictures of you? was this- is this why you were too busy last friday? were you fucking her?"

your eyebrows shot up as your eyes widened in fear, your mouth turning dry as the accusation of wanda's words settled on your chest like bricks. "what? b-baby no! of course not. can we-" your eyes scanned around the restroom, your ears pricking up at any sound of possible eavesdroppers from inside the stalls. "can we please talk about this at home? not here, wands.. please"

the redhead's deadset stare continued to gaze into you, her stance not faltering even the slightest bit.

you directly stepped forward, and the hand that wasn't holding your now locked phone moved to cup one of wanda's cheeks. the heat of wanda's skin radiated against the palm of your hand and you didn't miss the way your stepmother nuzzled just slightly into your hold.

"mommy please," you whispered, stepping closer until you felt the material of wanda's pants suit rest against the soft skin of your thigh that peeked out through your slitted hem. "i promise you i have no idea why she posted that, it's an old picture.. plus i ended things with her, remember?"

the sokovian sighed heavily, her rigid posture relaxing as she recalled the conversation you had a few months ago regarding your relationship with kate and although you hated the fact that wanda was still a married woman, you understood the severity of her situation compared to yours.

"you're right detka, i'm sorry i-" wanda reached an arm around your waist, her slender fingers running up and down the small of your back. "-i didn't mean what i said. let's go get takeout and we can speak about this at home, yeah?"

you nodded meekly, the weight of your chest growing lighter by the second as you watched the redhead return to her usual state.

as you both left the theatres, your hand itched at your side as you felt the all too familiar urge to hold wanda's. it was something that nagged at you every time you were both out in public, the feeling never fading the more time passed and you knew wanda shared the same sentiment.

when you both pulled into the driveway, takeout in hand, you watched as wanda stepped out of the door of the drivers’ seat and swiftly made her way around the front of the car. your stepmother pulled open your door, reaching a hand out for you to take which you happily obliged to, a smile displaying itself on your lips at the endearing action.

entering the house you instantly smelled the cherry blossom scent that flowed through the house, courtesy of a candle you had previously lit while you were waiting for wanda's return mere hours earlier. clearly, it was money well spent on your end as the fragrance remained potent.

your home sojourned peacefully with only a quiet whistle of wind that came through the kitchen window, the sound growing more audible as you made your way through the swinging door to place the takeout bag on the kitchen counter.

"detka?" wanda's muffled voice called out from the other room, the click of her heels moving with vigour as she stepped through the door of the kitchen. "i really am sorry about what i said, it was stupid of me to become so jealous so quickly"

you sighed, the headache from earlier starting to display its aching annoyance in your already sensitive temples. as you rummaged through the takeout bag, your hand deftly separating yours and wanda's food, your mind jumped back to the prior conversation you had with kate. a conversation that was pivotal and much awaited.

"wait.. i don't understand? what are you saying?"

your head hung in shame as you sat opposite your soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.

"i know it's a lot and may seem sudden but i've been feeling this way for a long time and i just- it's not fair on you nor myself. you deserve better than that kate, you deserve-"

"y/n just fucking spit it out! instead of beating around the bush like you always do, why not just say what you mean?"

your bottom lip started to tremble as you felt your eyes burning, the familiar tightening in your throat as unwelcome tears threatened to spill at her tone. "i'm sorry, i-" you cleared your throat, hoping the wavering in your voice would remain undetected. "we can't be together anymore"

"oh"

just that one simple word had you knowing that kate would never speak to you again, would never forgive you for this, and you didn't blame her. if the shoe was on the other foot, who knows? you'd probably think the same way.

"y/n?"

your head turned to your right, your eyes settling on your concerned stepmother. her eyebrows furrowed as she stepped closer, a warm hand resting itself gently on your forearm.

"sorry wands, i was just-" sighing once more, you took a step back, the action causing the redhead's hand to fall to her hip; you instantly read the hurt that flashed across her face. "kate said something a few months back.. that i don't say what i'm truthfully thinking and it really resonated with me"

wanda quirked an eyebrow at that, curiosity and apprehension resting their heavy weight on her chest like a bolder. "oh.. well i always want you to be honest with me, malysh"

breathing deeply through your nose, you redied yourself for the two possible outcomes for how your relationship with wanda could go after this nerve-wracking conversation.

"i love you"

the redhead's eyebrows shot up as the feeling in her chest faded away at the unsuspecting words.

"i love you and i would never in a million years want to hurt you or betray your trust. i don't know why kate did what she did, okay? maybe she was drunk or high when she did it? i don't know! but if you want us to work wanda, you have to trust me"

"i- you love me?" wanda muttered the question, her mind swirling with endearment as she stepped closer to you, her now taut throat struggling to swallow the hard pill of regret for her dubiety towards you. "detka i- i love you too, and i am so, so sorry for letting jealousy cloud my judgment. i guess i'm just too afraid to lose you, your father is a good man but.. you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time"

you felt your heart contract at wanda's words, the beat of it skipping slightly before switching to a racing pace that had your head spinning. all you could think to do was practically throw yourself at the redhead; your arms immediately wrapping around her suited torso as you nuzzled your head against her chest.

wanda sighed at the contact, all of her anxiety and tension completely melting away as she settled against your touch. she let one hand rest against the back of your head and the other against the small of your back, her delicate fingers stroking softly against the material of your dress.

"does this mean you forgive me?" wanda husked out, a hint of a timorous tone in her voice as she broached the question.

you moved your head away slightly from the comfort of her chest to tilt your head up scarcely. you reached up on your tiptoes ever so slightly to place a kiss against the flushed skin of her cheek, "of course it does, you doofus!"

a smile itched at wanda's lips, her mind swirling with gratuity and adoration as she stared down at you. "i'm glad.. because i really don't like it when you're mad at me"

a chuckle escaped your lips, your hot breath hitting the sharp line of wanda's jaw. "you're just a big ol' softie, aren't you?"

you heard wanda gasp dramatically above you, causing you to chuckle once again. "hey, less of the old! i'm only thirty-two"

"fine, you're just a big softie" you giggled as you stepped back from the warmth of wanda's hold, "can we save the takeout for later? i'm not so hungry anymore. maybe we could have a few glasses of wine and play a board game or something?"

a grin displayed against wanda's plump red lips and you noticed her eyes darken slightly as the wheels turned in her mind.

"how about we save drinks and games for when we finish eating? i have something better in mind.."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #mcu fanfiction

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gayconstruct · 4 months

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Humans are Weird — Fever

We literally heat up to cook our bodies when we can't ward off things with our immune cells, and there's a VERY slim margin for what's healthy vs what's not. If you'd like to skip the context portion scroll down to the second set of emdashes

—————

For some quick context, I use some consistent concepts and variations of time words under the impression there's a unified, simplified time scale in an intergalactic universal community

Shifts are 10 hours with hour lunches

There's 3 parts to every species day — Work, Relax, and Sleep — all 10 hours

Diurnal aliens including most humans are working in the mornings, relaxing in the evenings, and sleeping at night

Crepuscular aliens are working in the evenings, relaxing at night, sleeping in the morning

And Nocturnal aliens are working at night, relaxing in the morning, and sleeping in the evening

The clock is from 01:00 — 30:00 (simple 30 hour days for an even number and more leisure time) and rolls over to 01:00 from 30:59 with 01:00 being the roll over from night to morning

Time Increments

Seconds = Instants

Minutes = Moments

Hours = Periods

Days = Cycles

Weeks = Phases

Months = Stages

and Years = Terms

—————

Temperature Rising

Diverse biomes and work sectors began to stir to life, as the many species stationed upon the Integrated Vessel Ro’Vanna responded to the coming shift change. The Universal Timepiece, standard across the known universe, finally struck 0100 Cycles, the nocturnal species like the Umborra and Nostro eager to spend their recreational hours peacefully, while Diurnal species like the Shal’Dorei and newly integrated Humans were waking to begin another productive morning.

Qin, the most well known Troqir aboard and one of its select Charters, rushed to his station in the hub of the Astrometry Center, cranial crests flaring with an eagerness that to most of his crewmates would otherwise go unnoticed. Ready to start his shift as soon as his posterior hit the chair, the rather tall and muscular humanoid gracelessly plopped down, emitting quite the noise as he got started. Other species present had their full attention focused on their tasking at hand, not a single thought or care thrown to his quite hasty entrance to his station. Several crystalline scales in the crook of his neck iridesced at the thought of his companion joining him soon, his thoughts anywhere but the latest mapping data coming up on his Virtual HUD. Time passed quickly at first, the sturdy man pointing metallic fingers to different notifications that needed immediate attention, adjusting calculations to chart the next few thousand Cargo routes as he went. After roughly 14.5 moments, though, he turned to search for his oddly quiet coworker to notice that the Human had made no attempt to join him this morning, the thought causing a darker color to glisten across his crystal scaling.

He’s late.

Why is he late?

He specifically stated last night he’d “see me soon.”

He’s never this late.

For the first time in his life, Qin was completely out of focus. Several happy-go-lucky phases — human parlance, not his own — had enveloped him, exchanging his stark Troqir logicality for Human whimsy and curiosity. His work tempo was slower and uncoordinated, an unfamiliar feeling coalescing into the turbulent color shifts across his luminescent scales. Every instant that passed on the cargo vessel's timekeeper seemed to lurch at an uneven pace, a deepening pit forming at the base of his abdomen. For four and a half painstaking periods, Qin swallowed his personal thoughts to gain some form of traction on his workload, swallowing emotion as all of his people were taught and opting for diligent productivity, until - finally - the release of his allotted Nutrition Period arrived. There was no moment spared as his dense footfalls rushed towards his companions quarters, his focus unbroken as the ceiling dropped from 4 meters to a much tighter 2.4m. Qin, at just under 2.2 meters, absentmindedly ducked to overcompensate, having quickly become accustomed to this section and its many distinctions after quite a few visits.

There at last, the tall, silvery man reached what was worth looking for, a door which read in standard human language,

Room 152

Aspen Wright

With the slightest shake in his hand, Qin formed his digits into a fist to knock.

Knocking… he thought, quite the odd custom, but like many human practices, this was the most respectful of his companion’s personal space and time. For several instants, the silence in the Human Sector’s Hall allowed him no sweet mercy, the lone alien man uncertain what to do as his weight shifted back and forth between his feet, a metal clang ringing out with each motion. Thankfully, a digital projection finally slid across the width of the door, Entry Permitted, displayed in large English typeface.

Thank the Fathers and Mothers for universal translation.

With the invitation obvious and a rather low duck through the smaller door, Qin entered into the darkened room — the simulated window turned off, the curtains drawn, clothes strewn across the floor, and strange devices and pill capsules laid upon the table — not even the so-called “fairy lights” lit the quarters he had become so accustomed to. The Troqirian’s own voice came quieter than he expected, as he rasped out, “Aspen? Are you there?” A strange groan followed, then silence, then- a weary voice.

“Q-,” a cough, “Qin?”

“Y-yes… it is I, I am present,” a facepalm.

“Oh, this is a-” more coughing, “a surprise. Aren’t you on Lunch Break sweetie?”

For a moment, the light from Qin’s Luminescent Scales - ones at his nape, a few at his crests, even the ones on his exposed digits - shined brighter than before, a rainbow of colors flowing across their surface at the thought of being a “sweetie”, before taking a dim, solemn purple. “I- yes, but when you did not show up promptly 15 moments late after last night's recreation I- I began to worry. Lateness? Normal to an extent. Absence??? Abnormal, even for you… Did I… do something wrong? Did our meetings and leisure time make work uncomfortable for you?”

For his first time that entire cycle, Aspen bolted upright with a purpose, but immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness caused the room to spin around him before he fell the wrong direction, right out of his bed into the floor.

The sight startled Qin, having no frame of reference where the human man was until now, “Fathers and Mothers! Aspen, are you injured!?”

With a weak chuckle and the groan of even more pain, he responded in turn, “I’m fine, I’m fine… I’m sorry to worry you, you never make me uncomfortable dear, I’m just a bit [under the weather] today.” Another small laugh came, and then he continued, “I was trying to tell you that, and I- I must’ve moved too fast… everything is- ugh everything is spinning. Could you help me back into bed?”

Frantic to assist, Qin’s larger form - clumsy in the smaller space, helped lie the smaller, lighter human in his nest, placing his head upon the pillow. Once situated, he covered the small man, as many human’s liked, and noticed his skin far hotter to the touch than normal, homeostatic balance oddly off. “Damn translator…” a joyous light crossing his scales as he used the human swear as he’d been taught, “for whatever reason the English to Troqirian dictionary hasn’t found a suitable translation for your imprecise speech… Could you please explain?”

“Ah, thank you for the lift, love.” Settling for an instant, eyes closed and his head on the pillow, Aspen pondered with a clouded, slow mind, trying to search for the words as his body ached and caught a chill. “... uh- an English idiom of common use in my native tongue… it’s like… to feel sick, to be unwell. I didn’t go to my work shift today because I’m too sick to go… I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t contact you to say something, this fever is really kicking my ass.”

Fever? What in the Cradles was a Fever?

“Ah… Fever- yes. Hmm, and that is… The translator states you have an elevated temperature? You were hot to the touch, hot because you’re currently ill, or ‘under the weather’ as it were?” Pondering his line of thinking, Qin couldn’t help but attempt to puzzle it together, his evolved logic center placing presented data together to reach understanding.

Why is his temperature so elevated? He… he’s too hot… His temperature felt at least 311.8°K through my temperature cells… Humans are on average 310.2°K and their species exhibits signs of death at temperatures of 315°K or more… Fathers and Mothers that’s far too close. That is far too close.

Startling Aspen’s tired eyes open, the large metallic man started in with question after question, “How are you okay? You were perfectly normal yesterday. You’re temperature is far too elevated! Are you dying? Do you need emergency services? I can call the Human Physician on board! I can, I can, I-”

“Stop. It is gonna be okay. This- uh this is a normal human response to various pathogens our immune system is unable to combat with its defense cells, so we get hotter and hotter to try to kill the invader before it can do too much damage. I’ve already spoken to the captain and the doctor and I was given some things to bolster my strength while I attempt to naturally ride out my fever. It’s gonna be okay Qin, I’m gonna be okay. The fever just has to kill the pathogen and it’ll break on its own.”

For several quiet moments Qin sat in disbelief at such a process. Actively breaking their delicate homeostasis for an illness? Their specialized cells unable to do it on their own??? He found himself running his digits through his smaller companions' hair as he pondered. He looked so weak, so small, so… precious.

Breaking the deathly silence with a few coughs, Aspen shuddered from his fever chills, squinting to the light of Qin’s scales before smiling to himself, “I can see your scared glow through my eyelids, Qin, I promise I’m okay… though the comforting touch is nice.”

“Well your eyelids are thin layers containing Keratin and Collagen, it's a miracle your species is alive…”

A laugh, somewhat stronger this time, escaped Aspen’s lips as he smiled again, “And yours have thick metallic plates and the most beautiful glowing scales I’ve ever seen. What about it?”

A hot reddish-pink overtook the Troqir’s luminescent features as he realized what power the smaller man held over him. The power to care. The power to worry. The power to be emotionally honest, something found few and far between his own people.

The power to be bold.

“Th-they’re beautiful, you… are beautiful, Aspen… I’m sorry I haven’t said it sooner. You always try to make advances on me, and I always try to deflect them with feigned ignorance.”

Slowly, the small human man scooted to leave some room next to himself in the bed, the blanket moving and leaving him even colder than he already was, “Please… could you stay with me a while longer… could you… could you cuddle me to keep me warm?”

The pink glow wouldn’t cease for some time, as the giant of a man laid down on the small bed and wrapped his warm silvery arms around his companion, a small humming noise coming from deep in his throat like a pur. Aspen snuggled close to stifle his chills, overjoyed to know his feelings were reciprocated. Feeling the radiant heat from his alien partner, he drifted into peaceful sleep for the first time that awful sick day.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #writing #original character #humans in space #lgbtqia #gay men #gay aliens #romance #fluff #original post #original story #weakconstruct #gayconstruct

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thegildedbee · 23 days

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Box: May 2 Prompt from @calaisreno

“You wished to see me,” Mycroft says, looking not at John, but down at his own left hand, where his thumb is rubbing across the fingers curled into his palm, making clear that the sentiment is not returned.

“No,” John replies, impassively.

“And yet,” says Mycroft, making a sweeping gesture with his right arm, ending with a careless flick of his hand in John’s direction, “here you are.”

“Well-spotted. There’s that famous Holmes intellect at work.” John shrugs his shoulders with eloquent disdain. “Needs must when so many devils are doing the driving.”

Mycroft lifts the corners of his mouth in an insult of a smile.

Each man looks the other in the eye, unblinking, the hands of the three-tiered gilded clock on the mantel the only moving objects in the room. After a moment it is quarter past the hour, and the timepiece – which John would have been unsurprised to learn had belonged to a Qing dynasty emperor, were its current owner to share the information – softly chimes.

John leans forward, pressing his fingers into the edge of the massive Victorian partners desk behind which Mycroft sits.

“Sherlock is not dead.”

Mycroft slowly shakes his head. “Not so, Dr. Watson. Are you telling me that you do not believe the evidence of your own eyes and hands at the physical damage sustained by Sherlock's body?”

“And yet there is evidence otherwise," John counters.

“I do hope for your sake that you have shared your thoughts with your therapist or another medical professional, so that you can receive the care that you so clearly need.”

“Petty taunts, Mycroft. No need to unsheath the rapier if there’s no danger in sight.”

“I am a busy man. Do get to the purpose of your visit so that it can be concluded. That is, if there is a purpose, beyond letting time pass as you sit here engaging in fantasy?”

John sits back, and nods. “Very well. I want to be assigned to help protect Sherlock as he engages Moriarty’s network.”

Mycroft scoffs. “Were that even true, there would be no reason for me to acquiesce to such a request.”

“To prevent the release of the evidence I have to the contrary. And it's not a request. It is a demand."

Mycroft arranges his features into a simulcram of pleasantness. “And what evidence would that be?”

“I have no desire to reveal my hand on that score just yet. Not until I hear the word 'yes'.”

Mycroft purses his lips and picks up a fountain pen and points it at John's chest. “It would be unwise to engage in threats, Dr. Watson. I can press a button and have you detained in an instant, therefore placing any mythical information under lock and key as well.”

John snorts. “Not my first rodeo, Mycroft. If I don’t give a particular signal three hours from now, the evidence will be released to the press. From multiple sources.”

In a deliberate motion, Mycroft inserts the pen into a repurposed bronze inkwell. “And what if, in releasing this alleged information in a misguided attempt to soothe your distress, you should increase any danger to Sherlock, and the effect would be to cause him harm? What then, doctor?”

“With all due respect, Mycroft . . . if Sherlock is dead," John smiles, "then the release of my information will have absolutely no effect at all. None whatsoever."

“Do not box me in, doctor. You will regret it.”

“Oh, I have regrets, but that is not one that will be added to the list.” John narrows his eyes at the man opposite, and then says briskly, “Time to demonstrate your diplomatic skills, Mycroft -- time to negotiate. Chop chop. End of story.”

......................................................... @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl .........................................................

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

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dollypopup · 24 hours

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Ranking Colin Bridgerton's gifts after his travels by order of how much they made my brain go brrrr

8. Perfume for Hyacinth. . .2/10 Get it? He got her floral perfume. . .because her name is a flower?

7. Eloise's book- 3/10. Extra point for listening to how much his sister likes to read and trying to get her something that fits her interests. still meh

6. Frannie's sheet music: 5/10. Very in tune (ba dum tiss) to her interests, again, but kind of got upstaged by John later on in the season. Showcases how sentimental and kind he is tho!

5. Benedict's cards- 6/10 if just for the joke of 'Since you think yoU CAN PLAY ME'

4. Got Anthony a glass ball- 7/10, for the metaphor of it lmfao Colin Bridgerton really said 'since you're gonna be a dick, might as well get you a ball to match' ahahaha

3. A Bow and Arrow for Greg- solid 8/10, also super thoughtful since we know Greg loves mischief and fun, extra point for the Cupid of it all, obviously chosen because it would cause so much chaos, and also potentially many medical bills. Excellent. Favorite brother by a landslide

2. Timepiece for Violet- 9/10. He literally got her the gift of time! Clearly the most expensive gift out of the lot, too. He adores his mum and he clearly cares so much about the women in his life. All the gifts he got for them clearly show he listens to them and their interests, but this one feels extra thoughtful and also useful. Genuinely the sweetest, most respectful male lead by a mile. We stan a Momma's Boy

aaaaaaaand

Gave Pen a hand. . .well, more like two fingers- 11/10, the gift that he keeps on giving

#polin #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #violet bridgerton #penelope featherington #hyacinth bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #the bridgerbunch #colin bridgerton came back from traveling 17 cities and said #'oh no! i forgot to get something for Pen! whoops no i didn't i'll give her an orgasm' and then hE DID

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stergeon · 1 month

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> FERDINAND II.

And so your PLANT shall henceforth be known as FERDINAND II.

The thought of needing to inform FERDINAND I of his having a namesake makes you a bit ill, but you are already hard at work devising several plausible excuses for the gesture. Something about how you've named it after the one most invested in its naming, or how it is similarly prone to drooling. Yes. Yes, you will be able to deflect quite easily, should the need arise. It has nothing to do with your fondness for FERDINAND or your desire for a substitute in his imminent absence, no—again, you are not so prone to sentimentality. It's about the drool.

Well, anyway. Best to move on with your day and think about something else, lest you grow maudlin or cultivate further affection for the PLANT. May the GODDESS be merciful and never cause you to develop inclinations that could be described as paternal.

Now that your plant has received sufficient care, it is time for COFFEE. You set to making your morning brew. By CHANCE, there happens to be sufficient water remaining in the kettle for FERDINAND I to have TEA, should he wish it.

Per your TIMEPIECE, it is now a quarter to eight. You have made excellent progress on your PRE-BREAKFAST TO-DO LIST thus far: the only remaining task is to remove FERDINAND. You are starting to get rather peckish and would like to be rid of him quickly, but over the past week, you have found that extracting the man from YOUR QUARTERS is a more arduous task than it ought to be.

#007 | << | <- | -> | JOURNAL | HOW TO PLAY | ALL POSTS

#fire emblem #hubert von vestra #fe16 #ferdibert #hpnd #sterge.pptx #fe3h #sorry this was late lol #late according to the update schedule i don't have #as the poll was wrapping i thought 'wouldn't it be fucked up to make a game where you make coffee.'#never mind that 1. i've barely made any games #2. i had no idea how to make a multi-part game #3. i wanted to turn it around in ~24 hours #i actually Did finish the game in about a day but i still had to write a post and draw the bg + the panel #if the game doesn't work: sorry #it Should work on mobile (android and ios) but it is pretty finicky #it works Better on desktop but that's not saying much #if you run into any showstopping issues: please lmk so i can fix it #did Some bug testing (aka made my friends do it for me) but not a lot lol. again: short turnaround time #i know there's a bug with the message/alert windows if you click through things too fast but idk what i did and i don't really care lol #maybe i'll fix that eventually #i'd like to also make it smoother and add some more animations but i kinda doubt i'll get around to it #pretty pleased as i did the entire game with pure css and no images except the fireplace #idk if that's cool to anybody else but it makes me happy #god dog… that background is screwy. need to fix that.#i will fix it someday. [lie]

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thislovintime · 5 months

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1968.

“‘Actually, I wanted to leave the group over two years ago when the first season ended, but the guys convinced me not to. I didn’t care about all the things that were happening, all the acclaim. I hated the work! It was tough, and I didn’t like it. I just wanted to record for all my life. Also, the pressure was awful. We were working in an incredibly new environment. Half of the crew on the show was young and had very little experience at that level of work. Many of them were getting their first big break. Actually, after the TV show was canceled it was easier for me to leave. Doing the TV show was the worst. Then came the movie, and I couldn’t forego the movie, so I did it. You know, there were moments here and there — lots of good, funny stuff happening throughout — but the only time that I was really happy was when we were recording the ‘Headquarters’ album. The concerts were fun, but during the concert tours you are removed from your friends except for the guys. And even when we did take a few friends along it was only a mild relief. This last tour of Australia and Japan wasn’t fun because I felt hideously under-rehearsed. I was constantly pushing for rehearsals, and they were constantly saying well, like later. We couldn’t get together. Also, we didn’t play any new music this last concert tour. It was all old tunes, nothing from our newer albums, and it was a bore. But I think they suspected I was leaving anyway. For me, a lot of the pressure was off. When I felt a part of the group every time someone said something that jarred my sensibilities, I’d raise a huge ruckus and everybody thought I was out of my mind. While we were making the TV Special, knowing I was not going to be there any longer, I just thought to myself — I don’t have to worry about this thing — and I just let everything slide off my back. They must have though something was screwy. Then I finally told them, ‘Gentlemen I’m in negotiations to resign from the group.’ And they said, ‘Okay, well, there’s not much time, we’d better get to work on this Special.’ So we taped the thing and that’s the last I saw of them. The last day of the taping they gave me this little testimonial memorial watch.’ From his pocket Peter drew out a silver, antique-looking timepiece with the back side engraved, ‘To Peter Tork, from the guys down at work.’ ‘I’m free, I don’t know what I’ll be doing. I’m actually a little apprehensive, because there’s no doubt that there are three other incredibly talented fellows out there. They’re very talented guys. Mike is one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. Micky is even funnier and Davy is just cute as a button. Who could ask for anything more? Davy dances so great, did you see him dance in the film? I’ve not seen dancing like that on the screen except from Fred Astaire. The only other thing is that I’m both really relieved and really, really apprehensive. I’m terribly glad and also terribly sad.’” - NME, January 25, 1969

“Peter and I were the bulk of the playing ability because we were musicians. But when Peter left it rather unnerved Davy and Micky — and I changed my mind [about leaving]. After all, the personal appearances were pretty well satisfying, the music was fun, and the whole thing was fairly lucrative. And Davy and Micky left alone would have been in real trouble.” - Michael Nesmith, Disc and Music Echo, September 19, 1970

"In a telephone interview this week, Tork explained why he left the group in 1968, three years after it was formed. ‘Musicians were being auditioned in an effort to create the Monkees, and the purpose was to reap money,’ he said. ‘But for our first two albums, studio musicians were hired to do the instrumentals and we just did the lead singing. I didn’t want that.’ Tork convinced the other three members, Davy Jones, [Micky] Dolenz and Mike Nesmith, to do the third album themselves. ‘But I couldn’t get the guys to go for that again, so the fourth album was half and half,’ he said. Critics had frowned on the Monkees for this. ‘Every single malcontent felt he had the right to tell me what was wrong with the situation. I took the critics to heart,’ Tork said. ‘When I talked to the guys about it, they told me if I want more I should get my own act.’ Tork describes his current relationship with Jones, Dolenz and Nesmith as ‘cordial.’ ‘I learned to put all my bitterness behind me,’ he said. ‘I hear about them through the grapevine, but we have no real call to talk to each other, although, I had a brief lunch with Davy Jones in Japan recently.’ When Tork joined the Monkees in October 1965, he was 23 years old and inexperienced in handling fame and fortune. ‘There’s a lot of things involved with money and recognition, and the price was much higher than I expected,’ he said. ‘There’s an isolating pressure that goes along with success. I couldn’t handle it.’" - article by Lisa Stenza, Connecticut Daily Campus, February 26, 1982 (read more in an older post)

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #Davy Jones #Micky Dolenz #Michael Nesmith #The Monkees #Monkees #long read #Peter and Davy #Peter and Micky #Peter and Michael #can you queue it

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softboynick · 4 months

Text

forged by fire and crafted with care

firstprince | Henry holds the high expectations of the Crown on his shoulders, and it crushes him to the point of self-doubt and self-sabotage. That is, until he finally chooses a life for himself and chooses to live truthfully. He refuses to hide among the shadows no longer. He is Henry Fox, and no one will take that away from him.

OR The story of Henry's bravery and journey towards happiness as told through different pieces of jewelry.

5.5k words, rwrb-compliant, henry-centric, based on this beautiful piece of artwork by @artofobsession

Also read on AO3

Bea makes him a bracelet of beads and thread when he is six years old. It’s pink and sparkly and fits loosely on his small wrist when she puts it on for him. He can spell his name out just fine—he tells his Papa he’s a big boy almost everyday—so he can see that his sister added beads to spell out his name.

H-E-N-R-Y.

He traces his fingers over the letters and the sparkly pink beads around his wrist. It’s very pretty.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a friendship bracelet, Henry. All my friends at school were making one, so I thought I could make one for you, too.”

“But you’re my sister.”

“Sisters can be your friend, too, silly.”

“Oh. Well. But I don’t want you to be my friend. I want you to be my best friend, Bea.”

His sister laughs, and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard—well, second best, next to his Papa’s voices when he tells him his bedtime stories.

“Okay, okay, fine! I’ll be your best friend, Hen. As long as you’re mine.”

That night, when he is all tucked in under the covers and in his warm pajamas, he traces the black, blocky letters of his name and smiles, big, unrestrained, and most importantly, happy. He doesn’t have to wonder what his grandmother truly thinks about boys who play with their sister’s dolls and wear pink, sparkly bracelets. That will happen another day.

For now, as he falls asleep with Bea’s friendship bracelet secured around his tiny wrist, he doesn’t have to worry about the entire world’s burdens bearing down on his shoulders just yet.

****

His grandmother gifts him a watch that sits heavy on his wrist. It is a present fit for a man—fit for a king (even though he is only the spare)—and at thirteen years of age, he is already expected to act like one. She tells him that the watch will build character. That it will finally make him focus on playing the part of the dutiful Prince of England.

“A prince’s wardrobe will not be complete without a solid timepiece,” she tells Henry as she passes the box to him on the evening of his thirteenth birthday, and her voice has yet to adopt the tinge of disappointment that always seemed to be reserved for her two youngest grandchildren. That will come at a later time.

While the craftsmanship is objectively beautiful, the watch is rather bulky, interlaced silver brackets for the wristband with a deep blue face, gold accented numbers, and sturdy hands fixed meticulously to its center. It is the kind of accessory a boy his age is expected to wear. If it is quiet enough, he can hear the solid ticks and tocks of the watch’s inner machinations, a foreboding countdown to something further down the line.

But the line doesn’t seem far enough, and he is sent to Eton that following fall. He is terrified.

He is a sensitive soul, or that is what he overhears his family, but mostly his grandmother, says about him. He doesn’t know what it means, but he guesses it has something to do with why he’s so poor at making friends, even if he is a prince. During the first few months at school, he struggles to open up to the other boys in his year, choosing instead to hide away in the library or in his dormitory and bury his nose in a book when he isn’t in his classes.

The extra-curriculars he is expected to accomplish break open his shell, but only just. It isn’t until Percy Okonjo forcibly inserts himself into his life that he starts to feel the armor around his heart begin to crack.

****

Pez is a whirlwind, a summer storm, a rogue wave violently crashing into a wall of stone. He barrels into his life and never leaves, taking him by the hand and showing him a new world beyond the palace walls. He chips away at his armored heart with relative ease, and Henry has no idea how he is able to let his sensitive soul be placated by this boy of ultimate exuberance. He is gregarious where he is not. He is the extrovert that somehow has given one look at Henry and decided to keep an introvert like him forever.

And somewhere along the line, he decides he wants to keep him, too.

Their later years at Eton are spent hopping between dormitories, with the other uppercrust boys in their year and above, who are one day going to run England to the ground. They sneak in liquor from their father’s cabinets, the head boys pointedly looking the other way so they can join in on the merriment. They do ridiculous, stupid things, and drink themselves even stupider.

For the first time in a while, he feels free.

Henry is absolutely sloshed from stolen vodka and sambuca shots when Pez suggests he stick a needle through his earlobes. At least he has the wits about him to ask him why.

“Because! It’s what the cool kids do, Hazza.”

“You are fucking mental. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Just live a little, darling! Look, I’ve done this before, so you just need to hold still, sit pretty, and let Auntie Pezza do all the work. And besides, don’t you just want to absolutely piss off your old Gran?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the rebellious part of him takes over, and he decides that yes, he does want to piss off the Queen of England . He doesn’t need much convincing, piss drunk and all, and against his better judgment, he takes another huge swig from the vodka bottle right before Pez pushes the needle into the fleshy part of his ear. He chases down another mouthful when Pez has to the other one, and all he’s thinking about is how horrified his Gran will be if she sees the right state he’s in now.

The alcohol does enough to mask the stinging pain, and everything becomes a right blur after that. When he wakes up hours later, head pounding and mouth dry as sandpaper, his ears are throbbing, the skin pink and angry, and there is a silver stud in each of his earlobes.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

****

His father leaves and the only thing left of him is his memories and the signet ring on his little finger, the one he had presented to him when he’d just turned eighteen. He presses his thumb hard against the ‘H’ engraved into the face of it, feeling the grooves etched into the metal and thinking about his father all the while. He can almost feel his warmth embedded in the metal, but he knows it is only his grief blinding him with wishful thinking and a vibrant imagination.

He twists the ring round and round, mimicking the downward spiral he feels himself succumbing to as he watches his father’s coffin being lowered into the ground.

Then, he loses a mother, a brother, and a sister not long after. Mama loses her heart. Pip loses his love. Bea loses herself. And he is all alone with nothing but the memories of his loving father to remind him of what he has lost.

The world is heavy on his shoulders, and he doesn’t know what else to do.

****

It’s his birthday, and he feels a little less like the world’s closing in on itself now that his psychiatrist has re-adjusted his medication. He still doesn’t sleep all that well at night, but it is still a start.

He doesn’t hear from his mother, but he does receive a message via Shaan to “buy himself something special” along with an envelope full of banknotes. He understands why she travels so much, but one can only do so much to distract themselves from the pain of losing a loved one. He tried. Bea tried. Even Philip tried. It’s been years, and his mother is not the same person he used to know.

He asks Bea to accompany him for lunch, their PPOs trailing a few paces behind them. He hopes he can use his birthday to establish some kind of normalcy since it is just the two of them. Twenty-two, after all, is just a number. There isn’t anything significant about the age. No extravagant milestones attached to its connotation. But still, there are only two things worth noting on the day he turns twenty-two years old: Bea is sober, and he is gay.

After lunch, Bea takes him shopping to make use of the money their mother sent to him to spend, but nothing catches his eye. That is, until they’re in an antique shop, and he sees a pearl necklace sitting in the display case.

The string of pearls is delicate, reminiscent of the friendship bracelet Bea made him all those years ago. It looks as if it is glowing, like tiny moons held together by a gossamer of stars, and he wonders, wistfully, how it would feel on his skin.

“Oh, Hen. It’s so beautiful. I think you should get it.”

Bea is the only one who knows who he truly is. She is the first one he tells, after all. She hadn’t judged him then, and she still doesn’t judge him now. In fact, she openly encourages him to explore the part of himself that he keeps hidden away because of the watchful eye of the Crown.

“I- I don’t know. It’s just- It isn’t fitting for a prince, is it.”

Even he can hear how defeated he sounds in his own ears. An echo of his grandmother’s biting tongue, tutting at his behavior like an ever-present devil. A prince like him would have never been allowed to wear, let alone have, a piece of jewelry so…feminine, so insinuating of a life he isn’t meant to lead, a life his own grandmother would never approve of. Heavy is the Crown he wears, and it is suffocating.

He leaves the shop empty-handed and heavy-hearted.

Days later, he finds a box addressed to him sitting on his bed. He lifts the lid and what rests inside it knocks the air right out of his chest.

“I know it’s a few days late, but…do you like it?”

“Bea…you didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t. I wanted to. You’re my best friend, Hen. I like seeing you happy.”

He looks down at the pearl necklace, delicate in his hands, and his gaze becomes blurry with tears.

“Can you…can you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Hen.”

They stand in front of the mirror as she helps him close the clasp around his neck, the pearls sitting perfectly, gently, against his collarbone, and the boy staring back at him looks inexplicably…happy.

****

The constant appearances and camera-ready smiles have slowly begun to whittle him down to a shell of himself. The engagements have only seemed to ramp up since his father’s death marked the beginning of the Fox family’s detriment. The Crown has a reputation to uphold, and so under the orders from the Queen herself, Henry is carted off around the world, as the family’s sole representative, to make sure everyone sees how normal and happy the royal family is, when truly, they are anything but.

But it all becomes too much eventually, and he sneaks off needing a moment alone, a moment to be Henry Fox and not Prince Henry of England. To breathe and not have the heavy weight of the Crown looming over him.

He buys the earrings on a whim. He tells the jeweler they are a gift for his mother as he watches her pack them into a small velvet box. She gushes to him about the pearls, telling him how they’re ethically farmed from their supplier in Japan. She explains how the cooler waters in which they’re farmed cause the pearls to grow more slowly, making them more compact and giving them more luster than the average pearl.

He simply smiles and nods, half-listening. He glances over his shoulder and sees the lone PPO he wrangled onto this impromptu journey and his equerry still stationed at the door.

He takes the bag, cream and discreet, and turns to leave immediately.

“Finished, Your Royal Highness?”

He wordlessly nods at Shaan and disappears out the door and into the black car waiting for him at the curb. When they arrive back at Kensington Palace, he goes to his room, feigning exhaustion as an excuse. Shaan fortunately leaves him be, letting him know that he does not have any more engagements for the rest of the day.

Henry sits on the edge of the bed, pulls out the small felt box containing the earrings and sets it down. He then reaches into his bedside table and pulls out the box that holds the necklace Bea had gotten for him on his twenty-second birthday and places it down next to the earrings.

He releases an unsteady breath and waits a beat, before getting up to check that the door is locked. He knows no one will bother him at this time of day—Shaan will make sure of it—but he still goes to check anyway. He takes both boxes to the dresser, the mirror sitting right above it. He takes the necklace out first and caresses the pearls with his fingertips. He doesn’t have Bea’s help this time, so it takes some moments of fumbling before he manages to clasp it around his neck. He runs his fingers along the smooth surface of the pearls once it’s secured, cool against his skin, and lets out another breath.

Then, he opens the second, smaller box. The hinges are smooth as he lifts the lid and reveals the pearl earrings sitting prettily on a bed of felt. He lifts one to examine it. The silver hoop is cool between his fingertips, and a droplet of pearl hangs from it with a chain of delicate filigree.

He takes extra care to put them on. The left ear goes on first, and then, the right. They slip right through the holes that have miraculously not closed up after years of not wearing any earrings.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment and watches as his eyes turn bright with tears. They spark with a newfound confidence that had laid dormant for years, beaten out of him by his grandmother’s incessant rules and expectations. But he sees now, as he stands there adorned in pearlescent jewelry, that she was not successful.

This is Henry Fox. Not the Prince. Not the grandson of Queen Mary. And absolutely no one is allowed to take this away from him.

Continue on AO3

#firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb #rwrb fic #red white royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #henry is a pretty pretty princess #my fic

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delirious-donna · 3 months

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Expensive Taste [Extra Drabble]

Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother

an: I love added detail and I wondered what reader would get up to now she is aware of who’s bedroom she is standing in. If anyone is curious about the watch mentioned, the link to it is here for visual reference.

pairing: Nanami Kento x reader

warnings: none at all

Series Masterlist

“C’mon c’mon,” you muttered to yourself, listening to the incessant ringing in your ear. The line clicked over to voicemail. You cursed loudly, tossing your phone onto the plush bed. A bed that wasn’t yours, not even temporarily.

Your fingers tightened into the fluffy white towel fixed around your chest, a sense of guilt settling in your gut. It was ridiculous. You didn’t know you were in someone’s home. Blowing out a long breath, you spun on the spot. There were details you missed on first entering the room, and finding them now only made you feel foolish.

Set upon the right-hand nightstand was a black leather organiser with an expensive-looking watch displayed next to a retro alarm clock. You padded closer, bending to examine the timepiece without touching it and blinked rapidly as you came face to face with an Omega watch.

Shit, those were expensive.

You didn’t dare to touch the steel links, only admired the yellow-gold detail and navy blue face from a safe distance whilst telling yourself not to pick up your phone and find out just how much money these would set someone back. It wasn’t any of your business. None at all.

Dressing with little care, you hopped around the room to pull your leggings up and caught sight of yourself in the floor-length mirror. What a situation to be in. You couldn’t decide if this was the plot of some rom-com or a horror movie, at this point, it could go either way. Even knowing that your instincts told you to trust him. If he had wanted to cause you harm, then his best opportunity had blown right by.

Suppressing a smile, you remembered how mortified he had looked once the realisation had set in. The look of a man who did not have a clue what to do and that only endeared you to him despite the unsavouriness of the situation.

You fixed your hair into a loose ponytail, thankful that only the ends were wet with your untimely splashing session in the bath, and that’s when you spied the inset doorway to the left of the mirror.

Curiosity killed the cat, or so the saying goes.

Maybe it wasn’t a good quality of yours, this inability to resist temptation, but an open entryway wasn’t snooping, was it? You weren’t rifling through his drawers or looking at anything not openly on display. That was your argument, and you were sticking to it.

“Goddamn…”

For the second time this day, you spun a full 360 in what turned out to be an immaculate walk-in closet. Had you spied this earlier, there would have been no doubt in your mind that this place belonged to a man and a wealthy one at that.

The racks were neatly arranged into categories, with shirts of white, navy, black and grey hung with pristine creases highlighted in the sleeves and the cuffs and collars starched. Another housed trousers with matching jackets in the section next to them. You reached out tentatively, fingertips brushing against the thick expensive fabric. Just how much money did this guy earn?

One thing you noticed was that the area reserved for what you would consider casual attire was remarkably sparse. A few thin-knit sweaters hung with care. A pile of folded t-shirts stacked beneath and one pair of folded light blue denim jeans. Workout shorts and a few Under Armour compression shirts finished your perusal of the more than generous space.

Each item spoke of luxury, of an indulgence in the finer things in life but it did not necessarily strike you as excess. You gathered that everything in here held a purpose, be it to dress to impress at work or get the most from a workout. Nothing seemed like the kind of impulse buys that you were guilty of on the odd occasions you felt flush with money. Whether it was your place or not, it spoke to something within you, and you liked that he was indulgent where it counted.

You didn’t dare to open the drawers beneath, scared to death of what you might find—underwear mostly likely. Instead, you scurried back into the bedroom, terrified that he might return if you took too long.

It would be a lie to deny you were curious about him. He was far from old enough to be Karin’s father, a brother perhaps? You worried your bottom lip with your teeth, eyebrows pinched at the thought you might not know your friend as well as you assumed.

The man had an immaculate taste, but you very much got the impression that he was a workaholic. Even from the brief time you had spent together in the steamy bathroom, the fatigue was evident on his face. He could use a vacation most likely.

With that thought in mind, you went in search of the man in question. Several outcomes were jostling in your brain for attention, and all you hoped was that it wouldn’t end with you out on the streets with nowhere to go.

This Nanami Kento wouldn’t be so heartless, would he?

#delirious writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

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shepherds-of-haven · 10 months

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reporting in to send the ask for what each of the shepherds carry in their packs 🫡 blade gets tapped for a what’s in my purse vlog and the video is just a knife. and a knife. and a knife. and a knife—

Thank you for your service 🫡

Out in the field, if you were to grab a pack and rummage through it, only to find it wasn't yours, you'd find the following (excludes the standard field kit for Shepherd officers, which includes a bedroll, a tent/tarp, blanket, canteen, soap, toiletries, various changes of clothes, equipment to care for horses/ahfuri, mess kit with eating utensils and tin plates and etc., and the obvious standards like money and etc.):

Blade: a sturdy, rigorously-organized, plain and utilitarian pack containing: fire-starting tools (flint, steel, and tinder). utility/hunting knife (for things like cutting rope, skinning deer and fish, etc). dagger (for emergencies. in case the ones he keeps on his person are taken away from him). small portable writing set (comes with a flat, collapsible tablet that serves as a writing desk, ink, parchment, and pen) for composing letters/orders/messages to send home. emergency first aid (minimalist: basically consists of a bottle of alcohol for sterilization, needle and medical thread for stitches, and some clean bandages). dried meat or jerky, hardtack biscuits (emergency rations). small cooking pot. whetstone (for sharpening his weapons). fishing hook and twine. hawking whistle. maps. rope. various small utility tools.

Trouble: a battered, worn and stained rucksack containing: fire-starting tools. charch and matches. various snacks and extra rations (trail mix, etc.). cubes of fat and bullion or various seasonings for meals. small cooking pot. extra ammunition (a lot of it). tools to maintain and clean his firearms. utility/hunting knife. rain-proof cover (can be used for himself or his rifle). extra gloves and socks. whatever novel he's currently reading. explosives (😳), various tools to create distractions (smoke grenades, etc.). signaling mirror. compass. timepiece. dice. playing cards. insect repellent salve. maybe fishing hook and twine if he expects to be "roughing" it for a long time! spyglass.

Tallys: a clean, well-maintained leather bag with Elvish adornments containing: large kit containing several different vials of various elixirs, tinctures, oils, and extracts (serve different purposes like reviving the unconscious, numbing pain, putting someone to sleep, etc.) as well as various different powders and dried herbs (some are poisonous, as Chase had the misfortune of discovering when he snooped too much); teabags; map; Elvish animal whistle (used for various purposes: as an animal or bird lure, for communicating while hunting or in camouflage, as a distraction); tifin (small Elvish flute) if she thinks she's going to be away for a really long time; Elvish hunting knife; kit of wax, resin, twine, and whittling knife to maintain her bow and arrows; first aid kit; woven Elvish mat (often used for meditation and dawn prayer rites, but can be used just for sitting more comfortably on things, as a lap blanket, or even as a scarf/shawl for extra warmth); small empty containers for foraging and protecting things like berries, mushrooms, leaves, etc.; Elvish field guide describing the various uses of flora and local plant matter; Elvish calendar and daily book of proverbs to keep track of the days (also doubles as a brief journal); pen; fire-starting kit.

Shery: Shery doesn't actually embark on missions into the field and actually has never left Haven (unless you're reading her latest short story on Patreon, lol), so the contents of her pack are at the moment hypothetical! Because of her inexperience, I'd guess that she'd both err on extreme overcaution and overpacking and also make some impractical choices, like bringing too many books, outfits for all kinds of weather, a parasol, a sewing kit, a little stuffed animal for good luck, a teapot, a nail file, an extra blanket and a fluffy pillow, and things like that! But she'd also have sensible choices, too, just way too many of them!

Riel: when he goes on business trips he typically has a whole trunk of things with him LOL but if forced to come along on a field mission, my guess would be that he'd mostly bring different changes of clothes, his hygiene and toiletries kit (complete with hair pomade, cologne, and fresh handkerchiefs), and then would just assume/rely on gold getting him whatever else he needed 😂😂 Actually he'd also certainly pack a valise with whatever current documents or contracts he's been working on, plenty of stationary and ink, a notepad for taking notes, a foldable writing desk, books, and whatever proof he'd need of being (at that time) Master of Merchants Guild, like his official stamps and wax seals and whatnot. Basically whatever he'd need for doing work on the road! 😂 Oh, he'd also pack a gun. Just in case!

Chase: a deceptively-slim, innocuous rucksack that is surprisingly hard to open if you're not familiar with it, containing: several lockpick sets. a bottle of alcohol to bribe informants with (or light a fire, sanitize a wound, what have you). rope. file. utility knife. whetstone. extra ammunition. fire-starting kit. tools to maintain his firearms. charch. playing cards. whatever book he's currently struggling through as homework. various shiny trinkets that can be traded, bargained, bribed, or used as a distraction. devices used as distractions (flashbags, smoke grenades, low-level explosives). grooming kit with comb, pomade, cologne, mirror, etc. scarf (can be used as a fashion accessory, mask to obscure lower half of face, or, in a pinch, as a method of strangling someone 🙂). wire (don't ask). mysterious vials (could be poison, could be acid to burn through locks). different accessories, clothes, and wig for different disguises. special gripped shoes for climbing and capering. small grappling hook. net/bolas (typically used to trip opponents up or rig traps). recently-acquired reed harp (harmonica) that he uses to amuse/torture teammates with.

Red: a slim, casually-packed, strangely collegiate bag (he generally travels light because he cheats and conjures most of what he needs as he needs it), containing: whatever book he's currently reading. field journal and writing implements. foldable writing desk. scroll container to protect any precious documents or papers he might come across. various Mage-y implements like chalk, lyme, certain compounds that help with arcane magic and drawing runes. measuring ruler. various charged lodestones and keystones. maps. compass. grooming kit for his endless hair needs 😳 (pomade, comb, mirror, etc.). multi-use mini game board (you can play various games on it like Elements, checkers, sui, etc.). small containers for collecting specimens. travel lantern (for exploring ruins without having to deal with a guttering torch flame). insect repellant salve. salve for burns and aches. magnifying glass. small flat cushion for sitting/laying on if the ground is extremely lumpy.

Ayla: a carelessly battered, fraying rucksack with small carved totems dangling from it, containing: backup canteens of water (emergency only). collapsible trowel to dig holes (generally to dig up roots, tubers, or to find water). maps. compass. sundial. lots and lots of rations (the majority of her pack will contain non-perishable food). sewing kit (doubles both as first aid and for emergency repairs to clothes). colored twine (primarily used to mark trails so you don't get lost, demarcate certain things you'll need to find again later, and also doubles as a Jalis hand-game to play with another person when bored). playing cards. dice. rope. hunting/utility knife. lockpick set. sun lotion (to protect the skin). extra tarp (to erect emergency lean-to/rain shelter/shade; doubles as emergency extra blanket). file. hairties for her braid. jade stone from her parents. slingshot/leather thong to hurl rocks with (this is a deadly weapon in her hands). signaling mirror. survival whistle. small torch. fire-starting kit. whittling knife for when she's bored and wants to carve things into her staff or just out of hunks of wood. field guide telling her what's safe to eat and what's not. jalis rattle (sort of like maracas: it's a small wooden cylinder filled with dry rice) in case she's in the mood to provide a rhythm to someone else's music.

Briony: a fat, cheerful pack with many charms and souvenirs dangling from every strap, containing: a field journal/sketchbook full of sketches, drawing/writing implements. a hairbrush. haphazard grooming case (eyelash curler, a bit of blush, no mirror). fingerless gloves. her latest book. extra hair ties/hair ribbons. oils and rags to maintain her armor. whetstone. fire-starter kit. maps and compass. some snacks, but typically she forgets about them. fishing hook and twine. headscarf to conceal her hair if need be. field encyclopedia/traveler's guide (more about various landmarks and places of interest she might see than survivalist tips). first-aid kit (used more than most to deal with small scrapes and wounds). hunting/utility knife. spare dagger. stargazing map. spyglass. pouch full of pretty rocks or dried flowers she picks up along the way. spellbook full of spells she's learning/practicing along the way.

Lavinet: an expensive but practical and well-made leather saddlebag containing: compact maquillage and grooming case (hairbrush, lipstick, mirror, perfume, hair conditioner, etc.). extra riding gloves. extra handkerchiefs. whetstone, tools to maintain her lance and sword. tools to maintain her saddlery. horse treats. fur throw that doubles as small extra blanket, extra warmth as a shawl, or as a cushion to sit on. extra pair of riding boots in case one set fails. Naveen signet ring and official accoutrements. writing set, desk, and seal. current book. hat to shade her head from the sun. sewing kit and patches of fabric to repair clothes. first aid manual. wax (has various uses, but she primarily uses it to plug her ears if she absolutely needs to). fire-starting kit. chainmail that can be concealed under the clothes. stiletto knife. corset (you never know, darling!)

Halek: an ordinary, standard pack containing: tools for weapons maintenance (for his spear). small compact bow and quiver. hunting/utility knife. exorcist dagger. recipe book and culinary guide regarding exotic ingredients or places of interest. various ingredients he picks up in towns or foraging in the wild. cooking oil, seasonings and spices, emergency salt, cubes of fat and bullion and stock, dried herbs, dried meat and cheese, flour. water-proof, heavy cloak for winter travel (also doubles as an extra blanket, as the standard-issue one might be too short for him). collar to suppress his blood-rage if need be. fire-starting kit. elk treats. small bell to tie to his elk in case he needs to. twine. grappling hook and rope. maps and compass. herbal teas. fishing hook. animal bait and snares. bear repellant. cooking pot and small frying pan. sand (used to scrub pots and pans when water is scarce or frozen). signal whistle. special snow boots if traveling through snow.

#phew! that was a lot!#Shepherds of Haven #all characters #pack #packs #travel #equipment #long #long post

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shortshowname · 11 months

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"You gotta be more careful around broken Timepieces!" "Oh, come on, it's just a cut..."

Day 5 - Hurt

Well, Hatstache Week has come and past. I may still end up drawing something for the last two days, but for now I'd say this was a good first go at it!

@hatstacheweek

#ss posting #my art #digital art #fanart #a hat in time #made with krita #ahit #hat kid #mustache girl #hatstacheweek2023 #hatstacheweek #rumbi

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understandableparadox · 6 months

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tHE HOMESTUCK OC TUMBLR POLL TOURNAMENT!!! YOUR CONTESTENTS!

@ineffable-gallimaufry

Tamiss Eriism

They're my trollsona! Here's the bio I used for art fight:

Your name is TAMISS ERIISM.

Flowing through your veins is good thick VIOLET blood. While you don't care much for the hemospectrum overall, you still find yourself admiring the way it looks. You think it is VERY PRETTY, you love living underwater, and the perks it gives you are TRULY ENVIABLE.

Perhaps connected to your high status within the hemospectrum is your MASSIVE GOD COMPLEX. In your opinion, you might be the best person on the entire planet, maybe even better than THE CONDESCE HERSELF. Though you probably wouldn't say that to her face. You'll prove your great power one day by overthrowing her so everyone will respect you for your TRUE POWER. Though that's not making very much headway. Maybe some day though, with your SICKLE in hand, you'll finally prove yourself.

You are ever so slightly obsessed with CULINARY and CRYPTOGRAPHICAL HISTORY. You are in fact quite fond of most HISTORIES, and take an interest in many forms of the PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. You even model many aspects of yourself after HEROES you saw in your books. One, a cobalt blood, gave you a great appreciation of SPIDERS AND ALL SORTS OF INSECTS, though your lifestyle gives you hardly any opportunity to view any for real. There was another from the same place on the hemospectrum as you who you also found REALLY COOL. He inspired much of your personality such as your INTEREST IN DRAMA, ROMANTIC NATURE, and AMAZING HAIR STRIPE. Sometimes you even feel like you can HEAR THEIR VOICES but that's probably normal. Despite how TOTALLY COOL you are, people hardly tend to notice you. Once your plans are complete though, that WON'T HAPPEN ANYMORE.

You also like READING TOMES OF KNOWLEDGE. Though most of the knowledge is either on BEING A HUGE LESBIAN or MATH YOU DO NOT QUITE UNDERSTAND. Or communism. It is quite a ball though.

Your trolltag is atlanteanAscension and you speak iin a wway remiiniiscent 8f y8ur favv8riite her8es.

Halpetasprite

She's just like... well it's like if Lil Hal got tossed into Nepetasprite instead of Equiussprite. he/she pronouns.

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@vi-timepiece

Luciol Lanten

Limeblood, mutant, based off a firefly. The stripes on her body can glow. She/it, nonbinary. Enjoys stargazing. Matesprits with Vichtr Unikke

Vichtr Unikke

Supposed to be goldblood, is blackblood instead because mutation. Has difficulty controlling psionics. He/they, trans man. Likes robotics. Matesprits with Luciol Lanten

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Starlight-prism.tumblr.com

Chylia Merian

Handle: achromaticAdversary

Classpect: Sylph of Doom (Derse)

Pronouns: she/they

Chylia is a hemoanonymous limeblood troll (dancestor ghost) who is great with survival and fighting thanks to the sabertooth lusus that miraculously saved her from culling. She's very competent and was the only member of her Sgrub team to reach god tier. But they also take themself too seriously in such a way that they wind back to being silly! Like half of the things they do are for the aesthetic, to be honest. They wear a dramatic black mask and cape, and they use a giant machine gun to feel powerful and edgy. They used to dye their hair fully black, but now they partially dye it so the white roots can be partially seen. Chylia is a total edgelord and I love her and I hope you do too after reading this!

Full information and backstory here, as well as more art: https://toyhou.se/23778562.chylia-merian

Erizoh Stilde

Handle: pincushionsApex

Classpect: Knight of Rage

Pronouns: he/him

Erizoh is a jadeblood who rejected the role of his caste from an early age, faking his culling upon receiving invitation to come live in hiding with the heiress instead. He took up the hobby of plushmaking at the heiress's suggestion, and he also dabbles in cross-stitch and crochet. He's honestly pretty pretentious about his art, and is kind of an asshole, but in a certain "wet-cat" way that makes people like him regardless. He has a weird fixation with his grubhood self, specifically stabbing a plush version of it with pins. He was the first troll OC I made, and he came from a dream where he was trying to sell me a cow plushie and guilted me into buying it. I love Erizoh, he's such a loser.

More information here, as well as more art: https://toyhou.se/22085532.erizoh-stilde

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Venom draws on tumblr

Garlik Femara

A 9ft tall purple blood

She isn't the brightest (bimbo energy) and is all around friendly

She was "brainwashed" by the clurch because they saw her as a useful asset but she did not want to be a subjugulator and was showing signs of rebellion.

She is a killing machine but the circumstances are very specific, he trigger is a list. Most specifically a list of names but if given any list something in her brain is triggered to bring forward the highblood rage.

Nahlee Rovian

He is just silly.

He is just a guy who would eat a slice of cheese off of the floor, cheese of unknown origin.

He is a sweet and funny guy and is way too easily trusting.

If this guy was a playlist it would be "weird al" and "ninja sex party".

He smells funny.

No rizz.

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@chococookiez

Novasu Kirazi

- not pictured: her limeblood matesprit who she would kill for

- would overthrow the government and destroy the hemospectrum if they could

- WILL defeat you with the power of friendship and a gun she found

Mauami Sigera

- who is this creature and how did it get here

- perpetual °^° face and may or may not have arms

- it's just trying it's best

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@thehomestucker-surgeburbofficial

Gaemir Jurami

Your name is GAEMIR JURAMI.

You tend to enjoy things like DIGGING UP FOSSILS and PRESERVED ORGANISMS. You also like to COLLECT COOL ROCKS you find outside your hive. Occasionally you will BREAK THEM OPEN to see if ANYTHING IS INSIDE. You enjoy watching DRAMATIC AND SAD FILMS from time to time, as well as ROMANCE MOVIES. Your favorite actor has to be by far, TROLL TOM HANKS.

On DIGCORB, your trolltag is skeletalTragedy and you tend to speak R4ther dully. In short, brief sentences. Usu4lly in 4 very serious m4tter.

He/They

Ceferi Fetris

Your name is CEFERI FETRIS.

You enjoy GARDENING. Mostly things like PUMPKINS or BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS that you give to your MATESPRIT and MOIRAIL. You also enjoy STARGAZING. It never fails to relax you. You tend to DRAW WHAT YOU SEE in the stars as well. Sometimes it's just MEANINGLESS SYMBOLS, other times it’s FULL SCENARIOS. You may even indulge in your hobby of PHOTOGRAPHY and TAKE PHOTOS OF THE STARS too. You also have a BIG LIBRARY, full of FICTION BOOKS, mostly the GOOD SCI-FI ONES and MAGICAL STORIES of WIZARDS.

Your trolltag is floralGallery and you speak wit>h hope and beaut>y in your heart. Al>l> is wel>l> in t>he presence of you.

(SIDE NOTE: She Is Also A Trans Woman!!!) She/Vir

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@spaceypineapple

Fendir Sanqui

fendir's a bronzeblood adventurer who idolizes troll indiana jones! hes got a pretty large collection of artifacts and loves learning about history. he also really likes myths and legends!! hes a very emotional guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, though he often (unintentionally) ignores the emotions of others. he's very very silly.

Trenas Maladi

trenas is a rustblood author who has the worst case of writers block ever seen. she's very tired all of the time and comes off a bit harsh, but she means well!! she's very nosy and knowing other people's business. she's very good at giving out advice to people too. she enjoys monsters and romance stories ABOUT monsters.

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@hareofhrairHareofhrair

Shafan Nishal

Shafan has been around since 2015, making friends in the tumblr ftc! They're a Brer Rabbit pastiche, a laid back traveling musician, trickster and occasional smuggler, and they love nothing better than sharing a smoke, swapping a story, and stealing from rich folks. A more or less homeless vagrant they wander from place to place, breaking hearts and singing songs. They make friends wherever they go, but they have a powerful fear of commitment that keeps them from getting too close to anyone. As soon as someone starts looking too attached, they skip town, and boy can they run! Shafan is faster on foot across open ground than just about any troll alive, at least according to them, and they're always happy to prove it with a race. So if you've got a story to tell, a song to share, or you just need someone to deal you weed for a (mostly) fair price, look for the white haired rusty playing banjo on the corner and come say hello!

Popahv Arlech

Popahv came from an amazing homestuck ttrpg campaign called Binary System, which we even tried turning into a fanventure for a little bit there! Popahv is just a sweet little guy with some serious attachment issues. He loves his friends more than anything and thinks it's his responsibility to take care of them, whether they want him to or not. Add this to an exploit in the game giving him some extremely overpowered mind control powers, and Popahv becomes just a little problematic! He means well, honestly. He just wants everyone to be happy and peaceful and never ever leave him. Meet the original Friendship Yandere, Popahv!

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Mythfan12.tumblr.com

Meadys Serpin

A rustblood museum curator/rebel supplier, Sylph of Rage, living embodiment of customer service face hiding blind fury

Wessun Ghunne

Oliveblood living out in the desert since birth, Maid of Void, you know those background applications that you never see pop up but are vital to the computer running? that's him

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@ask-swagger-dagger-trolls

Taluco Ialens

First started as a Trollsona, but after a while turned into her own thing and became a Fantroll. She is a Mutantblood due to some deep lore which will take to long to explain. She is an Artist and a big fan of fruity drinks

Soyuka Detoxa

Soyuka was a former escort in a corrupted church, with the help of Taluco (First Character Entry), she was able to turn the once brothel into a proper place of worship. She managed to be quaded with a Death God and a Rebel Leader...so...bonus bragging points for her. She speaks Alternian Spanish.

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@dzcool3

Teranz Zitchk

he found his own corpse in the woods and that made him a channer. he taxidermies badly and hates everyone. has a real self-pity complex

Kizats Hatrak

a member of the troll men in black. a wildly incompetent bully who still manages to make and believe wildly inaccurate conspiracy theories despite being behind many herself. She knows shes kind of a terrible person.

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@sekhmentson

Cysgod Quared

Mad scientist

Betroy Focalx

Local Horoscope Writer

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@tasonix10 for tumblr and Tasonix12 on Twitter 8-]3

Noizod Explos

Noizod Explos is the dancestor of Terriy Explos (My trollsona). Noizod is a troll with an interest of the weird and mysterious, mainly in mad scientists and old food mascots! Noizod is a heir of time/heart, a derse dreamer, And A rust blood. Their typing quirk is misspelling words sometimes and replacing every 7th word with the number 7.

Noizod has low psionics, yet is cursed with the visions of the past, which has led them to try and be like their ancestor, the Observer.

Noizod’s strife Kind is A yo-yo, and lacks a lusus.

Turpen Cansoi

Turpen Cansoi is an indigo blood that owes money to higher bloods, and because of this he’s been DEMOTED TO LOWER CASTE STATUS. Now he lives his life as a low caste blood and tries to make a Quick buck for a living. Turpen is either a maid/Page of breath And a derse dreamer.

There’s Not that much about Turpen other than that. Except the casino theme and being The Session starter, thus Why his trollian Tag is “wheezingCoupier”

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@ethersmith

Sutoka Reddol

4 foot 5. Lesbiab. About 9 sweeps old but sgrub.

A rustblooded thief and thief of void skilled in pocketpicking, lockpicking, parkouring, sneaking, knife throwing, yoyo tricks and flute playing. She happens to possess psionics that let her hide her horns and grip onto surfaces. She's also immune to most poisons. Except alcohol. She'll pass out at the slightest sip of alcoholic beverages. Gunfire stuns her. Her lusus is a rat and her typing quirk adds a lowercase letter after a capital letter. Llike Tthis.

Eeliza Lindel

8 foot. 11 sweeps old.

Just about the least competent fuchsiablood to live twice. Her skills include being okay at leadership, insulting lower castes and making enemies. Formerly the heiress of her planet Liesteria, now the boss of a mafia known as the Kalpon gang. Her lusus is a big ol' gaggle of eels that do not make the same enemies as her. Her quirk surrounds individual words in square brackets and duplicates the letter e.

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@waffletardis

Sarnen Rambuc

Sarnen is a talented prankster, thief, and craftswoman. She mostly tinkers but loves to try inventing her own machines, staying positive throughout the trials and errors. Her favorite prank involves the use of her robotic hands hidden under her gloves, they are detachable, so imagine someone’s surprise when they try to give her a handshake and they seemingly pull her hand straight off! Despite her apparent hunger for shenanigans, she genuinely cares about others, and no one will earn the ire of her foolery unless they are rude to someone she cares about. (Such as her matesprit, she loves her matesprit so much she will not hesitate to tell someone about her matesprit)

Idzill Stoatl

Idzill has a passionate love for art, and can be seen displaying many skills of the craft. Although Idzill is also quite impatient if they are not actively doing anything, and usually goes straight from a zero to one hundred when trying to solve a problem. Tongue gets stuck on something frozen? Try to skillfully use a knife. Art not making the money you want? Go straight to becoming a vigilante assassin… Idzill uses their dexterous skills to be quite the terrifying assassin, though they try their best to only accept hits for people they would consider bad. Idzill does not speak and uses signs 🪧 with their quirk painted onto them to communicate, that’s one way to view sign language i suppose…

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Part 1

#homestuck #polls #tumblr polls #fan kids #fan trolls #fan charubs

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