#So she can be referring to any of them in that moment with that endearment

[sweetlotusprince]

【哪吒之魔童闹海】破亿海报英译：39亿

【Nezha 2】 Box Office Milestone Poster Translation: 3.9 Billion

From top to bottom:

內地影史動画片票房單日冠军 -> Animated Feature Champion Makes History in the Domestic Box Office Within a Single Day

39亿 -> 3.9 Billion

殷夫人：吒儿 -> Lady Yin：Son

用心宠爱 吒儿都懂 -> That they are absolutely doted upon, all three know this in their hearts

Suggestions on the translations would be appreciated as I work to improve my Chinese. I would also love to read/discuss other interpretations ☺️

Project Overview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 》

[karlachismylife]

Writing Russian-speaking characters

So I have once again been chuckling at some adorable clumsy Russian in Nikolai and Nikto fics, and thus I decided to make a little list that might be helpful for fellow COD writers here. And yes, please, feel free to reach out to me if you need any proofreading of your Russian phrases, I would be glad to assist since google translator can butcher it in ways non-speakers won't be able to notice.

I would really appreciate if you guys shared this post and helped it reach people that might need it, I put way more effort into it than I expected myself <3 Also, I might make a followup with some more words and/or phrases that can be useful, so please feel free to request some, since here I am mostly focusing on terms of endearment.

I will write down Russian words, their (approximate and wonky, sorry for that) transcription/transliteration and what part of speech they are (keep in mind that adjectives can be used as nouns when used to address someone) and provide according translation and use.

Keep in mind that in Russian the gender of the word is important!!! I'll write down them in following order: he/him (он/его) version/ she/her (она/её) version/ they/them (они/их) version. However! They/them is NOT traditionally used as gender-neutral pronouns, it's plural only. Some queer and younger folks do use they/them (myself included), but it does sound wonky as it's direct copy from English. Unfortunately, Russian is not very suitable for gender-neutral writing, but there are ways to go about it (I'll try to note some of that too).

*however, since Nikto is sometimes using plural they/them to describe himself, that would be okay with him since it's plural. I hope that makes sense, lol.

So if you're putting an adjective with a noun (example: милый котик) you have to use an adjective in the correct gender form FOR THE WORD! If the noun (котик here) is masculine, you use masculine adjective form EVEN if you're referring to a person with she/her pronouns.

What is love?

The main thing I noticed is that y'all use a direct translation of the word "love" - "любовь" [l'ubov'] (n) to refer to a person. As in "how are you doing, love?". However, that's wrong. "Любовь" is either a word to describe the feeling, or a name (short version would be Люба [Lyuba]). If you wanna use an affectionate pet name, consider one of the following!

дорогой/дорогая/дорогие [dorogoy/dorogaya/dorogiye] (adj) - means "darling". Often used between spouses. Mostly used to refer to person directly, sounds a little quirky if you use it to refer to them in third person (as in "my darling went out to buy some strawberries").

любимый/любимая/любимые [l'ubimiy/l'ubimaya/l'ubimiye] (adj) - means "beloved/loved/loved one" and is probably the closest to "love". You can use it to refer to person directly or to talk about them in third person (as in "can't wait to see любимую". Also yes, the endings are changing depending on the case and I'm not entirely sure how to explain this concisely without going deep into grammar lol).

милый/милая/милые [miliy/milaya/miliye] (adj) - the word means "cute/cutie", but is also used as a general terms of endearment, like "sweetheart". Mainly to refer to someone directly, using it in third person is a little old-fashioned I'd say. Also commonly used by people outside romantic partnership, a kind old lady can definitely call you over with this one asking to help her read expiration date on a milk bottle or something.

любовь моя [l'ubov' moya] (n + adj/pronoun) - okay, I kinda tricked you saying you can't use the word "love" to refer to a person. If you say this (means "my love"), you can! It's pretty romantic and I am actually the one person that uses this daily, otherwise it's either very romance-novel/old-fashioned sounding, but there are moments when it's perfectly suitable. Have that fairytale moment! Also please note, that while "моя любовь" [moya l'ubov'] (adj/pronoun + n) is grammatically correct, it sounds kinda weird if you use it to address the person directly (like in a phrase "my love, you shine brighter than the stars"). While Russian doesn't have particularly strict rules about word order, it does matter to some extent, and this is a prime example: people just use one order way more often that the other.

Pocket-sized

I've already told somewhere here my favourite Nikto fic moment: the sweetest, romantic moment, interrupted by him calling reader "детёныш", which means "cub" as in baby animal. And while my parents do use this word affectionately, I can assure you, most people don't, and it was clear that this was a result of a clumsy translation of "baby" or something like that. So here are some variants for words like baby, little one and such!

малыш/малышка [malysh/malyshka] (n) - I'd say this feels more "little one" than "baby" to me, it's a tad less sexually charged if you get what I mean. Also, you call "малыш" a person of any gender/pronouns, while "малышка" is strictly for she/her. Obviously can be used for kids too.

детка [d'etka] (n) - this one is definitely "baby" or "babe" as a term of endearment, calling a real kid this would be WEIRD if you're not a really old granny. I would also say that it's more commonly used to refer to female partners, but that might be just my perception and experience. It's still okay to use both ways. Also this word can be very much used if you need a little bit of sleazy/catcalling/bad pickup line energy, like someone shouting after a girl passing by on the street. Yuck.

маленький/маленькая [mal'en'kiy/mal'en'kaya] (adj) - this just means "little" or "small", I'd say it's used less commonly and usually in this form "маленький мой/маленькая моя" [mal'en'kiy moy/mal'en'kaya moya] (adj + adj/pronoun). I will expand on this a little later here! Can be used to refer to kids too.

All kinds of fauna

While poor детёныш is reserved for furry freaks like yours truly, there are some animal nicknames that are very widely spread! Here are some that I think would be most useful for y'all. Granted, some people think that these are a lil' bit cringey, but I think it really just depends on what you're used to hear around you. So if I think calling someone a cub is cute, and bunny is cringe, that probably says more about me :D

котик [kot'ik] (n) - this is a term of endearment for a cat. NOT same as kitten, mind you! Mostly used to refer to men (since the word is of masculine gender) - in my experience.

котёнок [kot'onok] (second o here is like ö in German) (n) - now THIS is "kitten". I would say this is more gender-neutral than the previous one, but the word is still masculine gender.

зайка [zayka] (n) - I believe this would be an equivalent to "bunny", although it's actually a cute word for a hare, not a rabbit. Definitely used for all genders (also the word can be both masculine and feminine gender), also is okay to use referring to kids (even teachers that are into endearing nicknames can call pupils this and it's not weird. well, in elementary school). You can also say "зайчонок" [zaych'onok] (n) which is a word for baby hare, even cuter.

рыбка [ribka] (n) - a term of endearment for a fish. I think it's viewed as a bit old-fashioned and thus only used jokingly nowadays, but you know what? Nikolai could pull this off 100%. Bonus points if it's "рыбка моя" [ribka moya] (n + adj/pronoun). Only used for women and the word itself is of feminine gender.

медвежонок [medv'ezhonok] (n) - now, I actually have never met someone who would call their partner this, but I myself would (and I definitely saw it in some media, but that's obv not too reliable). It's a word for a bear cub, so I think it's cute to call a huge ass bear of a military man this word. It's of masculine gender, but I would say it's okay to call a she/her person this too. ALTHOUGH there is a grammatically incorrect (but this only adds to cuteness as it often happens) word "медвежонка" [medv'ezhonka] (n) - this would be a female bear cub. My family uses this word, I use it, no, it won't be in a dictionary, but everyone will understand what you mean. Is okay to use for kids too.

щенок [sh'enok] (if it helps, щ is like German "schtsch", like in Borschtsch, like sh but soft) (n) - now, this actually is not used as a term of endearment, it's "puppy" and it's suitable for degradation. The word is of masculine gender, but you can call anyone this to be honest. You can tell Nikto he's "глупый щенок" [glupiy sh'enok] (adj + n) (silly puppy) and that man will either bark for you or gut you. If you say "тупой" [tupoy] (adj) (dumb) instead of "глупый" [glupiy] (adj) (silly), it will be downright offensive. You can say "щеночек" [sh'enochek] (n), which is an endearing term for a puppy, so it's a little bit sweete. OR you can use my personal favourite - "щен" [sh'en] (n), which is actually also incorrect, but if you've ever heard of a great poet and poetry innovator Mayakovskiy, he was called this word by Lilya Brik. I do NOT have the time to unpack that wild relationship (there was a throuple involved. Russian poetry scene of early XX century was WILD and it's my favourite poetry period hands down), but it's pretty famous. The word "щен" consists of the word "puppy" but with the end diminutive suffix cut off. The trick is, that while some words return to their non-diminutive form with such procedure, this one does not - so you're basically inventing a new word that now sounds quite degrading and harsh, but also sexy as hell (personal opinion). I would definitely call Nikto this word.

птичка [ptich'ka] (n) - that's just "birdie", but I actually wouldn't say many people use it to refer to each other. HOWEVER, Nikolai 100% calls his steel bird this. The word is of feminine gender and if you are calling a person this, it's probably more suitable for a woman.

цыпа [tsipa??] (n) or even цыпочка [tsipoch'ka] (n) - that's a chick, like a baby hen, used only to refer to women (feminine gender word). Honestly I only heard this in foreign films dubbed in Russian or like in jokes/sarcastic phrases. It's kinda rude/indecent/vulgar and the only man that can say that and stay attractive is Captain Jack Sparrow (he used this word in Russian dubbed Pirates like once maybe, talking to Elisabeth, and that was funny cuz he be crazy like that). But maybe you want this, idk.

And everything sweet

Unfortunately, I haven't seen anyone translate the word "honey" as "мёд" directly, that would be another brilliant laugh (cuz it's wrong to refer to a person like that), but there are some "sweet" words to use!

сладкий/сладкая [sladk'iy/sladkaya] (adj) - this just means "sweet", like the taste, and it can be sexy or sleazy or just cute. You can call a kid this word too, BUT for a child would be better сладенький/сладенькая [slad'en'kiy/slad'en'kaya], which is like one step further into diminutive-endearing department.

конфетка [konf'etka] (n) - this is a diminutive word for a candy, a sweet, like a caramel or chocolate or whatever. Not very common, but is cute. Also a way to describe a sexy/good-looking person (more likely a woman, the word is of feminine gender) or just something really good (a bit jokingly). The latter is usually used in a phrase build like "не ..., а просто конфетка", which is roughly translated "that's not ... that's just plain candy". Might have an actual English equivalent that I can't think of right now. Maybe "a total snack"? Probably that one, yeah. Can be said about anything, a car for example.

Shiny

I wanna stick in a few more words of endearment and they all are kinda shiny, lol, so here you go!

солнце [solntse] (n) - this means "sun", like that big glowing thingy in the sky, but it's very welcome as a term of endearment. This word is NEUTER gender (explained in the next section). Viktor Tsoy (a famous rock musician with an unfortunate fate and immortal cultural heritage) had a song ("Cuckoo" - "Кукушка") with the words "солнце моё, взгляни на меня" [solntse moyo, vzgl'yan'i na m'en'ya] (my sun, look at me), so "солнце моё" (n + adj/n) is a good one. You can also use "солнышко" [solnyshko] (n) which is an endearing version of "sun", so it's like "sunshine". Also of neuter gender! Can and should be used to address kids too.

золотце [zolottse] (n) - this literally means like... a little gold? A little golden piece? I don't think there's a proper equivalent in English. It's a word of neuter gender and it's very much used for kids too. Another version would be "золотой мой/золотая моя/золотые мои" [zolotoy moy/zolotaya moya/zolotiye moyi] (adj + adj/pronoun) - this is "my golden", it's a little less common and I feel like it's often used to be condescending, but it's not inherenrly bad, so you can use it for a loved one.

сокровище [sokrov'ish'e] (once again it's щ, look previously) (n) - this is a word of neuter gender and it means "treasure". I personally adore this one and it's pretty common. Can be used for any gender and for kids!

звёздочка [zv'yozdoch'ka] (n) - this is like a little star/starshine. Wouldn't say it's that common, but I use it a lot. The word itself is of feminine gender, but you can call anyone that! Or you can say "звезда моя" [zv'ezda moya] (n + adj/pronoun), which means "my star". Also feminine gender word, but can be used for anyone.

This dog belongs to...

I am not going to go too deep into sexy/sex-related words in this part, because I'll just get overwhelmed with the amount, but I want to go over some words of ownership quickly.

мой/моя/мои/моё [moy/moya/moyi/moyo] (adj/pronoun) - this means my/mine. It goes really well with many words in this list, especially the adjectives, like "мой дорогой" [moy dorogoy] (my darling) or "солнышко моё" [solnyshko moyo] (my sun/sunshine). The last version, "моё" [moyo] is neuter gender, it's NOT gender-neutral! It's the "it/its" I guess (not exactly, but let's just stick with this simplyfied explanation). Previously there were some words of that gender, so here you go. BTW I would say that in speech it's more common to put this word before adjectives and after nouns (like in my examples), just sounds better, but it's not wrong to do otherwsise. You can also just say "ты мой" [ti moy] (you're mine). Also can be used to refer in third person, like when you're discussing your man with your gossip girls, you can just go "а мой вчера..." [a moy vch'era] (and mine yesterday...) and everyone will understand that you mean your man. Unless you wee discussing pets, then they'll probably assume it's your cat.

хозяин/хозяйка [khoz'yain/khoz'yayka] (n) - saw this one too btw. This means "owner" or kiiiinda "master/mistress", and they are gendered, so it's actually wrong to call a woman "хозяин" unless there's some kinky genderfuckery going on (which I'm all for, but like. you get what I mean).

господин/госпожа [gospod'in/gospozha] (n) - okay, THAT is definitely master/mistress, also gendered. Standard BDSM terminology and yada yada.

And that's where I'd like to wrap up for today! However, if needed, I can write more - perhaps with curse words or with sex-related words, or some phrases? I dunno, you tell me! Once again, I kindly ask you to share since I think this will help people (and while I understand the struggle of writing in another language and especially using words from language you don't speak at all, I can't help but be a little thrown off every time I see a wrong use of words in text).

Also remember: while Siberia is bigger than USA or even Canada, there are still other regions in Russia that deserve to be mentioned <3 a lot of places with mindblowing nature, cultural heritage etc.

[yieldtotemptation]

PROFESSIONAL ft. Bae

bae x male reader smut

8k words

For those keeping score at home, Bae Jinsol does appear to have the upper hand.

Not just because of who she is—the looks, the celebrity, the whole perfect package of it all; that's a dime a dozen in your line of work.

It’s how she haunts you.

The messages she leaves on your phone. The way she says your name.

The photos.

So, yeah. Despite the fact that you’re ostensibly just her personal trainer, and therefore, ipso facto, the ‘one in charge’; it’s becoming all too apparent that the balance of power in your relationship with Bae is, well, to put it simply, not exactly professional.

Which makes it no surprise that even though you’re at the gym a half-hour early; a black coffee in hand, ready to chase the one already running through your veins—she’s already there.

Stretched out like a cobra; hips to the ground, back arched, chest high.

Her reflection in the mirror greets you with a knowing smile.

Unsurprised. Unbothered.

Like she's been waiting for this—planned it all out. Down to the exact second that you’d walk in, discovering her in the centre of your private gym, splayed out in a pose chosen specifically to make you feel like you're intruding on something intimate.

Showing off the sharp planes of her abs, the muscles of her legs, the curve of her ass, and that dangerous strip of skin that makes you want to—

"Looks like I beat you again, sir."

You swallow. You somewhat regret giving her a personal key.

“Just getting warmed up.” Bae slithers out of the stretch, sinewy and fluid, turning over and around so she can properly face you; so she can properly present herself to you.

A glance—a gawk, really—has you rethinking your earlier assessment. Most of your clients are a dime a dozen. But Bae, looking at you, looking like that. Gorgeous, fit, unattainable yet somehow within your reach and daring you to do something about it—she’s a whole other currency.

She's been here for a while now, you can tell. Beads of sweat have started to slick her skin; over her brow, down her neck, pooling at the crevices of her collarbones. And the show she makes of wiping across her throat with the back of her hand, leaving a glossy sheen.

You ponder licking it off.

Long enough for her to catch you being unprofessional, again. To her credit, Bae just hums a note of amusement, gracious enough to let the moment pass as if it never even happened.

“You don’t need to do that,” you say, which could really be in reference to anything at this point. “We’ve got one hour. Warm-up included.”

“I know,” Bae answers, revisiting a long-standing argument, "But I like to be ready."

“Ready,” you echo, tasting the sound of the word on your own tongue.

“So that we can make the most of our time together,” She continues, twirling a peroxide-blonde curl around her finger, stirring up entirely inappropriate images of Bae, and her hair, and your hands, and oh God. "I only have you for one measly little hour, after all."

She lets the implication hang in the air, planting her flag (bright red, of course). It gives you an opportunity to take a long sip of your coffee; the burn from it sliding down your throat a welcome distraction.

You clear it with a cough.

"Well," you say, setting your mug aside and putting on the face of someone who isn’t severely compromised by Bae's casual, shameless attempts at whittling down your resolve. "Let’s not waste any of those precious minutes."

There's this grin on her face, as endearing as it is infuriating; and you can already hear the reply she’ll make before it comes, the way she’ll twist your honest words into lurid innuendo. Something with enough plausible deniability to keep it from crossing any lines of proper decorum you’ve tried to set, but pointed enough to blur them.

Something like—"Oh, I plan on making every second count."

You emphasise, “Exercising.”

Bae plays along, “What else would we be doing?”

More of this game, presumably.

The one you've been playing for the entire month you've known her, this routine you've established—you trying to keep things on track, do the job you’re actually being paid by her company to do; and Bae pushing back, pushing you as far as she can.

Trying, hoping, to inevitably bring you to that point where you break, where your veneer of professionalism finally slips away and you give her the type of workout she really wants.

You really should know better.

Should know to ignore the innocent requests to 'help stretch her out' or 'massage this cramp in her thigh'. Should know not to indulge the flirty banter; the 'oh, you're so much stronger than me', or worse yet, the blatant, 'but I bet you're not as flexible.'

You should have never let your hands linger, held her close when she asked you to correct her form, taken your time to navigate the curve of her hip, the small of her back, the slope of her legs.

Definitely should not have given her your personal number. Fuck, you should have blocked hers. Not read any messages, not even dreamed of replying. Not opened the photos, not fucking saved them and revisited them night after night after night.

(Because ultimately, the main party at fault is you.

After that first time, that first session; when you excused all the innuendo as coincidence, pretended the flirtations, the touching was just down to Bae being her normal, bubbly, extroverted self.

And then, when she convinced you to come into the shower because she just couldn’t seem to get the hot water to work, well—

Yeah.

Somewhere between making her moan your name and fucking her into the tile walls; you really, really should have known better.)

But today—today won’t be the day you give in.

The first time was a one-off, a fleeting lapse in judgment. Won't happen again.

You’re the trainer. She’s the client.

You have your clipboard, and your workout plan.

And Bae…

Bae’s biting her lip; blushing at you like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

“So, how do you want me, sir?”

(Bent over, on top, pinned underneath, from behind—you could fill the whole session with your long list of answers; but none of those are on the clipboard.)

You fight the urge to laugh, or scream, or maybe just drop to your knees and surrender.

Instead, you reproach, “Bae.”

“Sir.”

Laying it on thick; the innocence, the arrogance, the knowing in those doe eyes. Something she said to you once rattles in your mind: "Everybody needs an outlet, don't you think?"

Bae swings her legs around, tucking them under her so she’s on her knees. She’s looking up at you, those wide eyes and that even wider smile, sizing up every inch of you through her long lashes.

"I know what you're doing," you try, but it's not enough. Knowing is only half the battle.

"You do?" Bae's playing coy, keeping her tone light and breezy. "And here I thought I was just trying to be a good student."

A finger on her thigh, to dance along the hem of her shorts, peel it back just slightly, only to let it snap back into place.

“Clock’s ticking.”

There's a correct response here, you think, one that keeps you both on the straight and narrow. Not that you get a chance to find it, because Bae's leaning forward, placing her hands behind her back, pushing out her chest and arching her spine just so.

Her top stretches over her, a sports bra that’s somehow both modest and obscenely revealing; clinging to her—she’s filling it out, her nipples poking through like two little darts, demanding your attention.

She tilts her head, smirks, and it hits you like a sucker punch.

That’s the pose.

You’ve seen it; it’s been seared into your brain. The centrepiece of a photo that she so casually sent you in the middle of the day, just to ‘get your opinion on her progress’.

(Only then, all she had on was her smile.)

A sigh, because you know—this is it.

The last exit off the highway, the last chance to say no, to keep things strictly above board and not let this get any more complicated than it already is. But you’re nearing a wreck on the side of the road, and you can’t help but want to stop and look.

Fuck it.

Fuck the clipboard, fuck the workout plan, fuck not giving in. You can always try (and fail) again the next session.

Bae reads your mind. "Time for some cardio, then?"

“Get up,” is your answer. (A command, a plea).

She’s quick to rise to her feet, smugness gone, and in its place shameless glee as she witnesses you crack and concede defeat in real time. 

This is how you'll rationalise it:

There’s only one way to take back control of this situation. At her core, Bae’s an extremely simple person. She sees something she wants; she gets it. She’s a fire—all she does is burn hot, and the only way to keep her from turning your professional life to ash is to feed the flame.

Just enough to manage it.

You step closer, she takes a step back. You follow, each step, each sway of her hips a metronome set to a rhythm that says ‘yes’. She keeps backing up, leading you on until she’s seated on a bench. Placing her hands on her knees, pushing them apart, spreading her legs in a V; an open invitation to the space between.

You're not sure who's training who anymore.

Putting that thought aside—lines can be redrawn, boundaries reset. If you’re going to get some form of authority back, it’s not going to be with words. So, you do the only thing that makes sense in a moment that's lost all logic.

You lean down, take Bae by the chin, and you kiss her.

Something sounding like your name slips from Bae's lips as your tongues meet; as her hands find the back of your neck, pulling you in so she can lick into your mouth and get a taste of your morning.

Eager, greedy, demanding; full of all the pent-up need that’s been festering since that first encounter—when you had her creaming down your thighs and screaming your name. There's little tenderness to be found in the kisses, the licks, the nibbles that follow, you’re both too desperate for any kind of sweetness right now.

Bae’s hands are everywhere; peeling your shirt over your head, tracing the lines of your stomach, digging her nails into the meat of your shoulder. Your own hands are busy too—squeezing her thighs, cupping her ass, drifting up her skintight shorts in search of the heat that’s been keeping you awake at night.

"Took you long enough," she murmurs against your mouth, the words barely discernible but the triumph tinging them crystal clear.

An acknowledgment groaned against her lips, breaking away from the kiss to trail down her neck, licking away that spot you've had your eyes on the whole time. Tasting the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her skin, revelling in the tang of the forbidden, the vanilla of the inevitable.

It’s some wonder, truly, of how a girl like her—all youthful glow and sharp edges, sculpted by both genetics and sheer force of will—wound up so utterly obsessed with you.

“Because of what you said when we first met,” Bae whispers in your ear, bites on the lobe, and you’re realising that maybe your thoughts haven’t been as silent as you assumed.

“Oh?” Is all you have to offer, because that memory is far gone, and your mind has far too little bandwidth to focus on anything that isn’t her wetness, seeping through the fabric of her shorts and staining your fingertips. 

The dampness—it's a dead giveaway. Yet you still ghost a thumb over her, press down just to confirm, make her inhale, sharp. And sure enough, there it is. Or rather, there it isn't.

The audacity.

There's a giggle from Bae as she feels you discover her secret; that it's just her shorts that are keeping you from being knuckle deep inside of her, and nothing else.

Bae recites your words back to you, only from her lips they’re far more honeyed, sticky and sweet against your cheek. "You said that you'd—ah—that you’d push me."

She’s sighing, melting into you, hips slowly grinding against your fingers, so achingly close to begging. Turning up the heat, you let your other hand glide up her abs, feel the need radiating from her, the muscles tensing and rolling with every slight movement she makes.

You’re reaching for her sports bra when she finds her voice, continuing through gritted teeth, "You said that you wouldn't take it easy on me."

Her breath stutters as your thumb traces the bottom of her top, fingers digging beneath her bra line. With one swift tug, the fabric's pulled away from her body, yanked over head in a blur of motion, leaving her breasts bare and heaving before you.

They’re small, yes, but the curve, the fit, the weight of them in your hands—just right.

“You said that if I—ah fuck—”

You can’t resist, really, your lack of self-control has been well established. So, you kiss her chest, licking a path through the valley between her breasts, drinking in the sweat that pools there, that little reservoir of desire.

“You said that if I tried hard enough, I’d be—God, yes—I’d be rewarded.”

Words, simple instructions you’ve given to countless other clients, but Bae. Twisting them, hearing what she wants to hear, or maybe what you intended all along? (Who’s to say.)

“You weren’t lying, were you, sir?”

You don’t have a response—what is there to say now, anyway? Any words would just be noise, inconsequential compared to the symphony of gasps and groans playing out between you both.

There’s a dusky pink nipple just waiting for your touch, all swollen and sensitive. You don’t disappoint. It’s in your mouth, rolling between your tongue and teeth, pebbling under the attention. It’s so easy to get lost in them, in their taste and feel, in her hands threading into your hair, pulling you closer, as if you need the encouragement.

You’re indulging in her, yes, but right now, there’s little you wouldn’t do to make her keen. Your other hand doesn’t rest; fingers are at work, pressing down, circling her clit through the nylon, making her arch up into you. These touches, swipes over her stiffened nub; she's falling into you.

Needy little sounds spill from her mouth, sweet nothings and half-formed pleas; bad things, dirty thoughts that most would regret ever even thinking, but of course, Bae only has the best of intentions. You’ve got her right where she wants to be; where she needs to be, and fuck she just takes your breath away.

You look up at her, feel her, and the absurdity of it all is dawning on you. To think someone like Bae would ever need training.

She was already perfect the first time you met her.

The long, pale-white expanse of her legs, all toned muscle and elegance. Her ass, the tight curve of it, fuller, rounder than should be possible on a frame so dainty. Her stomach, her thighs, her arms, (God, did you already mention her abs?), every flawless fucking inch of her.

A work of art, meticulously crafted by some divine hand; there’s nothing to be done by mere mortals except worship.

Let it be known the irony is not lost on you, when you let her nipple slip from your mouth and relay your next instruction: “Get on your hands and knees.”

Bae doesn’t need to be told twice.

With grace that’s far too practiced to be interpreted as anything other than a deliberate tease, Bae swings her body around, shifting her weight until she's on all fours.

Standing before her, watching the muscles in her back flex, her ass peeking out from beneath the elastic of her shorts. They’ll be ripped off entirely in due time.

But first, a kiss for your troubles. Over your sweatpants, branding you through the cotton as hers.

“Finally,” she breathes, making you swell, throb under her gaze.

Fingers hook into your waistband, pulling down your pants with ease. Your cock springs free, slapping across her lips, leaving a wet streak on her gloss. It shines.

A giggle, a raise of her bleached brows—like it’s a surprise. Like she hasn’t been made intimately familiar with your length; felt it buried deep inside her, painting her walls, her throat, with your release.

The tip of her tongue peeks out, just enough to swipe across the slit, to scoop up the pre-cum beading out of it. You hiss through your teeth, hips jerk forward, but Bae’s too quick—draws back with a laugh. She’s enjoying this, this little game of hers. The brat and the trainer, the cat and the mouse, the idol and the grown man who’s supposed to have his shit together.

“Tease,” you groan, your hands finding her hair, tugging gently to remind her of her place.

“Sorry, sir. Couldn’t resist.” 

A wink is all the warning you get, and she’s diving down.

No more preamble, no hesitation at all—Bae’s been waiting for this all fucking month, and she’s dead set on making up for lost time.

She’s taking you in, all of you, all at once; her mouth stretching wide to accommodate the girth. The feel of her, the wetness, the tears at the corners of those big, round eyes, and the question in them—'think you can handle this?'

Fuck.

She’s sloppy; so immediately, noisily sloppy.

Cheeks hollowing out, taking you deep, making your hips buck and collide with the back of her throat for that agonising split second before she retreats; only to do it again. Faster, harder; making you doubt the ability of your knees to hold out.

A fistful of her hair, if only to keep you upright.

She’s all over the place—popping your cock from her lips, kissing down your shaft, licking around the base, a cheeky graze of teeth along your balls, and then back again, swallowing you down until you can feel her nose nuzzling into your groin.

You’re a mess of sensations, pleasure coiling in your stomach, a knot inside you tightening with every wet sound she makes.

It’s her enthusiasm that does it, really. She’s not trying to be good at this, not trying to impress you with her skills. She’s just plain desperate for it.

Her moans vibrate through you, muffled by the thickness of your cock. She’s saying something, words that you can’t quite make out, that takes a moment to translate: "Needed this," she gasps around your length, "Missed it so much."

An admission: you’ve really fucking missed it too.

“This beautiful, beautiful cock,” Bae slurs, sliding your cock out of her throat to catch her breath, so she can take a break to wonder. “How many has it ruined, hm?” Her tongue flicks out, scooping the globs of saliva and pre-cum hanging from the head. “All those pretty little girls you train.”

There’s envy there, and you’re barely managing to groan out, assuage her, “Just you.”

“I find that so fucking hard to believe, sir.” Bae says, resting your cock on the edges of her cheeks. “Those tight cunts, those eager mouths and asses, and you're telling me—" she swipes her tongue along your shaft, leaving a wet trail in her wake "—that it's just me?"

Her voice, her fucking words; too, too much. It’s all you can do to not just grab her by the neck and fuck her face raw. (A dream for her, probably. To have you grab her throat and made her choke on you).

“Well, if you say so,” she’s unconvinced; not that it does anything to slow her down. Back at it, back at making her eyes water, at needing these panted, desperate gulps of air between mouthfuls of you.

The little things—her lips glued around your shaft, her throat a tight, warm fist, and her eyes. Looking up at you like she's afraid if she doesn't, if she stops moving and averts her gaze, you'll pull away.

As if.

“Bae, you’re so fucking good at this,” you’re blurting out, because she is. She really, really is.

Wet and filthy and so fucking delighted to let you know, “All for you, sir.”

And you believe it—she makes you believe it.

Everything’s for you, even when she’s not supposed to be. The sound of her, choking and gagging, the wet, slobbering noises of her devouring you, echoing off the empty gym walls.

The sight of it all; tearing your attention to a million different places. There’s the Bae in front of you, focused entirely on your cock, on letting you use her mouth like a toy, plunge your length deep down her throat to make her cry, to make her cheeks flush.

Then there’s the Bae in the mirror, the reflection bouncing off the polished chrome surface behind her. Her ass, rising and falling, in time with the bobbing of her head; and that soaked spot right at the centre of her shorts, the bullseye growing and growing with every second that passes.

Fucking amazing, incredible, too good, too much to handle; spilling out of your mouth as those pouty pink lips of hers slide up and down, drool pooling around your base, slipping down your thighs, a wet mess dripping onto your floor.

“And to think you wanted to stop this from happening,” she’s chiding, offended really, voice raspy with the effort of speaking around your cock.

There’s no argument to make, not when you’re too busy taking in the sight of your cock disappearing back into her mouth. She’s impatient now, not letting up, not even for air; just taking you in deep, deep, so deep she’s trying to swallow you whole.

You’re sliding down, down her throat, and she’s got you; this suction around you that holds you there and it’s a sheer miracle that haven't completely dissolved inside her. Your hips are thrusting forward of their own accord, your hand still in her hair, but not pulling anymore. Just holding on.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, the gym spins around you; the lights, the equipment, everything blurs into a sea of white noise, and all that remains is the wet sound of her mouth and the hotness of her throat, the fistfuls of her blonde hair, her eyes, these pretty drops of chocolate brown; and it’s all building and building and tightening and tightening, until—

"Stop."

It’s a pain to say, but necessary; if you still want a fighting chance to make it out of this with at least some of your dignity intact.

A gentle tug of her hair has your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pout; leaving the warmth of her lips for the sudden chill of the gym’s regulated air. Bae looks up at you, panting, lips swollen and shiny, drops of you smeared from your base to her chin.

“Something wrong?”

A pause until the room stops spinning, so you can collect yourself and wonder why you’re even here. “I need—" you start, but the words catch in your throat. What do you need? To not fuck your client? To try to keep your job? Or to hear her scream your name, have her beg and beg and beg, drill her into every surface possible—every bench, rack, wall, fuck even the elliptical if she’s game.

Coherence comes and goes, and Bae remains seated on her heels, supplying her own suggestions. “Need to stretch me out? Make me really sweat?”

"Still with that?"

"Tired of the wordplay?" She laughs, and you can't even be mad—you're the one who gave her the opening.

"What do you think?"

Bae takes her sweet time looking you up and down, greed in her gaze, as she takes in you; straining from the effort of holding back. From your chest, down your stomach, landing on your cock, still painfully standing at attention.

"I think," she says, drawing out that word, sliding it over her tongue like a piece of candy, "That I regret not asking you to send me any photos back."

That brings a smile to your face; and it’s enough to clear the fog from your head. You steel your resolve, give her the one thing she’s been craving, from the moment she saw you walk in:

A firm order: “Stand up. Take those shorts off before I rip them off myself.”

You give her room to lift herself off the bench, legs unfurling one at a time and stretching beneath her. She wiggles her hips in this dance as she kicks off her sneakers and shimmies out of her shorts; the nylon clinging to her skin before it’s peeled away to reveal… nothing.

Just her bare, naked flesh—pink and perfect.

Tearing away from her momentarily, from the living canvas of long legs and naked anticipation, ignoring the fucking twirl she does for you, because yeah, she’s fully, adorably aware of just how insanely, lights-out good she looks.

You turn to the bench, kick up the backrest from a flat to an incline; doing your best to pay no mind to Bae, waiting. Rather impatiently, bouncing restlessly on the balls of her feet. The teacher’s pet, so needy for a morsel of attention.

Back to her, unable to suppress the smirk spreading across your face as you take a seat. “Squats.”

Her face. The amusement, the excitement, the acknowledgment that you’re now completely on board with this derailment of a training session—it's all there, painted across Bae's features in glorious, full-colour high definition.

She takes a step forward, sauntering over, one hand sliding down to trace over her mound, to tease herself; tease you. And when she’s close enough, she swings her legs over your thighs, straddling your waist, taking hold of your shoulders and bracing herself against you.

Dripping already, cunt barely kissing the tip of your cock, the heat of it all; it’s a living, breathing entity in the room—thick, heavy, making the air feel charged.

And then, without another word, she sinks down.

A long, hot breath from Bae's mouth: “Fuuuck me.”

Slow, delicious torture has you groaning, has her biting down on her lip. The way she takes you in, the way you push into her, inch by inch—feeling every little twitch of her walls, every throb of your cock; it’s all just so fucking perfect.  

“Good girl,” you find yourself saying when she bottoms out, when your cock completes her, turns her into something beautifully obscene.

“God, you’re just so,” she starts with, but the words get lost somewhere between the shallow gasps and harsh breaths that follows.

She’s staring at you, deep into you, and there’s this satisfied grin playing at the corners of her mouth that makes you want to do everything she hasn’t had the breath to ask for.

"Thank you," she manages instead.

And then she’s moving. Slowly, so goddamn slow, taking her time to feel every ridge, every vein; making sure she’s got you all to herself. Her chest heaves up and down, her tits bounce dangerously close to your lips. You spy past her, enamoured with her reflection, how her back flexes and tenses, how her spine curves with each descent, how her ass cheeks clench each time you fill her whole. 

It’s these tight little squats, this wonderful rhythm she’s setting, these squeezes of her pussy around you, the juices of her cunt slapping against your thighs as she bounces.

“Creaming everywhere, so fucking messy.” You’re taking stock of her; of this mess she’s leaving, all over herself, all over you, all over the bench and down to the ground. You can’t even be mad because, “It’s a good look on you, Bae.”

From a distance she’d be the purest depiction of innocence; the sweetest angel, the kind that would be painted on stained glass and prayed to by the masses.

But here, up close, biting down on your shoulder, devouring your cock with her cunt, moaning in your ear things that would make the Old Testament blush; she’s fucking pornographic.

Yet, she says, “Sir, I can’t handle this—”

You pause, holding her by the hips, eliciting this whine from her lips. “Too much?”

“No, not that, it’s—ah. It’s too slow,” Bae whines, emphasising her point by slamming her hips down onto your thighs, the slap of skin on skin bouncing off the mirrored walls. “I need it fast. And hard. Like you said, I need to sweat. It’s there—I’m right fucking there—so, can we—fuck, can we just go?”

Bae, Bae, Bae.

She makes your blood sing and your cock throb.

Makes you give it to her, just like she asked.

Fingers dig into her hips, thumbs pressed into the softness of her flesh, and you lift her slightly, only to pull her right back down. Like she asked: fast, hard, and you’re thankful you shelled out extra for benches that could take punishment.

“God—” Bae cries out, high-pitched, a scream that has her shaking; not because you’re hurting her, there’s no pain to be found here. It’s all just bliss, pure, unbridled bliss.

So, you lean in, suck one of those pretty little peaks into your mouth, swirl your tongue around, and she’s jolting, her cunt clamping down on you, so tight, so fucking tight.

Every part of her, from the top of head to the tips of her toes, is tuned to this frequency of need. Her nipples, especially so; they’re so sensitive, so attuned to your every touch. They tighten to pebbles with the slightest swipe of your tongue, when your teeth dare to graze them—any pressure from your lips and she shivers.

"That’s—fuck—that’s so much better," she’s panting, “Isn’t it, isn’t it so fucking good?”

You rumble something of an affirmative into her chest, too occupied to bother with words, too busy mapping out her chest, her breasts, that lovely dip between, with your tongue and teeth and hands.

And you’re suddenly having trouble remembering, or forgetting altogether—what was it really that was stopping you from doing this sooner? What could possibly make missing out on this, missing out on Bae’s sighs and moans, missing out on the blistering heat of her cunt and the tightness wrapped around you worth it?

Sure, you had her (had each other) in the shower—slippery, steamy, illicit—but it had been so fleeting. Just a glimpse into what had been begging to happen since she first entered your domain, all smiles and sly glances.

Now that she's in your lap, taking your cock like such a good little slut, you can’t stop the images flooding your mind, feeding your imagination with every conceivable scenario.

Tasting every inch of her, exploring every crevice with your tongue, every peak and valley with your fingers. Spending hours just learning her. In due time, in due time; not now, when she’s riding you like she’s trying to break you—or at least, break the bench.

“This, exactly this,” Bae breathes into your neck, her nails raking over your shoulder blades, leaving these angry red crescents that burn and sting. “Fuck, fuck, I want it just like this—"

Getting more erratic, louder, closer.

So, you lean back, content to let her do all the work, watch her climb that peak. You could take all the time in the world, watch her waste away the very expensive fee you’re charging her company for your time. It’s what she wants, and isn’t that how it goes—the customer is always right?

"This is exactly what I want to do, exactly what we're going to do every session from now on," Bae’s instructing, voice a whip crack in the quiet of the gym. She’s getting braver with each moan that escapes, each grind of her hips that sends you deeper. "You’re going to fuck me, hard, rough, just like you fucking promised."

You can't help but laugh, the situation absurd, the words rolling off her tongue like she’s rehearsed them. "Every session, huh?"

"Every. Single. One," she confirms, her eyes fluttering shut as she starts to bounce faster, her pussy swallowing you up in a wet, delicious rhythm. “No more hiding, no more pretending. Just me, you, and this gym, as much as we need, whenever we want. Fuck, doesn't even have to be scheduled, I'll just call you and you better be here ready to fuck my brains out."

"Alright, Bae," you grit out, something inside you tightening at the thought of her calling you, begging for it like she is now, "If that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

It’s a contract, signed and sealed with the slickness of her cunt, the heat of your skin, the promise in her eyes that she’ll be good, so good for you—or at least, good enough to get more of this.

"But remember," you say, unlatching yourself from her tits, making sure to catch her eyes. "I don't do easy. You want this, you're going to work for it."

Bae bites her lips, “Yes. God yes.”

You correct her. “Yes, who?”

“Yes,” Bae grins, “sir.” 

Something shifts; the dynamic swinging for the first time in your direction, and it’s clear now. Clear to you, to her, that from now on as long as you’re taking her—pushing her—to that precipice, you’re the one calling the shots.

So, you guide her, guide her hips with your hands; setting a new pace. One that’s demanding, borderline violent, that has her chanting—“yes, yes, yes”—the syllables falling from her lips like sweet little prayers to some depraved deity.

She’s coming apart, leaving herself so vulnerable and bare, like she'd just die on top of you if you didn't stop fucking her back to life. It’s so, so painfully lovely, you’re seeing the most beautifully crafted sculpture crumble into dust. You’re in awe of her. You’re in—

Fuck you might be falling for her.

That’s a revelation to keep tucked safely away, because you couldn’t think of a less appropriate time for confessions. No, now’s the time for grunts and groans, for the sound of her wetness and the smack of her ass colliding with your thighs.

"Am I good for you?" Bae mewls, "Am I good for you, sir?"

She’s so, so good. So fucking good that your answer is a knee-jerk reaction. “Fucking incredible, Bae. Such a good slut. Getting fucked like this, used. Taking it so fucking nicely.”

Red colours her cheeks as they flush at the praise, a silent plea for more. And so you give it to her, pushing harder, faster, showering her with these gems of depravity that only someone like Bae could bring to the surface.

“You’re just loving this, aren’t you? Getting so close. So desperate to give it to me,” you’re taunting, feeling her walls closing in around you, feeling her body coiling up tight. “It’s okay, let go. You can let go.”

So close to the edge she’s practically dancing on it. She’s fighting it, fighting against the wave, her cunt spasming around you, her breaths hitching and coming in these sweet desperate little pants.

You can taste it; she just needs that extra push, that hard fucking to bring her there. A demand: “Cum. Cum for me now, Bae. Show me how good you can be, show me how much you want this.”  

And finally, a gasp, “Say my name. Call me by my name, please.”

A hand at the back of her neck, bringing her ear to her lips, so you can whisper the name you’re fucking her hard enough to forget. “Jinsol.”

It’s fucking immediate.

The words leave your mouth, and she shatters. Fine china thrown against a brick wall.

Waves of it hitting her, a shudder at first, then a fucking tsunami; ripping through her, stealing away any last semblance of bodily autonomy she might’ve had left and leaving her as a puddle of trembles and shivers and pure need.

You keep pumping, calling her every dirty name in your book—whore, slut, your little toy, your good girl, just Jinsol—again and again until all she knows is your voice.

Each name you give her, it’s a spark that sends her higher, makes her cum harder, and she just goes and goes and goes.

"Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuuuck," Bae whimpers, eyes squeezed shut so tightly you can see the veins pulsing at her temples. And you keep going, you keep pushing her, because you can't get enough of this—of her, of the power she's given you, of the way she's so obviously yours in this moment.

You want to mark this occasion, leave a sign that it was real, that you really did fuck her to oblivion. It has you kissing into her neck, sucking at the pale flesh, biting down just hard enough to make her whine.

"You're mine," you burn into her, in that nook between her neck and shoulder. "You're all mine."

Ragged huffs signal the end of it, the come down from the high—but you’re hardly done with her. You can’t be—not when you’re still this hard, not when she’s still so fucking wet around you, not when you’re feeling like this, like you could drown in her without ever needing to come up for air.

"So good, so fucking good.” She collapses, her body folds into yours, and she’s giggling, all breathless and boneless.

Of course she’d be like this, over the fucking moon. She’s got what she wanted, what she needed; made you promise to keep giving it to her whenever she wanted.

She reaches for you, fingers trace the line of your job, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, smudging a bit of her own gloss there. "I knew you’d be perfect," is what she says, right before she kisses you, "Perfect for this."

The tangling of your tongues, the taste of mint and sweat, and the smiles you’re sharing against each other’s lips when you flex your cock inside her.

“I’m not done yet,” you remind her, pulling back from her kiss, pulling your bottom lip out from her teeth. “Far from it.”

“Not going to let me catch my breath?” Bae teases, acting like this isn't entirely her fault. Like she wasn't the one that pushed you this far, that dug underneath all your layers of professionalism and responsibility until she found someone that could match her appetite.

“No.”

You’re up, pushing yourself up to your feet, keeping her impaled on you, fucking her up into the air and forcing her to wrap her legs around your waist.

And then, with a strength fuelled by lust and want and a need to just fucking cum in this slut; you drop her on her feet, spin her around, and plant her hands against the mirror.

No warning, no easing her in; she’s still so wet, cunt slick and slippery. Just slide back in, slam into her from behind, watch her come apart.

It’s all in front of you, all playing out across her pretty reflection: her face twists, her tits jiggle, her abs, God how they tighten and release all at once.

Taking back a handful of her hair, yanking her head back to claim her neck; all these sweet things—"watch yourself get fucked, Bae, look how pretty you are for me.”

And she laughs, she actually laughs, because it’s all she can do when you’re gripping her hair so tight, scraping your teeth across her neck, making her feel you all thick and hard inside of her.

A hard buck of your hips sends her forward, presses her cheek to the mirror, staining the glass with the heat of her breath.

“Look,” you demand, “look how perfect you are taking my cock like this.”

She obeys; staring at herself in the mirror, watching herself get fucked, get filled, get taken. It’s just too much. She’s too much. You’re too much. This whole fucking situation is just too much.

"Fuck it's so—you're fucking me so—"

"Didn’t you say you could take it?"

Bae's response is a whine, a clench of her cunt around you. "I can, I can take it, sir," she gasps. "Whatever you have for me. But you're just too..."

You lean in, eager to hear her confession. "Too what?"

"Too much! Too big, too good, too everything."

A fucking compliment and a challenge all rolled into one. "Is that so?"

"Y-Yes—I’m just so—just need you to—please fucking cum," she groans, barely audible over the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together. "Do whatever you want to it, to me, to my pussy, please, just please, please, please."

You're breaking her, turning her into this teary mess of moans and whimpers, tapping into something innate inside her, something that wants to be bent to your will, to be used by you, to be treated like the slut she craves to be in this moment.

And fuck, it’s addictive.

"You're going to scream my name.” You’re telling her, telling her how the rest of this situation, how the rest of your entire relationship is going to play out. "You're going to cum all over my cock again, and then you're going to tell me how much you love it."

"I will, sir," she nods furiously to you, to herself in the mirror, "I'll do anything you say."

You just can't wipe the grin off your face.

Thrusting into her, fucking her like you've never fucked anyone before. Like you own her, like she's nothing more than your toy to play with—to use and abuse and enjoy.

She’s screaming your name—no, not your name—“sir, sir, sir, fuck me, sir”—and—“more, sir, please, pretty please.”

More for her—a hard smack to her ass that makes her jump, makes her eyes water. But it also has her push back against you, fucking you back, more frantic than ever. A second smack cracking through the gym, and already there’s red blooming on her skin, marring the perfect pale flesh.

"Sir, please," she cries out, her voice high and tight. "More, more, more."

You oblige, your hand coming down again and again, painting her ass with the sting of your palm. Each smack has her pussy clenching around you, her lips begging for more.

"I love this," she admits, shakily. "I love it."

You slap her again, and again, and again—each hit punctuating her moans. "Say it," you demand. "Say it louder."

"I love it, sir," she cries, the filthy fucking admission bouncing off the walls. "I love it, I love it, I love it!"

Her orgasm builds again, her body tightening around you, a vice. The tension in the air is suffocating, you’re fucking in for it now, dooming yourself to this delicious cycle of sin with every thrust.

Bae, your Bae, all pure white and angry red now, the beauty still standing despite your best efforts to bring it to ruin.

She's there, and you're done waiting.

"Now."

It's that fucking easy.

That's what you think as you watch Bae unravel all over again, all over you; slipping into that sweet, sweet oblivion that you’ve coaxed out of her.

"God, sir, fuck!"

Hammering into her, fucking her apart; through the pain, through the ruinous pleasure, pressing her up against the mirror, squishing her tits into the cold glass.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, sir, fucking me so good, making such a mess, you’re—" But that sentence dies before it even can get started, and all that tumbles out of her mouth is, “fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck—”

She’s fucking gone.

Bae crumbles against the mirror, and you fall into her, keeping your body glued to her back. The clenching, the shivering, the twitches and the gasps; the patchwork of bruises and bites and crimson you’ve left all over her.

You follow.

Something dark, a guttural grunt, and you pull out of her, this sloshing noise from her cunt as you do.

Without your cock Bae just falls to the ground, bracing herself against the wall while she gathers herself—twists her body into something beautiful.

Before you can even process what she’s doing, what’s happening at your feet, she’s in position; that pose again. And you realise what it was: the kneeling, the hands behind the back, the tits out, mouth wide open, tongue waiting.

A preview. A promise. An invitation.

“Sir, your cum, if you please—"

A sledgehammer to your fucking soul—that's what it feels like when you finish.

One, two, three pumps of your cock and your vision goes white, like someone's shone a fucking flashlight right into your eyes, and the only thing you have left is the intense, throbbing release all over Bae.

Ropes of it spurt from your cock, painting her face with thick, white streaks. There’s more sirs, more thank yous and pleases and fucks, (you swear you catch a daddy in there as it hits her); but she doesn't flinch—no, she opens her mouth wider, needy for every drop.

The first shot hits her square in the forehead, sliding down the bridge of her nose and into the waiting cavern of her mouth.

Another shot goes wide, spattering across that dark freckle on her cheek. Another hits her chin, another ruins her hair, the last sprays over her tits; all these shots just covering her, turning this fucking idol into your personal cumslut.

“God, yes, sir,” she slurs through the cum, earning every single drop, “I’m just covered in it. So, fucking much. It’s so good.”

A stumble back on your feet, a step away to assess the damage as you slowly stop pumping your cock. Bae on her knees before you, just drenched with your cum. Bae your client, if she still can be called that anymore.

What else could she be? Your lover, your sub, your obsession, your… what? You’re not quite sure what to call it, call her, other than a big fucking mess.

But, as you watch her happily lick your cum off her own skin, you can’t resist giving a final instruction. “Swallow.”

“Yes, sir.”

You are so, so fucked.

Bae, sweet and obedient, takes her finger, scooping up every trace of you from her cheek, her tits, all along the ridges of her abs. All this hot, hot white you’ve expended on her, marked and branded her with.

It all happens in slow motion; she laps it up, paints it over her lips, pushes it into her mouth. Sticking out her tongue, presenting it to you in one big sticky glob, making sure you're seeing nothing but her be such a good girl for you.

And down her throat it goes.

"Good enough, sir?"

You lean down, wipe the last drop off her temple with your thumb. She opens her mouth, helps you push it in, sucks on it greedily as if it’s the last taste of you she’ll ever get.

There’s a thought to give her more, to fill her mouth until she’s addicted to your flavour. But you don’t—not yet.

You must save some things for later.

Bae’s content to stay there, kneeling, cheek resting your thigh, utterly cum-drenched; fingers idly dancing along your softening cock, toying with the last few drops of cum that still cling to your shaft.

You break the silence with a sigh. “Guess I should get used to this, huh?”

Bae sings, “Every single session.”

“Christ.”

That draws a chuckle from her, and you shoot her a warning look as she dares to kiss your cock once more. “Care to show me how the shower works again?”

You roll your eyes.

“I mean, only if we have the time.”

At this point, you’d give her your every waking hour if you could. A glance at the digital clock on the wall has you guesstimating—"It'll be a squeeze."

Bae, never to miss an opportunity, “Isn’t that how you like me?”

“I thought we were going to stop with the wordplay."

"Can't help it, sir." Bae's arms snake around your leg, sidling just that inch closer. "You just bring it out of me."

"Ah, so it's my fault."

"Of course. This whole thing is your fault," she tells you, donning the expression of a saint; all wide-eyes and sweet smiles. "You just had to make me yours."

"Mine?"

"From now on, yes."

“In that case—” You bend down, lifting Bae up, hoisting her up in your arms as easily as any other weight in the gym. She giggles into your neck, her body fitting into yours like you've been doing this for years. The warmth of her, the press of her breasts into your chest, her legs looping around your waist—it’s all so natural. “While we still have some time left.”

“Before your next client?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, like she isn't prying, isn't trying to make a home for herself in the remaining hours of your day.

“Sullyoon.”

“Oh,” Bae says once, processing, and then again, “Ohhh.”

You blink, trying to keep up with wherever her mind is racing to next. “What?”

The smile that widens on her face is going to haunt you, you can tell. “Oh, nothing,” she says, but she’s got a secret she’s just dying to share.

But she won’t, not yet.

Bae’s fingers trace a pattern down the centre of your chest, playing over your sternum, circling your navel, and then—there’s that smugness again—heading south. “I was just thinking I might stick around for your next session.”

It’s a declaration, not a question. The way she says it, so casual, so flippant, it’s like she’s talking about sticking around to watch a movie, not grossly overstepping even more lines before you get a chance to redraw them.

And then you're back at square one.

“Just to make sure you and her keep things strictly professional."

[bambisnc]

          . . SYNC-LOVE

° ˖ ➴ i don't wanna play this stupid love game.

### . STARRING ⌢ OT4 ⋆ crack. fluff. + 0.8k // dating as a bet trope + slight implied angst + intentional lowercase ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ kep1ers discography is so fire dude + [m.list]

౨ৎ ˖ 유지민 — ❪ YU JIMIN ❫  

to be fair, karina is too level headed to be inherently okay playing with someone’s feelings and potentially hurting them really bad just “for funsies.” so she’d really need some good manipulation to convince her. but once she commits, you just know she’d go all out.

would do it in such a flawless way too; her strategy would first and foremost involve befriending you to gain your trust. only after she knows there’s no way you’d refuse her, would she start dropping hints of her being romantically “interested” in you.

there’s no room for error in her plan, after all. but then, she ends up getting too invested in you and your eyes, your smile, your flustered little giggles whenever she acts a little too bold.

there’s an actual moment where she can physically feel her entire being go, “oh, fuck.” and suddenly, she’s in too deep.

nothing she could do now would be able to justify her actions. while rina’s stewing, wondering if there’s anything, anything at all that she can do to protect you, one of her scumbag friends who urged her towards the bet probably beats her to it, letting info about it slip mid conversation. cue angst of the highest quality.

          ⋅ ˚ ଳ ₊ ‧ others utc

౨ৎ ˖ うちながえり — ❪ UCHINAGA AERI ❫  

when faced with the idea of the bet, giselle’s actions would solely depend on what’s at stake. only if the money or other perks offered are something she really can’t pass up on will she even consider agreeing.

if not, of course, it’s a flat out refusal. but (for the sake of plot) assuming she does agree to it, she’s being straight up with you from the get go. approaches you one day, and tells you all about the bet as diplomatically as she can.

my girl really don’t gaf, she’ll ask you to split profits for fake dating her for a couple months. even if by the end of it you don't end up dating, you'll at least have a new partner in crime so it's really a win win! ⋆

if you do end up catching feelings, she'll make so many references to your origin story, everyone around you would be sick of it. would call you the bonnie to her clyde ><

౨ৎ ˖ 김민정 — ❪ KIM MINJEONG ❫  

i’m thinking idiots to lovers, 10k, slow burn.

99% chance that her friends only said it because she's been crushing on you for a while now but refused to admit it. and for the bet, winter really tries hard. like, she really does. but her method of doing it is just … so odd that you’re just left confused about what’s going on. asks you out on a complete whim (like maybe 1 minute after agreeing to the bet), but she’s quite clumsy – embarrassed, even, about it.

she's totally unsure of how exactly to go about it – it’s rather endearing, really. so you end up saying yes. mostly only because she’s cute. and then she drags you on a couple awkward dates with her after which she decides to come clean because she feels too bad (also her heart can't really take how you're so ... perfect with her).

but lmfao by that time you've probably grown super fond of her so you just kiss her cheek and ask her if you can take her out on an actual, proper date. to make up for the whole bet thing, of course. no other reason! <3 

౨ৎ ˖ 宁艺卓 — ❪ NING YIZHUO ❫  

similar to winter, she tries her hardest (for the plot ><) and honestly it might have had the potential to work as well as karina’s save for the fact that her reputation ended up being her downfall.

she’s known for being goofy, funny and silly so you don’t really take it seriously when she pulls up with a whole ass bouquet, chocolates, love letters – any big romantic gesture, you name it, ready to serenade you. hence, the entire process of you actually agreeing to date her ends up being just so, so drawn out.

by the end of it you do somewhat catch feelings for real but ningning would be so shocked that at first she'd withdraw from you completely. ghost you for a little before you corner her against a wall or something and demand an explanation. at which point she'd realize that ... you're actually so cute like this? and ... why is her heart beating so fast right now? the judge's ruling is an obligatory happy ending with her impulsively kissing you to stop your rants about how she's such a hypocrite to chase after you and then run away the second you reciprocated.

handsomely bribes her friends to never bring up the bet because she can't afford losing you. <3 (you probably alr know though. she ain't discreet.)

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[2-old-to-guard]

Sebastien, Booker, Le Livre

Alright then, let us begin with the sad french one!

*Disclaimer* - this is a long post, buckle up before reading

First Impression:

The first time we see Booker, he's riding a motocyle. Firstly, this serves as a cool visual. But also... all he's wearing on the bike is jeans, a short sleeved shirt and no helmet whilst swerving through the streets. We immedietly see that he's not too concerened about dying which could be foreshadowing his depression.

The second thing we learn about "The book" is that he likes to collect book, badum tish, when Andy gives him a "first edition Don Quixote". This mostly foreshadows Andy's fate (as will be explained in her analysis) but it also shows Booker's rather dismissive attitude towards life. A deleted scene shows Booker using scratch cards. This combined with his alcoholism and his expensive book collection, he uses habits like this to make him feel something.

Relationships:

Unlike Andy with Joe or Nicky, Booker and her don't hug until the Gousanville ambush. They just walk side by side and Andy gives him the book. This makes me believe that Booker doesn't respond to touched whilst Andy seems to rely on touch.

Booker and Nicky seem to have a playful rilvary though there isn't much to work with, they have very little scenes and the ones I can find are mostly about Nicky. But this scene does make me laugh as Booker is clearly enjoying annoying Nicky. It adds complexity to Booker as he clearly has strong connections with the other immortals and clearly loves them.

As I've talked about before, Joe and Booker is the most affectionate of Booker's relationship. Joe celebrates Booker's success in the bet and Booker turns to Joe when celebrating. Further explanation can be find here.

Foreshadowing Betrayal:

Watching the movie multiple times, I became intrigued on the ways they foreshadows his betrayel, focusing on the Sudan Mission.

Firstly, when Andy, Joe and Nicky are reuniting, Booker turns away from the affection. This, combined with "It's a job" cutting the playfull moment short, he's possibly trying to alienate himself from his family as he knows what he's about to do. You can also see something is wrong based on the look Copley gives him after Andy accepts the mission.

During the mission, Booker is the only one who doesn't react to the ambush. He frowns a little but otherwise doesn't appear surprised (gee I wonder why).

After the mission, he's mostly on damage control. Claiming he 'checked' Copley is clearly meant to foreshadow that Booker is on it.

When Nile is discovered, he's the only one who doesn't want to find her. This, while hinting to his betrayal, also shows his complexity. He doesn't want to subject Nile to experiments and so doesn't want to find her.

The Dreams:

Each of the immortals focus on different things from the dreams that show a part of their character.

As the youngest memeber of the group, he cannot see most of the dream and has little to contribute. Furthermore, the only thing he knows for certain is that he "felt her die". This shows Booker's focus on death.

In Nile's dream, all she sees of Booker is him drinking. Make of that what you will.

The Dinner Scene:

Booker's comment is met with laughter from Joe insted of concern. This clearly shows that his nilahism isn't a recent development and is seen as something endearing about his personality. Also justifys why the immortals didn't suspect his betrayel. He's not acting any different than usual. This almost serves as a metaphor for depression as there are usually little signs of people's depression worsening as they are trying to pretend.

I think it's interesting that Booker refers to his death like this. In the comics, Booker tries to desert the Napoleonic War and is hanged for his treason. I wonder if it was meant to be "fighting WITH Napoleon" and if this will be explored in the sequel. This desertion is integral to his character as it shows he wasn't meant to be a warrior and had no wish to fight, which adds another layer of tragedy to him being an eternal fighter.

These small moments, combined with Joe's chuckle earlier, implicity shows the relationship between the three men even though they don't have many scenes together. Booker laughs at Nicky's joke and looks to Joe after Quynh is brought up. He doesn't hate the couple, even though he holds a little bitterness, but he had become some consumed with his greif and sorrow that he doesn't consider what they would want and is willing to sacrifice them to achieve mortality.

This line foreshadows Booker's backstory and shows that he does care about Nile as he wants to protect her from pain.

The Goussainville Ambush:

Straight away, Copley not capturing Booker is suspicious. When you first watch it, you think it's just because he looks dead and the mercenaries don't know he's immortal. But when you rewatch, it's clear this was a plan to ensure that Andy was also captured.

Fan fact, this is the first time Andy and Booker touch and it is driven but the intense emotion of 'oh my god is Booker dead'. It is also directly follows an act of violence (Andy slapping Booker) which is an intresting choice.

This subtle acting choice is really interesting to me. Matthias seems to almost answer Andy's question before remembering that he's ✨betraying her✨ and then goes back to being 'clueless'.

Booker and Nile:

I think it's really sweet that Booker tries to comfort Nile while there's a hole in his chest. It's also incredibley ironic given how much Booker hates immortality. While some people ship the duo, I think it is more of a paternal realationship. It's unique to have the grieving character, especially a man, to be grieving children insted of a partner. Building Nile and Booker's relationship on this ground makes it feel more paternal than romantic to me.

Booker telling Nile his backstory comes in a really organic way, with him trying to convince her not to see her family. This is the first time in the movie that Booker's cynicism is recognised by the script as a bad thing. Up until this point, it's been just a character quirk but they give him the space to fully show the weight of immortality on Booker. Also Matthias slays this scene, ate and left no crumbs.

The Betrayel:

I could do a full analysis on this scene but I'll summerise here:

Andy holds such trust in Booker that she doesn't doubt he would've warned her about anyone arriving therefore, the only person who could be behind her is him. When Andy calls for Booker, he responds instantly with:

Shooting her in the back is such a gut punch, specifically for Andy. He knew he could get away with it because she trusts him so much.

This is the first time in the movie that Booker initiates physical contact with anyone and again, its an act of violence.

This line of dialogue is so beautifully tragic. It puts Booker's despair on full display. He's willing to make a deal with the devil so he's allowed to go to hell. It is also double sided as, of course, Andy is now mortal. But it also holds a level of deceit beacause if Andy wanted to be mortal then why did he feel the need to lie to her and set this up. Surely if she wanted it, she'd agree to the testing. Overall, Booker has allowed his greif to consume him and convince him to do anything to achieve mortality.

Despite that, when he realises that she is mortal, he immedietly tries to save her from the experiments that would kill her. It sort of shocks him into thinking, somewhat, clearly. But by then it's too late. Booker is a really good tragic character and follows the conventions well. He wants to be mortal so he lies, cheats and hurts his family. When he gets what he wants, another twist means that his goal is not what he wants anymore but by then it's too late.

The Lab:

This line is yet another example of Booker's irony. He seemingly forgets that Joe and Nicky KILLED each other when they first met, and for many years afterwards. It took them many years, possibly more than Booker's been alive, to find love. Furthermore, they now have to live and love with the knowledge they will eventually die at seemingly random. Booker combines cynicism with naivity as he is the young member of the group and therefore, doesn't view time as they do. Whilst they have lived long, he fears to.

However, Booker knows he made a mistake and wants to pay for it. At first, he wants to stay in the lab and suffer. But this is most likely guided by his depression as staying in the lab could result in his mortality. Subtly, he's still trying to die. But Andy, maybe seeing through this, shares her newfound mentality and he, feeling guilty, strives to help her.

Now Andy has expressed a desire to live, he honors that and helps her achieve that.

The Final Battle:

Knowing his mistake, Booker puts his all into helping the others.

I like the detail of him using military techniques with Nile (tapping her shoulder to let her know it's clear). It a subtle moment of him showing care for people with actions.

Also, this clip of Booker covering Joe and Nicky almost like he's trying to attone for his actions.

Second to Nicky, Booker runs over to Nile and helps her out of the car. This works as the penultimate climax to their relationship. Instead of just telling Nile to give up on her family, he offers her a new one. Also the expression he gives Andy as she approaches.

Banishment:

Booker's banishement is one of the most controversial parts of the movie but it works fully for me. Of course Joe and Nicky don't want to be around Booker for a while, he betrayed them in the worst possible way (which I'll delve into in their sections). As displayed throughout the movie, they trusted him completley and he hurt them. He knows this and I think that's why he says:

It's almost like wishful thinking. The looks between Joe and Booker break my heart as Marwan and Matthias are so easily able to convey the hurt and anger of Joe and the regret and acceptance from Booker.

This entire scene is heartbreaking tbh. This is the first moment of contact between Andy and Booker that doesn't end in violence. I think this is meant to symbolise the ways they have accepted their immortality or mortality respectively. Also, as Booker doesn't seem to like physical contact, having him initiate a hug almost appears to be him trying to comfort Andy about their new relationship.

Conclusion:

Booker is a really complicated character that is full of contridictions and stupidity but he's a unique part of the characters and adds most of the sorrow of the immortals. He serves to show the toll of immortality in the present insted of just showing it in the past.

All in all, I love the sad little French man and I'm glad he'll be back with the main cast in the sequel. Also Matthias Schoenaerts ate and left no crumbs

[elllisaaa]

can u do bf seungkwan thoughts please <33

BF!SEUNGKWAN who's both your partner but also your best friend.

one of his favourite things about you is that he can ramble to you without feeling you being uninterested because he knows you listen closely to every one of his words. everytime seungkwan needs to vent about a situation with someone or at work, he knows he can just yap for hours to you. and he likes it when you do the same, likes it even more when you're going on and on about a topic you like. i'm actually convinced that seungkwan keeps a list of all the things you like and dislike in his phone. on the same line, there's obviously gossiping sessions every week for the two of you - you settle with a hot drink on the couch and update each other on every ongoing drama or random thing that happened to you. that leads to seungkwan knowing every little annoying or funny person in your life, and even the names of your exes. he's the type to fake gag every time they are mentioned, but it's okay because you do the same with him. it's actually endearing how you can tease each other by making references to the things you gossip about and that only you and him understand.

"i have so many things to tell you when I get home tonight baby ! you're not gonna believe it."

seungkwan loves to spend some quality time with you. he's really busy because of his job, but every free moment he has, he spends it with you. even if it's just you coming to see him practice when you have time, or him sitting by your side while you're getting some work done, he's just happy to have your presence by his side, to feel that you're here with him. one of your rituals together is doing each other's skincare and hair. it's so relaxing to have your fingers applying creams and serum on his skin after a good shower, while you softly tell him about your day. and seungkwan does the same for you whenever you're tired, brushing your hair for you or braiding them when you don't have the energy either. another activity you love to do together is go shopping, be that for clothes, decorations items for your apartment, shoes and so on, you always have a good time and it allows him to offer some things to you. it's also an occasion to take cute pictures of the both of you on any mirror you cross, his gallery filled with these photos that he spends all his time looking at when he's away.

"i keep staring at your pretty face on my phone, i can't wait to come back to you."

another one of his love languages is physical touch. every night is worth cuddling, every time you snuggle on the couch together is worth wrapping his arms around you and pulling you on his lap, every time you cook is a chance to back hug you and kiss your shoulders. in conclusion, there's a bunch of cuddles all the time, not that you complain of course. also, seungkwan often gives you random kisses throughout the day - on your cheeks, your lips, your temples or your nose, he likes to see your cute smile every time he surprises you with another loving peck. whenever you praise him, he feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest from too much adoration, his cheeks growing red. he scolds you and asks you to stop only because he's shy and you both know it. seungkwan love for you is obvious to anybody, and that shows through the way he always finds a way to mention you in every conversation, even when you are not there. everytime he repeats a fact that you taught him, he just has to let everyone know who told him that.

"yeah, actually y/n told me that last week, she's so smart."

BF!SEUNGKWAN who is literally obsessed with your body and the way you react to his touch, wanting nothing more than to please you.

seungkwan needs to give you everything you want, you just have to ask for it. be that his fingers, his mouth, or his cock, he's ready to give them all to you. he literally worships your body every chance he gets, every time you wear something a little revealing or tighter, seungkwan loses his mind. he wants to touch you all the time, to have his hands on you all the time. he often overstimulates you unknowingly, driving you insane just because he cannot get enough of the way you look and react when you cum. your moans turns him on a lot too, he's drinking every little sound you make. sex with seungkwan is very passionate and intimate - as much contact as possible between your body and his, lots of kisses and marks all over both your skins. he's often holding your hands too - when he's fucking you lazily, when he's eating you out and even when you're going down on your knees to suck him off. seungkwan wants you to know that he loves you and cares for you throughout the whole thing.

"your body's so fucking beautiful baby, i can't get enough of you."

in fact, he loves your body so much that he needs to take more spicy pictures of you with him when he's away, or he's getting withdrawal. seungkwan has a private folder in his phone filled with videos and photos of you or the two of you to help him get off when you're not there. there's videos of you sucking him off, touching him, riding him, unraveling while he's eating you out. there's pics of you in lingerie, touching yourself, completely bare in your mirror, wearing tight clothes that makes him hard just thinking about it. he also loves to take polaroid pictures in these moments. he has to hide them very well to be sure that no one except the two of you will ever see them, but it turns him on even more to have a material object reminding him of how good you feel around him. seungkwan can be a tease sometimes, so he will put these polaroïds in your bag sometimes or around the house for you to find them at such random moments, wanting nothing more than getting you turned on enough so that it would lead to the bedroom. also, he will lose his mind if you surprise him with new polaroids of you before he goes away, slipping them in his suitcase and he doesn't notice until he unpacks at the hotel.

"you're crazy, one of the guys could have seen this !" - "does this mean you don't like them ?" - "don't start, you know i'm gonna jerk off to your gorgeous body later."

again, intimacy is really important for seungkwan whenever the two of you are having a moment. and the highest form of intimacy in his eyes is when you let him cum inside of you. sure, he likes to just pull out and watch his release cover your pretty body. sure, he liked it when you deepthroat him and make him shoot his load down in your mouth. he loves it all. but he feels even better, even closer to you when you let him cum inside of your pussy. having your legs and arms wrapped around him, your moans falling directly in his ears, his hands holding your waist, and your walls milking him dry is definitely the best feeling ever. seungkwan insisted on keeping up with the condoms for a long time - he doesn't want to be a father just yet, he wanted to be sure that you were doing okay with your contraception. but the day he sank into you raw, his world was changed and he never wanted to come back in time. it felt like heaven every time, and he came embarrassingly fast the first time, even today, he's still not used to feeling your wet cunt without any barriers.

"s-shit… you feel so good, i'm not gonna last."

[jinxfixeseverything]

20/26 Bilgewater (Chapter 20)

Notes and disclaimers: Story is JINX/FEMALE READER. Most chapters contain SMUT and or FLUFF, there is LIGHT ANGST in a few.

Important notes: Reader refers to Jinx often as Pj, for a term of endearment and rare but occasional reference to Jinx as Powder, by the people closest to her, as this is set after her redemption arc she does not mind it used in context!! But still prefers and continues to go by Jinx. She is mainly referred to as Jinx in the story and by the characters in it, don’t worry! Jinx is canonically bisexual in this story. I do not own any of these characters, I just play with them. 

Warning: Story will contain VERY graphic depictions of WLW, main coupling will consist of two switches to keep everyone happy. I’ll shut up now and I really hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke late morning to a tinkling sound. Stretching, you check next to you reaching out a hand and Jinx is not in the bed. Leaning up you look across the room to the small stove in the corner. Jinx is standing naked, her hair loose around her shoulders, stirring two cups of hot beverage. The room smelt like rose. You watch her a moment, drinking in the sight of her before you speak. 

“Hey, Gorgeous.” You call to her. 

“Hi, Sleepy Head.” She replies with a smile, bringing the cups over and sitting on the bed. She hands you one. 

“Thanks, Sweetheart. How are you up before me?” You ask before sipping. 

“Because I have more stamina than you, Angel.” She says condescendingly, patting the blanket your leg was under. 

“Oh sure, Pillow Princess.” You scoff. 

“Fuck off.” She laughs. “You’re depraved, the shit you did to me last night.” she says, craning her neck to look at the bruises on her shoulders, then leaning forward she kisses you, a sexy lopsided grin across her mouth. 

“But did you cum? Didn’t hear you complaining.” You reply, sipping from the warm cup again. 

“Shut up.” Jinx tells you, poking your rib, making you jerk away. 

You chuckle and say “Now thinking about last night might make me want to leave Bilgewater early, fucking you in the...” 

Jinx giggles her eyes widening and she kisses you to silence the rest of the sentence, almost embarrassed to hear you say it out loud in the cold light of day. She pulls back, tucking one side of her hair behind her ear. “So now you’ve put that card on the table. I’m so doing it to you. Fair’s fair.” She states. 

“For a special occasion. Maybe on your name day, if you behave. You can be king of my ass for as long as you like.” You joke. 

She laughs, then the smile slowly fades, “Can’t believe we’ve only got one more today together before you leave.” She said sadly. 

“So, drink up and come snuggle.” You tell her, patting the bed next to you. 

The rest of the day was spent like that. Snuggling and kissing, which turned to sex, nothing like last night, things got crazy. True to your word you fucked her all night and were rough with her like she wanted, into the early hours of the morning. Jinx gave as good as she got. It had been a wild night. But today you were gentle with each other, whispering promises and caressing each other’s naked bodies with tenderness. Kissing passionately, switching between fast and slow, you couldn’t get enough of each other. You both knew two weeks apart was gonna feel like a life time, so you wanted to make the most of it. 

Laying on her, between kisses Jinx tells you. “I’m gonna miss you so much.” 

You continue to kiss her in one long slow kiss, cupping her cheek and not letting go. You regretfully pull back and tell her. 

“I’ll miss you like crazy, Beautiful.” You tell her earnestly, leaning down to kiss her again. 

                        ~~~~~~~~

Next afternoon came too quickly. Standing at the harbour, a dark green duffle sack over your shoulder. Caitlyn, Vi, Ekko, Scar and of course Jinx all come to see you off. 

Cait hands you a box of fancy tea. Which you stuff into the duffle, dropping it down on the floor. You hug her, thanking her. Vi fist bumps you, then draws you in for a long, protective hug. Ekko hugs you, patting your back, as does Scar giving you a friendly, light punch on the shoulder. You turn to Jinx, standing further away than the others, her arms folded, looking pensive and shuffling her feet around. 

You walk to her holding your arms out. She lets you wrap your arms around her, not hugging you back at first, then lowers her arms, gripping on to the bottom of your shirt. 

You kiss her cheek. “You won’t even know I’m gone. You’re gonna be having so much fun with the others.” You say looking back at them for some back up. They all watch you both silently. 

“Right, guys?” You say encouragingly, giving them aggressive eye contact. 

“Yeah, sure, absolutely.” Everyone answers, Jinx says nothing. 

“See, time will fly by. And when I’m back you’ll wish you had the place back to yourself again.” You joke, trying to lift her spirits. 

She wraps her arms around your waist, a genuine pout on her face. “Stay away from the big titted tavern wenches, or I’ll find you both.” Jinx said, it was only half a joke. 

The group laughs. 

“Why would a look at big titted wenches, when I have a perfect, small titted wench at home?” You joke. 

“I’m walking off now.” Vi said, taking a few steps away to leave the harbour.

“Shit, sorry Vi.” You call to her.

You hugged them all goodbye again. Leaving Jinx ‘til last. The others walk off to let you say goodbye in private. 

“Remember the first time we were at the Firelights, I told you I made you something?” Jinx reminds you. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” You reply.

“Here.” Jinx says pulling a bracelet from her pocket, it was blue rope, the colour of her hair and had a little metal pendant on it. Your first initial and hers inside a heart.

“You made this? Aww, Babe, it’s beautiful. Thank you, Sweetheart, I love it.” You say with excitement as she ties it to you. “I’ll never take it off.” You tell her, pecking her lips and grinning. 

She pulls another from her pocket, the rope on this one is the colour of your hair, with the same pendant. But the initials reversed. “Put it on me?” She asks. You tie it to her wrist. “That’s bringing back memories.” She joked half heartedly. You chuckle. 

“Well in two weeks, we can make some new memories.” You lean towards her ear, hugging her. “You can tie me up next time.” You tease, hoping to make her laugh. You feel a slight laugh huff from her. 

You hug her tight one last time and kiss her deeply for a few moments before turning sadly to pick up the duffle. You stroke her cheek, smiling at her and walk toward your ship. Sonny is waiting for you to let you on. You look back over your shoulder at Jinx, smiling brightly at her, feeling an ache of missing her already but not wanting to let on. You hope it doesn’t look too fake, then wave. “Sonny! Hey, Buddy!” You greet him. He nods saying nothing and takes the duffle from you.

After the initial hustle and bustle of boarding. You stand port side waiting to set sail. The ship starts to move and you wave at your friends and your girlfriend. They are all waving back, expect for Jinx. Cait is using a white handkerchief to wave you off. Vi has an arm around Jinx and Jinx rests her head on Vi’s shoulder. It’s only two weeks, this is fine. How bad can it be…

                                       ~~~~~~~~~~~

The first few days at Bilgewater were tough work, once you docked the whole city was built of wrecked ships. You stood in awe of the shear size of the place. Though you were well traveled, Bilgewater was somewhere you’d never been before, though heard it was the land of fortune. The natives were cutthroat and Sonny had warned you to keep your head down and not venture out alone at night. 

Sonny helped you get settled in. You had a bunk at a tavern. The jobs were mainly lugging crates and moving barrels. Nothing you weren’t cut out for but the hours were long and gruelling. Though the pay was handsome. The first night you crashed out like a log. The town was dingy, smelt like fish and eroding wood, salt air made everything wet and slippery. The rats were no myth, just like Vi had heard, large and flesh eating, but you handled yourself. 

The second day there you stood somewhere you shouldn’t have without paying attention. You almost got crushed, lesson learned, although you earned yourself a nice scar out of it. 

The third day there, you sat down to write home to Jinx. Rolling your shoulder, the muscles in your arms aching. Just then Sonny came in carrying a crumpled envelope for you. You knew the handwriting instantly. Your heart skipped a beat knowing it was from Jinx. 

You open it, there’s a letter inside telling you how everyone is doing, how bored she is, how much she misses you already and how you need to make all the time apart up to her when you get back. She then details very explicitly and very graphically exactly what she needs you to do to start making it up. You feel your neck flush with heat. Maybe you should read that later, in your bunk. You flip the letter and something falls, it’s a photo of Jinx. Picking it up to look. She’s topless, on her knees in her skimpy black panties, taking the photo of herself, she’s winking at the camera, smiling with her tongue out and sticking her middle finger up. You laugh, that’s your girl. Then look down at her body, feeling a familiar burn in your core. 

You push the photo under your wrap, not wanting to lose it or leave it for any schmo to find. 

                       ~~~~~~~~

Back at Piltover, Jinx walks into the study, a bag under the arm. Cait is working in the archives, Vi is sitting in her enforcers uniform, relaxing from having just got home from work. She’s startled to see Jinx in the doorway. 

“Jinx? What’s wrong?” She asked sitting up, looking at her sister with concern. 

“Can I stay here for awhile?” She asks. “The arcade is too quiet and I got too much time to think when I get home from work now.”

“Of course you can, Pow Pow.” Vi says standing to walk with Jinx to her room. She wraps a comforting arm around her little sister. 

The same evening Cait and Vi are sitting down to dinner. Jinx isn’t present. “I’ll go find her.” Vi says, leaving the table. 

“Thought I’d find you up here.” Vi said to Jinx, walking to her sister, sitting on the roof of the Kiramman’s. 

“Hey.” Jinx says solemnly. 

Vi sits down beside her sister. “What’s on your mind?” She asks. 

“Just thinking.” Jinx replies, her tone lost in thought. 

“Don’t think too hard. It’s dangerous.” Vi joked, bumping a shoulder to her sisters.

Jinx asks “You don’t think she’ll…”

“No. I don’t.” Vi says bluntly, cutting her off. “Whatever stupid sentence you’re gonna say next. Anyone can see she how she feels about you, Jinx. So don’t start over thinking that she won’t come back or she’ll cheat on you, or any other crazy scenarios you’ve got going on in there. Ok?” Vi tells her adamantly. 

Jinx smiles lightly, still not fully able to shake the insecurities from her head.

                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening back in Bilgewater. Sonny gets up from the table to grab you both another round of drinks. You were already drunk an entire beer ago, but Sonny insisted on another round. As soon as he leaves, an ample blossomed woman sits next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. 

“Hi, Missy.” She says in a seductive voice. “I’ve seen you around in here before. I’m Layla, I work over at the bar.” She continued, leaning towards you, pressing her boobs against your arm. “What’s say you and me have a little fun tonight?” She continued. Running her hand up along the inside of your thigh and squeezing. 

“Ho!” You exclaim, standing. “I’m married, Ma’am!” You tell her wobbling on your feet from standing so quickly. 

“But your wife ain’t here is she?” She says smiling flirtatiously, trying to pull you back down to your seat again. 

“Nope, Madam, shes is not.” You slur. “But she be’s here.” You say poking your heart. Then tapping the side of your head and trying to wink, but blinking awkwardly at her a few times, the alcohol making you forget how to do it. “Good day to you, Lady.” You say, walking around her, stumbling up the stairs towards your room in the tavern.

”Need some help?” Layla inquires giggling and standing.

“Sit, stay.” You command her authoritatively. Pointing at her as you stand and stumble up the stairs again. Once you reach your room you fall asleep face down on the bed with your clothes on. 

The days went by the same, your coin purse was filling up nicely. You’d accumulated three now and it had only been a week. You and Jinx wrote back and forth every couple of days. 

She was staying at Vi and Cait’s, she felt too lonely at her place without you and was going stir crazy, but it was closer to work. She also made sure to send a threat for any women or men that tried to ‘knock boots’ with you as she eloquently put it. 

You thanked her for the photo and told her it came in useful on the lonely nights and that you missed her beyond words. You’d detail how you want to hold her close and kiss each freckle along her nose. How you want to trace every one of her tattoos with your fingers. How you missed the sound of her voice, the way she absentmindedly hummed to herself and how much you missed her making you laugh each day. You pined for her soft lips and pretty eyes, that not even all the gems in Bligewater gleamed a beautifully as the mischievous twinkle they possessed. It was kind of fun and corny writing the ‘love letters’ back and forth. It kept you going when you felt like you were running out of steam. You let her know exactly how much you’d made this far and hoped she’d be impressed.

                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each letter Jinx received from you sent a spiral of emotions, elation, then despair, then she’d tear up. She even went back to the arcade one night when she felt super insecure and began throwing things around. Imagining you dancing with other girls in the tavern, your hands on them, them sitting in your lap, then you smile as she leans towards your lips to… Jinx pumped endless rounds into the shooting range, screaming until her throat was sore. She dropped to her knees, sobbing. 

After some time Jinx miserably sent herself upstairs to cry on the bed, her heart aching from missing you so much. Her mind spun from made up scenario to scenario of you finding something or someone better. It was driving her crazy not knowing what you were doing. Flopping on to the sheets still smelling of you, it oddly comforted her. She slowly calmed herself down. Self smoothing with the logic, if you were gonna take off, you’d have done it by now and why would you send her such sweet letters back all this time? She looked down at the matching bracelet on her wrist. Jinx pulled your last letter from her pocket and read it again, but this time let herself believe it with her whole heart. She smiled to herself at all the cheesy, sweet things you said about missing her, wiping a tear from her eye before it fell. How did she get so lucky with you? You were hers. You were doing this for her. She decided she’d stay at the arcade tonight. Just to feel closer to you. Then head back to Vi’s for the rest of the final week. She made a plan to throw herself into her work and keep busy with Vi and Cait until you were home. Maybe even hang out at the Firelights with Scar and Ekko for a couple of days. That could be fun. 

Jinx undressed and took out her braids. She drew herself a bubble bath, playing Mako. Once in the bath she began thinking of the fun she had with you walking through Piltover and the beach that day, then the concert you surprised her with… and the fun you both had when you got home. She felt her cheeks flush at the thought of all the lewd things you did to her all that night.

Placing her hand between her legs she rubbed herself remembering all the dirty things you’d said to her. She bit her lip as she pleasured herself but refused to make herself cum. She would wait until you were home for that. 

Getting too hot and bothered she decided she better get out. She towelled off and grabbed one of your t shirts to wear to bed. Hugging the pillow next to her pretending it was you. Everything was gonna be ok, she told herself, she just had to get through one more week. Then you’d be home. And when you were she’d tell you how she felt about you, her heart fluttered nervously, thinking how to put it into words, until she drifted off to sleep dreaming sweetly of you. 

                     ~~~~~~~~~~

After the your two weeks were up in Bilgewater, with relief you packed up. You’d made it. You’d earned enough coins to last for quite a while and you were set to stay in Zaun pretty comfortably for a long while. You’d written Jinx to tell her you were soon to be on your way home. What time you were docking, where and how you can’t wait to see her, missing her was your own private hell. 

You waited anxiously on the top deck as Piltover’s Wharfside Docks, came into view. A small hazy speck in the distance. 

Jinx, Caitlyn and Vi all stood at the harbour waiting for you. Jinx paced, feeling sick with excitement and anxiety. 

“Jinx, calm down.” Cait chuckled. 

“I am calm! Look how calm I am.” Jinx snapped. 

“Clearly.” Vi said sarcastically. “She’ll be here.”

As the ship starts coming into view. Jinx climbs a couple of runs of the wooden barrier. 

The view of Piltover starts to become bigger, shapes of buildings now visible. The Docks now standing out. Sonny chuckles to himself, handing you a telescope. Pointing out an area for you to see. As you look through the telescope in the direction Sonny pointed, you see Jinx standing up on the barrier, waving her arms. Her hair is loose, caught by the sea breeze and she’s wearing a baggy black vest, partly tucked into some tight, cut off navy blue shorts. 

“Piltie.” You call her to yourself, chuckling.

As the boat docks you see them all, Cait is waving with both arms to get your attention. Vi is holding a large board with your name on it that says ‘Welcome Home’ in Jinx’s writing.  Jinx comes running up the dock, her boots making an obnoxious thumping sound. You jump the barrier, leaving everything behind, running as fast as you can towards her. She jumps into your arms, swinging her legs around your hips. You catch her and hold her tight to you, spinning you both around 360 with the force. 

“Don’t ever do that again.” She says holding you as if you returned from the dead. Her face is wet with tears of relief. 

“I won’t, I won’t.” You promise her. 

“I’ve missed you so much!” Jinx says kissing all over your face. 

“I’ve missed you so much, Baby. I love you.” You blurt out before she captures your lips in a long, deep kiss.

When Jinx pulls back she starts kissing your face all over. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” She says, it was easier than she thought it would be and now she couldn’t stop saying it. 

You grin and pull her in for another kiss. As you stand kissing on the dock, Jinx’s body wrapped around you. As other passengers awkwardly try to shuffle past you both, trying to leave the Docks. You feel people bumping you and pull out of the kiss. Jinx buries her face in your neck. Still holding her, you carry her like a kid back over to Vi and Cait, her legs still wrapped around you.

Vi is dabbing her eyes with one of Cait’s handkerchiefs. “You guys are just so fucking cute.” She says. 

“Hey, Slugger. Been a while.” You say to Vi. Jinx puts her feet to the ground but doesn't let go of you. Vi gives you a hug around her clingy sister, Jinx sandwiched in the middle. One of your arms still around her, not fully wanting to let her go either. 

“Hello, Stranger. Good to have you back again.” Cait says attempting the same kind of hug. “Where’s your luggage?” She asks. 

“Oh shit! I gotta go get it.” You say, caught off guard. Regretfully letting go of Jinx, but she doesn’t let go of you. You laugh and pull her arms from around you. “I’ll be back.” you say planting a kiss on her lips. You and Cait start hurriedly jogging back to the ship to get your things. 

“Happy, Pow Pow?” Vi asks, stroking the back of Jinx’s hair. 

Jinx wipes her face with the crook of her elbow, sniffling loudly before sheepishly answering. “Yeah. I wasn’t worried.” 

Vi laughed and tugged her arm around Jinx’s neck. 

                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking back to Piltover through mid town, Vi takes your duffle. You wanted all the gems and coins you collected in a safe place, so had agreed to use a safe at the Kiramman’s. Jinx was holding on to your arm, kissing your cheek every few minutes, like she couldn’t believe you were real. 

Getting close to the bridge Vi tells you to head off with Jinx and she and Cait would take the duffle with them. After bickering about dirty laundry with Vi for a minute, Jinx pulls your arm, tugging you away from the conversation, toward Zaun. You call to Vi that you will owe her one for taking care of it. 

“Only one?” Vi calls after you. “I gotta deal with two weeks worth of those socks, man.” She jokes. 

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

What petname(s) do the RO's like to be called and what do they like to call MC :3

This was a fun one to answer lol! All of them would have pet names for themselves and/or mc that would be too spoilery for their arcs/endgame to share but I tried to share some more innocuous ones they’d also use where I could. :3

Kieran: Not really the type to use pet names. Rather, they’d be more the type to go from—for example—always using someone’s last name and/or title to then using their first name and dropping honorifics. If they like you, they like using your name. You’d also be able to notice a difference in their perception of you based on the way they say your name.

They’ll find it either quietly endearing or exasperating (or both) depending on the nickname given to them—though I feel like I can’t exactly share any Kieran/mc-specific ones cuz they’d be too spoilery, but they’d be fine with other more generic ones as well like my love, my heart, etc. Basically as long as you qualify the pet name or even just their name with “my” that’s 👍👍👌👌❤️❤️❤️. Call them yours.

Nihm: They like to give mc light/sun-related nicknames like Sunshine/sunbeam etc bc that’s what mc reminds them of (yes, even your two-faced scary little shit of an mc). :3 As for themself, Bug 🐛 is cute for them but mc can also call them other bug names, especially moths like a Luna Moth (bc moths are drawn to the light, get it?🦋☀️👌👍 and sun/moon motifs :3). They will probably also make pet names for mc out of bad puns like “Hi, beetle-ful!” :D and then can’t ever actually use it regularly bc every time they do they spend a good five minutes laughing at their own awful joke. :P (they love puns)

Lilith/Lucien: All about pet names 👌👌 They give their friends nicknames all the time whether out of endearment or in banter. They love being given nicknames too. They’ll refer to mc as Love and as different flowers 🌸 🌹🌺 at different times depending on their meaning and what feeling they want most to express in that moment, like My Amaranth for instance, which represents undying devotion and eternal love. They’ll be happy to explain the meaning behind each flower nickname if asked. Whether the pet name mc uses is endearing or humiliating it’s great either way (praise and shame kink 👍)—but I feel like I can’t share anything super specific to them without being spoilery, but really any nickname mc wants to give them is great with them (like calling them “my pet.” Woof.) They won’t be picky.

Samira: She also isn’t really the type to use pet names (at least not as much right now), however, endgame at the end of her arc she’ll have some pet names for mc :3 but I can’t actually share them bc they’d be waaay too spoilery. As for herself, she’ll shoot down any embarrassing pet names (really sappy silly stuff like Sugarbee or along that vein), tho if mc is very mopey about it 🥺 she may be convinced to allow them one ☝️ but only in private. Use it in public and she’ll puff up like a cat and hiss “I told you not to call me that in public!” >:( If mc abuses any pet name privileges by being overly obnoxious about it like constantly drawling out “Daaaaaahling” etc shes going to get snappy to hide that she’s getting flustered.

Aurynn: Mostly only uses nicknames/pet names to annoy/tease people so if he can find one that would drive mc up a wall then he’ll use that when he wants to be irritating. And they’re mostly all dumb spur of the moment things, like calling MC “Green Bean” bc they eat green beans weird or “Beige” bc they pronounced it wrong once etc. And he’ll whip it out just to kill the mood bc annoying mc is one of his favorite things to do. 👍 As for himself, mc can war with him on the annoying nickname front if they wish or use fond terms of endearment (but he will be smug about it). Post relationship, any pet names involving like love/beloved etc or related to MCs feelings toward him will be enough to leave him wanting. :3

[grogwrites]

Stranger - O.P. 81

Part Two

part one • part two • part three

Summary: When someone returns to Oscar’s life after years apart, he has a hard time finding common ground with her to reconcile the feud between them. That is, until she signs on as a driver for the upcoming F1 season. Then he can’t seem to get her out of his mind.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female OC

CW: Dual POV series, but part two is all in OC’s POV. Please take my warnings seriously before continuing on. This series is not for everyone, as consistent depictions of mental health struggles are conveyed in the writing, primarily PTSD and loss of a loved one. Part two contains swearing, a shit ton of angst, mentions and depictions of PTSD and suicide, suggestive content/brief making out, alcohol consumption, Lando is a bit of a twat in this series, manipulation from OC—OC is a very complex and very hurt character so a lot of her behavior in this part is, erm, not great lol

A/N: this is part two in my three part mini series! Again, I do not use YN on my page so OC is a named character 🩵

Word Count: 5.1k

* DISCLAIMER: I do not know any of the people in this fanfiction personally, these are all just the works of my imagination.

PRESENT DAY

She knew who he was. She had done some extensive research on the current grid, as well as the other rookies for next season so she knew what she was up against. This was how she’s always operated—this is how her dad taught her to compete. She clocked Lando’s weaknesses the second he began flirting with her. For starters, she knew he was self conscious. She had seen him speak out about it in his interviews, but when he began flashing this arrogant side of him, it was tell-tale that he was overcompensating for something that he was lacking in. His boat rocked on the water behind them, and her curiosity was piqued. As she perched her sepia-toned sunglasses on her head, she stared back at him intently.

“Lando Norris,” she smiled, playing in to his behavior. She made sure she raised her voice slightly, to hint at a flirtatious demeanor, “you’ve got a reputation, you know.” Lando smirked, folding his arms across his tan, toned chest. He was attractive, Claire could give him that much at least. He just wasn’t her type, unfortunately for him.

“Remind me again?” He responded with a scoff. He took a step closer to her, leaning in a bit.

“You sleep around,” Claire remarked. She tapped her finger against her chin, as if trying to remember the artificial list that she was referencing. “You don’t call back, you can’t be tied down…tell me why I should go with you?”

“Maybe I want you to be the one to change my reputation?” Lando lowered his voice. “Has anyone ever told you that pink looks really good on you?”

The laugh that escaped her mouth was accidental, but she could care less. This had to be a joke, she thought. He was too corny—too predictable. In a weird way, it was almost endearing how he thought he had her wrapped around his pathetic finger. He didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’m afraid I won’t meet your expectations,” she sighed as her laughter slowed. “I’m looking for commitment, Norris. Not a plaything.” She watched his cheeks slowly turn red when she referred to him as a ‘plaything’. He cleared his throat, then straightened his posture.

“One date,” Lando proposed, clearly feeling confident in his chances. “If you are still convinced I’m not serious, then you can block me and never call me back.”

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. She smirked, then placed her sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose. Both of them were playing a game, but she was going to win. Losing wasn’t in her book—not now, not ever.

“Fine,” Claire sighed. “But it has to be a real date.”

“Wonderful,” he mimicked her flirtatious drawl from a few moments ago. “What is your name, darling?” Already starting with the pet names? He had no idea who he was about to get involved with. She offered her hand to him innocently.

“I’m Claire Nguyen,” she introduced, keeping her tone playful and airy. Her friends snickered behind her, but they knew how she worked—they knew she was playing him. Still, the driver took her hand in his, then pressed his lips to her knuckles. He pulled away, meeting her gaze again.

“It’s a pleasure,” his smug look was devastating.

Maybe if Claire had met him in high school, he would’ve had her in the palm of his hands. But she was different, now. Her heart was hardened, and her guard was up. Her dad dying was the tip of the iceberg, and leaving Oscar sunk the ship completely. She didn’t care what bridges she had to burn to accomplish her goals in life, and she didn’t care who she hurt to get there—because life hurt her. Life killed her. Sometimes she worried that she was a sociopath, but her therapist reassured her multiple times that she was simply just traumatized. It made her laugh the first time she was diagnosed with PTSD, but now that word felt like a weakness to her: trauma. All she had in this world was herself, now that the Piastri’s were nonexistent.

Claire’s gaze flickered back to the boat, before she looked to Lando again.

“So, are you going to invite me on board,” she tightened the hold on his hand gently, “or are you going to keep gawking at me?”

“You’re quite cheeky, aren’t you?” Lando chuckled, but there was a nervousness to his presentation now. Her plan was already working. She smiled, then looked back over her shoulders at her friends, Edith and Stacy—two girls she met when moving here to Monaco.

“See you back at the apartment?” She asked. The two girls exchanged a mischievous glance, then nodded. She wiggled her fingers goodbye to them, before Lando tugged her forward. As they approached the boat, he let go of her hand briefly to climb on board. He offered his hands to her, but she pushed him out of her way, before gracefully climbing on behind him. His cheeks flushed.

“I can let myself onto a boat,” she clicked her tongue, then eyed him head to toe. “I’m not helpless, you know.” He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly became a sputtering mess. He removed the hat on his head, running a hand through his curls.

“Um, my friend is here, too,” he finally managed to choke out. Claire found it quite amusing how his ‘cool guy’ persona faded rather fast. She watched him hesitate before walking around the driver’s seat towards the cushioned chairs at the front of the boat. She took her time lingering behind him, when she saw a familiar head of blonde hair off to her left—lounging with his eyes closed. Her blood ran cold at the sight of him.

For a few seconds, it felt like everything stopped around her. He looked…different. A good different, but it made her doubt for a moment if that was actually him in front of her. But it was. She’d recognize the speckled moles and freckled face anywhere. She felt her cheeks burn at the sight of his bare chest, and silently thanked God that her sunglasses were tinted. She felt frozen in place—like she couldn’t move or else the world would collapse below her.

“Hey,” Lando’s voice brought her back into reality. He reached forward, shaking Oscar’s leg gently. She saw, now, his eyes opening and looking directly up at her. His face went pale. Lando was seemingly unaware of the situation that was playing out as he continued speaking, “Oscar this is Claire, Claire this is Oscar.”

She quickly flashed her best fake smile as she extended a hand towards him. Push it down, Claire, she reminded herself, push it down with the rest of your emotions. If she allowed herself to be distracted by Oscar, then she would get knocked off her game. He always did that to her. While she knew the weaknesses of all the other drivers, her own weakness was going to be her competition next season—her weakness was Oscar Piastri.

“Hello,” Claire stated plainly. “It’s great to meet you, Oscar.” She made sure to draw out his name only slightly, just so he knew exactly where he stood with her. He had no place in her life anymore, and she wasn’t about to let him crawl his way back in. Oscar hesitated before taking her hand in his. His touch alone could’ve made her knees buckle underneath of her. They’ve held hands on multiple occasions before this, but this felt different. This time, it felt like she was in second grade again, racing remote controlled cars with him in his living room.

“Good to meet you as well, Claire,” he grumbled. When his hand lingered in hers, she made sure she was the first to drop his. Oscar quickly turned his attention to Lando. “Can we get back out on the water, now? I was taking a nap.” Claire drew in a shaky deep breath, praying her nerves weren’t obvious.

“I like that idea,” she commented. “I’ll drive.” As she began walking back to the driver’s seat, Lando grabbed ahold of her waist to stop her.

“Nice try,” he hummed in her ear. She felt the heat of his chest against her back, and his fingertips squeezing her sides gently. She felt the anger in her stomach begin to boil. “Why don’t you let a Formula 1 driver handle that?”

Subconsciously, she dug her elbow into his gut. He retaliated, coughing as the air was briefly knocked out of him. How degrading for him to speak to her like that. Claire faced him, folding her arms. The look in his eyes almost mimicked a lovesick, teenage boy—they were laced with disbelief in what she had just done, and admiration that she had the balls to do it in the first place.

“Someone doesn’t do their research,” she retorted, placing her hand on his cheek. “Lucky for you, a Formula 1 driver will be handling that.” His eyes widened as the gears in his head seemed to begin turning, putting the pieces together.

“You’re a Formula 1 driver?” Oscar was the first to speak as he stood from his chair. Claire was quick to remove her hand from Lando’s face at the sight of her old friend—as if she didn’t want him to see what she was doing. It didn’t matter if he did, and she knew that. They were nothing to each other, but yet she still craved his approval just as much as she did twelve years ago.

“Alpine, next season,” she stated simply, keeping her expression deadpanned as she looked back at him. “They saw me racing at a gig in Seoul—said I had potential, and offered a contract.” Lando laughed in amusement, as if he couldn’t fall more in love with her than the poor thing already was. She could see Oscar’s jaw tighten at the mention that she never quit racing. There was a heavy, unspoken tension between the two of them, so she shifted her gaze back to Lando.

“God, you’re cool,” he swooned. “I mean, minus elbowing me a few seconds ago…”

“Watch where you place your hands next time,” she scolded, pointing her finger at Lando like she was lecturing a child. “And watch what kind of assumptions you make. I told you earlier, I’m not helpless. You don’t know a single thing about me, Norris.”

Claire thought for a moment that she heard Oscar laugh, but that would be impossible. There was too much hatred between the two of them for him to find anything she said amusing. But as she turned to walk to the driver’s seat, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

.

When the second bottle of wine was being thrown away, Claire knew she needed to cut herself off and go to sleep. She’d been sitting on her apartment balcony for almost four hours, just staring…watching. The busyness of Monaco had now quieted down to a soft hum of the night, with the occasional car passing by below on the street.

She had imagined her reunion with Oscar on several occasions, but none of them involved flirting with his teammate in front of him. She groaned to herself, burying her face in her hands as she leaned against the railing. Her Aunt Mae had told her multiple times that the world would work to bring them back together. Mae was adamant about the idea of karma, but Claire wasn’t too sure. Really, she stopped believing in a lot of things after her dad died. Oscar never stopped believing in her, though. Except, maybe now was different. He looked through her today like she was a ghost of some kind.

There was a light knock on her door, pulling her out of her thoughts. She sighed before grabbing ahold of her wine glass and standing. She tightened the robe around her as she walked inside. When she got to the door, she glanced through the peephole. Lando. Claire took a deep breath before finishing off her drink. She continued to hold her robe closed as she opened the door. The Brit smiled sheepishly back at her, as though he was entertained that she answered. He wore some grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that fit snug against his torso. She leaned against the doorframe, humming lightly.

“Hello,” he finally spoke. “Um, sorry for just stopping by like this. When I dropped you off earlier, I didn’t realize we lived in the same complex.” Claire was really too tipsy and too sad to try and maintain the composure that she held at the beach earlier. So instead, she settled with a smile.

“Don’t apologize,” she replied softly. “I don’t mind. What can I do for you?” Lando stuffed his hands into his pockets, as the corners of his mouth twitched slightly while he gathered his thoughts.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior today,” he explained slowly. Her eyes widened, not expecting this from him. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought. “I just, um, haven’t had a serious relationship in a while. Sometimes I get ahead of myself.” Claire wasn’t entirely sure what to do or to say. She hesitated as she eventually stepped off to the side, silently inviting him in to her home.

She watched him closely as he walked inside. She shut the door behind him, as his gaze flickered around her living room. Claire kept things minimalistic, mostly because she couldn’t bother herself to turn anything into a home. She didn’t belong anywhere, and it had been that way since she left Melbourne. She often felt like a stray cat, just bouncing between homes—desperate for shelter, and barely staying alive. If she put decorations up anywhere, then it meant she was tied to that place. She couldn’t be tied down anywhere unless it was back in Melbourne, but she hadn’t healed enough to bring herself back there yet.

“I’m sorry for elbowing you,” she found herself admitting, even though she wasn’t that sorry. Her dad’s voice seemed to haunt her, though, any time she let her emotions get the best of her. It happened when she first met Oscar, too. She almost laughed at the thought, but she pushed it down just as she did with everything else. Lando turned to look at her, when he offered her a comforting smile. She felt her heart stutter, but it could’ve just been the wine.

“I deserved it,” he shrugged, making his way back towards her. “You do intimidate me, though.” She pressed her lips into a thin, tight line as she fought off a smile. She didn’t want to give him the justification, even if his comment was a bit funny.

“I get that a lot,” Claire confessed as she broke off to her right, towards the kitchen. Lando trailed behind. “My dad put me through anger management when I was in second grade. I just feel things very passionately. There isn’t any in-between for me.” She looked over to him again as she set her glass by the sink. She leaned against the counter as he stayed back, observing her.

“Do you, um, already know Oscar?” He asked quietly, as if he were treading on thin ice. He was unsure of the territory he had wandered in, and she saw it reflected in his eyes: careful, cautious…on edge; she was predator, and he was prey.

It was a loaded question that Claire didn’t know how to answer. She used to know Oscar, but now he was as much of a stranger to her as Lando was. She knew he had an entirely new life, but she refused to research him as intently as the other drivers. It just wasn’t something she wanted to venture into. She knew deep down that if she were to see what kind of life he was living without her in it, it would kill her.

“No,” she lied, shaking her head. “He just looked like somebody I used to know, is all.” Lando took a few steps closer. The silence was deafening in her apartment—nothing but the soft buzz of the streetlights outside.

The unfortunate thing for Claire, was that wine brought her guard down. Even though she wasn’t fully drunk yet, she could feel it slowly begin to trickle through her bloodstream. As Lando stood close to her, she felt her cheeks warm. No matter how flustered he was making her right now, he still wasn’t her type. He still wasn’t Oscar. The thought rang through her brain, pathetically reminding her of her long-time infatuation with him. Her heart ached slightly, while she turned her attention to her feet—away from Lando’s gaze.

“Claire?”

She knew seeing Oscar again—regardless of when or where or why or how it happened—would destroy her. He probably didn’t care, which pained her even more. The fact that he still held so much influence over her thoughts was comical. She wanted desperately to move on from him; she needed to force herself to move on.

Claire looked over to the boy next to her, whose eyes were laced with worry. He could tell something was wrong, but he wouldn’t ask. He didn’t think he could, and she preferred that he didn’t. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the reckless decision she was about to make. If she wanted to move on, then there was an opportunity standing just a few inches away from her.

She grabbed a fistful of Lando’s shirt, then pulled him down. She kissed him feverishly, and he wasted no time kissing her back. She could smell his soap still lingering on him—pine and eucalyptus. He brought one hand behind her neck, pulling her closer to him. Her mouth parted momentarily for a breath, when she felt Lando’s tongue lick her bottom lip. He moved his mouth against hers desperately, pleadingly. It was obvious between the two of them that this was nothing more than surface-level kissing. That was all she needed from him was a distraction, and he was happy to give it to her.

.

Seeing Lando became a regular occurrence for Claire, though they kept it as lowkey as they were able to—no idle chatter, no small talk. Just sex, nothing more. It wasn’t until she went over to his apartment one evening, and Oscar was the one who opened the door. Neither of them said anything, they just stared. Oscar glanced over his shoulder into his friend’s apartment before stepping into the hall with her, closing the door behind him. A few more seconds of silence passed between them, before he finally spoke.

“You’re racing again.”

A simple sentence that felt like a slap across the face. She wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, primarily because she was scared. She couldn’t tell if him making conversation was an olive branch, or pouring more salt into the wound. His tone was unwavering, making it hard to decipher his intentions.

“I never stopped,” Claire finally muttered. Oscar leaned against the door behind him. He was wearing a pair of black exercise shorts, accompanied by a matte black McLaren team shirt. She hated how good he looked—how nice the years have been to him. The silence met them again, but this time it was heavy with uncertainty. Neither one was sure where they stood with the other. It was maddening.

“Now, you’re sleeping with Lando,” he observed. She felt her stomach bubble with the same familiar anger she often felt. He had no right to judge her for this. “That’s a dangerous combination.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Osc…ar?” She was quick to correct her old habit of calling him by his nickname. She kicked herself mentally for the muscle memory. He smiled slightly, which only made the situation worse. “Oscar. I meant Oscar.” He raised his eyebrows slightly before sticking his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

“You’re…” he trailed off at first. He licked his lips before finding his voice again, “you’re like fire and ice. You just don’t go together. You both deal so much damage individually, but together…I dunno.” He shrugged lightly. Claire rolled her eyes.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you don’t get to give me advice anymore,” she took a few steps closer to him. She tried to maintain her cool, but she felt like there was a storm inside of her right now. Being so close to him, she was hit with the smell of his old cologne: sandalwood, vanilla, home. It almost made her cry, as the feeling of nostalgia was quick to wash over her. “You have no influence over me.”

The second she said it, she knew he saw right through the lie. He only knew it was a lie, because he felt the same way. Thankfully for her, Oscar didn’t push the matter further. Instead, he opened the door to Lando’s apartment once more.

“It’s always good to see you, Bear,” he mumbled so softly that she almost missed it. He stared at her for a few seconds longer, then disappeared inside.

.

The bass that echoed over the club’s stereo pulsed through the building. Claire, Edith, and Stacy each sat at the bar, observing the crowd before them. Edith and Stacy were the closest thing to best friends that Claire had in her life anymore, but even then, it didn’t feel like she held a very deep connection with them. Any relationship she maintained after Oscar was surface level—she couldn’t keep people as close to her as he used to be. Maybe it was because somewhere deep in her heart, that was still reserved for him and him alone.

Still, the company the girls provided was nice. When Claire made the decision to use her inheritance to move to Monaco, she joined a women’s racing league. Edith and Stacy didn’t race, but they volunteered for the league from time to time. Their worlds collided when Claire punched some douchebag who had Edith cornered at the very bar they were in now. Even if they only kept her around for some form of security, she felt like with them, she could at least pretend her life was semi-normal.

“Soooo,” Stacy sang before taking a drink from whatever combination she decided upon for the night, “what’s up with Lando?”

“Nothing,” Claire told her factually. “Absolutely nothing. It’s nice, really. I don’t think being tied down right now is what’s best for me.” That last part was a lie. Partially, anyways.

“He’s, like, so hot,” Edith chimed in. “What’s going to happen next season, do you think?” Claire couldn’t help but scoff. She took a long drink from the vodka cranberry in her hands before she responded.

“I’m going to win,” it was a simple statement that she believed fully in her heart. “Alpine has some new sponsors. The car is going to be good—not great, really, but better than it has been. I plan to drive that shitbox to its grave.”

Her two friends began chatting about their predictions for the next season, as Claire grew bored. She turned her back to the bar, allowing herself a better view of the crowd dancing behind them. There were a few faces she recognized of other drivers that lived here. A bit strange that so many of them were here tonight, but she supposed it wasn’t totally out of the ordinary. Their summer break didn’t end until next week, so she figured a good lot of them hadn’t left yet for their other commitments.

Then, her eyes landed on Oscar, who was currently staring back at her. This seemed to be their luck of the draw—finding each other when they had no intention or desire of doing so. Even when they first met, they kept finding each other: the race tracks, Christmas at the Piastri’s, Oscar’s first break up, Claire’s first school dance…he was always there.

Her chest felt tight. If she kept meeting him like this, she knew it would more than likely send her into cardiac arrest. She took control of the current situation as she grabbed her drink, and excused herself from her friends. She could see it in his eyes that he thought she’d be coming over to him when she began walking, but instead, she turned left and made her way out of the exit that lead to the back alley of the bar.

When the door closed behind her, she pressed her back to the cold, brick exterior of the building. As she slid down to sit on the ground, she felt tears in the corners of her eyes. Hugging her knees to her chest, she pressed her forehead to them and cried. The emotions from the past few weeks had caught up to her, and she felt like she was drowning. There was a fog in her brain since seeing Oscar again, and she was unaware how much it was really affecting her until now. She didn’t remember hearing the door open beside her, until he sat next to her.

It was like some sick and twisted déjà vu. The last time they sat like this was at the funeral. Claire couldn’t decide how to react right now. Did she scream at him? Was she supposed to just walk away, and keep avoiding him? She heard him sniff quietly, and she knew he was crying, too. So they sat there in their respective silences, each crying and working through the unspoken, unresolved questions that lingered between them. After a few minutes, Oscar’s voice broke through the surface.

“No one stayed in that room after you left,” his voice was hoarse. “Mom wouldn’t even use it for storage. It’s been untouched since…” he trailed off, but Claire didn’t need him to finish. She knew what he was insinuating: the Piastri’s never moved on.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Not yet, anyways. She didn’t have the words right now to properly communicate how she felt, because she felt so many things all at once. Hurt, anger, disappointment, heart break, love…so much love. But it was the type of yearning that often did more harm than good—the type that got Romeo killed. The type that got Gatsby shot. The type that left the other half broken, and the other half dead. Claire felt dead. She had been dead inside for so long now. How was one supposed to convey such complex feelings into words?

“She still asks about you,” Oscar continued, laughing pathetically—like the absurdity of it all was comical. It was, though. It almost made Claire relieved to know that Nicole still thought they were friends in some capacity; it meant Oscar never told her the truth. “She, um, has been collecting these little gifts for you in case you ever made it back to Australia—“

“Please,” Claire finally choked out through the tears, “I can’t hear anymore, Oscar. It hurts too much.”

He went quiet, obeying her request at first. She knew it hurt him too, but he wanted so desperately to make her feel better. Oscar Piastri: always selfless, always caring, always thinking of others. This time, however, he had no intentions of letting things go unspoken. He couldn’t take another three years without the closure, and neither could she.

“I missed you,” the words left his mouth before he could think. Claire could tell, because he came to a stuttering stop. He wasn’t usually a confrontational person, so the fact he kept talking in general surprised her. “I thought about you every day for a year. I watched you post things online, acting like I never even existed.”

Claire let him talk. She sat next to him listening, as the tears continued to fall down her cheeks. She knew he needed this as much as she did—he just had the words to say right now. She didn’t. Not yet.

“When you stopped returning my calls, it felt like another person I loved was gone,” his voice was now strained as he stopped holding back his own tears. “I was worried about you. I thought that maybe your mental health had caught up to you. You stopped posting, you stopped going online. I had to force myself to forget about you so I couldn’t face the truth that I had created.”

He thought she died. She didn’t need for him to explicitly say the words to understand what he was talking about. His concerns were valid, too. He always looked out for her when she got too deep into her own thoughts. So when he couldn’t do that anymore, he assumed the worst.

“I pushed everyone away,” Claire finally spoke. Her words were slow, calculated. She didn’t want to say anything that might ruin the civility they had right now. “I didn’t think I belonged anywhere when I had to go back to Seoul. I didn’t even want to go to Seoul.”

Her words carried weight with Oscar. She never really spoke to him about her feelings on moving in with her aunt—the only time they ever addressed her leaving was the night he won the F2 championship title. Her demeanor towards it all that night told him that she didn’t care, but she did. God, she cared so much. She spent several weeks leading up to her departure arguing with her aunt about staying in Melbourne, but her dad’s will passed her on to Mae. By the time Claire was legally able to leave on her own accord, they weren’t friends anymore.

“I fought tooth and nail to stay with you,” she continued, finally gaining the courage to look at him. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, but her’s were probably not any better. “When it was unavoidable, I just…pushed everyone away. It already felt like everything I loved was taken from me; pushing people away was easier to deal with it all.”

Oscar couldn’t take it anymore. He brought her into an embrace so quickly that she couldn’t process it at first. After a few moments, she returned the hug, wrapping her arms around him in return. They sat like that for what felt like hours, but neither of them cared. By the time they eventually left, no other word was muttered between them. There was so much more that the other could say, but for now they were content. For now, it felt like maybe—just maybe—they would be okay.

.

* None of my writing is available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated.

©️ grogwrites, 2024

Taglist:

@leclercdream

[yandere-paramour]

How does teenage Noelle handle with a teenage darling? Is it the same Noelle or different?

This isn't surprising in the slightest, but Noelle was an angry and spiteful teenager to anyone except her sisters.

(For reference, the girls in order are Odette, Noelle, Thérèse, Celeste, and Blanche)

Everything has sucked for her since the day she was born. Her and Odette's Dad abandoned them, and the little girl's Dad left too. Her clothes are dirty, the house is dirty, and no one's paid the water bill. The little girls are tired because Mom brought another guy home after work, and all the squeaking, banging, and moaning woke them up. Celeste has a fever and is vomiting, but Odette has an AP Calc test tomorrow so she gets to sleep with the two healthy girls while Noelle is up all night with Les after her shift at the fast food place. She's tired, hungry, and still has her own homework to do before she gets to spend the night nursing a sick second grader.

Noelle doesn't really have friends either. Any available moment is spent either at school, at work, looking after the little girls, or if she's lucky, at the library studying. And why would she want to spend time with vapid, immature assholes that resent Noelle for her grades and pity her for her circumstances? She's better off with her sisters anyway.

Until she meets you.

You're beautiful, and better than that, you're kind. Noelle's laptop didn't charge after she was up late last night studying and watching youtube; one of the girls must have gotten up to pee in the middle of the night and tripped over the cord. But you... you're actually speaking to Noelle, not to mock her or ask her for answers or tell her to move because that's "your seat". Seeing that she's at a disadvantage not having her laptop in AP research, you graciously offer your charger, asking for nothing in return.

You're an angel.

From that day on, Noelle is your steadfast protector and companion (and stalker).

Anything you need help with at school, Noelle is on it. Even if she's not taking that class, she's staying up late at night to study it to be able to teach you

When you come into work, she will give up her staff meal to you

She will introduce you to Odette, and now you have a cool upperclassman friend watching you watching out for you (Odette's an outcast too but you don't need to know that)

She figures out how to track your phone without you knowing so now she always knows where you are

She applies only to the colleges you're applying to

Noelle doesn't have quite the same time/resources to police you as she has as an adult.

She allows you to have friends at first, understanding that you need someone to look after you when she's busy with work or her sisters, but she tries to push you toward the people who feel pity for her rather than outright scorn.

She cultivates an air of being a pitiful girl, one who needs saving.

The little girls are told to be cute and sweet in front of "Noelle's BFF", endearing her further to you. How can someone be so selfless, giving up their youth and freedom to take care of these sweet little girls?

Noelle is clingy and pitiful, but always tries to seem genuine and kind to you. You become her savior, and she becomes your academic tutor and companion

You can't understand why no one likes Noelle, the whole school must be against her. But no matter. You're the only person who gets to have such a kind, lovely, generous girl as your friend.

She has to make sure no one finds out what she's done to people that crossed her. If she has her way, you will always think of her as an innocent girl in an unfortunate situation.

Anytime someone tries to tip you off, their computer breaks, their assignments are sabotaged, and their phones constantly go off with lewd sounds in the middle of class.

You become just as isolated as Noelle, not understanding why.

But don't worry, you'll always have her.

[moonmeg]

Could we see what goes on in Evelyn's nightmares? (I crave the angst 😔😔)

Took me a while but sure. Here's an example!

!!TW/CW: stabbing, child death, child murder, mentions and descriptions of vomiting!!

"I still don't think this is a good idea." Catherine growled as she watched Robyn preparing a sleeping potion and Ahana setting everything up for a spell, which would send Robyn into her dream.

After he could barely wake or comfort her from her nightmare some days ago, Robyn set up the plan to see what it was his mother dreamed about so often, since she wouldn't tell him. Even if she did, Robyn feared she'd leave out details that may be crucial in order to not worry him too much, which in turn would make comforting her more difficult. Therefore, he decided to see it all for himself. Catherine hesitantly agreed and it had taken Ahana multiple convincing speeches and multiple promises - even an eternal oath spell - that Robyn would be safe. Now Catherine was regretting giving her agreement to send her son into the darkest pit of her subconsciousness. She couldn't back out, she'd break the oath with Ahana and suffer the consequences for it, but she hoped she could convince them to let the idea go themselves.

"I've been dealing with these nightmares for 16 years now! I've learned to manage!" she tried to reason.

"That makes it worse." Robyn glared into his mother's eyes. His thick dark brows were furrowed in worry.

"You won't be able to free me of that nightmare, sprout."

"I'm not expecting to. I just want to understand what you're being tortured with most nights. I can't help you if I don't know what you experience in those dreams." he pipetted a few drops of the potion into a cup of herbal brew - his mother called it "tea" and said that's what humans referred to it as - that she liked to drink and stirred it with a small spoon. He then handed it to Catherine.

She looked up at him. She hoped he'd smile any moment, throw the cup over his shoulder and yell "it's just a joke! I was never serious about this!" but he had a cold face of determination. One she knew too well for she had seen it often enough in herself. Catherine took the cup and considered throwing it on the ground herself. She could do it until Robyn was fed up with making new tea and pipetting sleeping potions into it. He'd get tired sooner or later.

No...

That would be childish. And mean. Robyn wants to help. He isn't doing this because he thinks it's fun to explore nightmares. He's doing this to understand her better. Catherine had to admit that she was dishonest to him about this nightmare in the past. It was just too difficult to gather and string the words. She never wanted to worry him. In attempting to shield him from her problems, however, she achieved the opposite.

Catherine sighed in defeat and took a sip. Then a second and a third.

Shortly after,  she felt her eyes grow heavy. The instructions Ahana was giving Robyn became more and more indecipherable and their figures standing in the middle of the parlor a mere blur.

"The potion's working. She's almost asleep." Ahana commented after catching Catherine fighting the wave of sleep.

"Time to go then." Robyn fixed the knot of rope around his waist and put the bell Ahana had given him into the small satchel dangling over his shoulder. Inside that satchel were a few more herbs and small personal belongings of Catherine's that Ahana had bestowed with a protection spell. Just in case.

"Don't interact with anyone in there. Stay out of sight. No matter what happens, don't intervene. Once you get involved in the dream itself you can get lost in there and I can't save you anymore. Be careful, please." she repeated her instructions one last time. Robyn simply nodded and then waited for Ahana to activate the spell.

"Mera Pyara."

He glanced over at her. She usually referred to him as "Roby". This term of endearment was rare.

"What you may see in there could have consequences on your own subconsciousness too."

"I know. I'll be fine, auntie."

He flashed her a smile and proceeded to prepare for the spell.

It felt like a zap. It tingled on some parts of his body, and itched on other's. But it was quick. Suddenly he felt leafs and forest soil underneath his hand. He opened his eyes and found himself a few feet away from a cottage. It looked like something his mother had her hands in, judging by all the plants and flowers, but he couldn't quite place this particular cottage. It didn't look familiar. He could hear a familiar voice not far away.

Robyn got up to his feet and hid in the blind spot of the cottage and peeked over the corner of the wall. Was that... him?

The little boy certainly looked and sounded like himself. He must be around 10 years old here, Robyn concluded.

He was happily playing around with the dirt and soil in the garden until a sinister figure appeared at the fence.

"Hello" it said with feigned kindness.

"Hi!" Robyn beamed back.

"You must be Robyn."

The little version of him nodded.

"I'm glad I finally found you. I've been searching high and low. I don't understand why your mother is hiding you away." the figure slowly shaped more into the clear image of a person.

A reasonably young man. A few years short of 30, if Robyn had to guess. He wore a blue coat with a golden crest over the left chest, a white neckpiece, a beige waistcoat and brown breeches above white stocking and black buckled shoes. His long brown hair was tied behind his neck and his face covered with a beard.

The image didn't fit anyone Robyn knew or anyone his mother had told him of. That was it. She hasn't told him of that person. Robyn felt a cold shiver run down his spine and his heart picking up pace in panic as the realization hit.

That was the culprit. The person at whose hands his father had died. It felt strange to have a face for that person now. Strange and scary.

"Say, Robyn, your mother probably didn't tell you who I am, did she?"

The little boy shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'm a friend."

No, you're not. Robyn thought.

"In fact, I'm an old friend of your father."

The smile this person had felt so very deranged. Was it a genuine reflection of that person's smile or was it his mother's subconsciousness smudging it over the knowledge of what he had done?

"My father?" the little boy's eyes lit up before he dropped his head low with a frown.

"You miss him terribly, don't you, Robyn?"

Another nod.

"I understand. It's horrible to lose someone so important this early in life. But you know what?"

"What?"

"I can help you meet your father. I know where he is."

"You do?"

"I really do. I could take you to him." the man held out his hand.

It was getting incredibly difficult to remain just a passive viewer. It took Robyn all his strength to keep ringing auntie Ahana's words back into his mind and stay put.

He watched his younger self get up and take one step after the other, getting closer to the man.

"Where? I'm not allowed too far away from home." little Robyn looked back over his shoulder, forcing older Robyn to hide himself in the span of a second.

He held his breath, his back tightly pressed to the wood of the cottage. He could hear his heart beating in his throat. He wanted to scream, to run, to puke, to cry, to do anything but stand still.

"Oh, don't worry it's not far. Your father would've come here himself but unfortunately Caleb is hurt. He asked me to fetch you and he said he'll be waiting for you right over there." the man pointed behind himself into the forest, "It's less than five minutes from here."

Don't go. Don't go. Don't go. Don't go.

When Robyn couldn't hear anything anymore, he carefully peeked around the corner again. The garden was empty but he could make out the man's silhouette through the bushes. Robyn ran after them. He followed them hiding behind trees and bushes but always lurking.

"Can I tell Mama I met Papa?"

He hated how young and naive he sounded. How innocent. How oblivious of the situation.

"Oh no! You can't tell your mother about this. It must remain our little secret." the man pursed his lips and held a finger to them.

"But Mama loves Papa very much! She'd want to meet him again too!"

"I'm sure she does. However, you do know what happened to your father, don't you?"

Yes, he got stabbed by someone he trusted most.

"Something bad."

"Something very bad indeed. We wouldn't want that person to do another bad thing, right?"

His calm polite voice began infuriating and annoying Robyn. How can you abduct a child and be this indifferent about it? How can you pretend to be a friend with only good intentions? How is this man able to close even one eye at night knowing exactly what he did?

"If you want to keep your father safe, you must tell no one about this. Promise?"

"Alright."

They came to a halt. Robyn crouched down behind a thick tree trying his best to avoid making any noise. In the meantime, little Robyn looked around confused. He called for Papa but when he didn't get an answer, looked helplessly at the man. The man chuckled.

"Caleb is a silly fella sometimes. He's probably playing hide and seek. Do you know that game?"

Little Robyn nodded.

"Then how about you count to ten? Your father will know you're seeking for him."

Robyn couldn't bear it to have sounds but no visuals.

"One."

He could risk it and peek over the bush to get a glimpse.

"Two."

The forest should be dark and the bush dense enough for him to go unnoticed.

"Three."

Moreover, judging by the direction the sound traveled to, both little Robyn and the man were turned away from the tree where he was hiding.

"Four."

Screw it. He turned aside to his knees and peeked through the bush.

"Five."

Little Robyn stood there with his hands over his eyes, counting as he was told to do.

"Six."

The man was approaching the little boy slowly.

"Seven."

His steps were confident and he was holding something.

"Eight."

Robyn moved his head a little to change his angle and identify the object in the man's hand.

"Nine."

It was a knife.

"Te-"

Robyn smacked his hands over his mouth to catch any scream that might come out as he witnessed the man pushing the knife through little Robyn's back.

Whatever scream he replaced for silence and heavy breathing, little Robyn let out painfully. Horrible gutted cries for Mama, pleads to the man to stop, screams of a child that doesn't understand the world around it anymore.

Robyn fell back behind the tree, battling any urge to scream or vomit. He could almost feel the cold knife piercing his own skin and flesh, tearing it open and wounding his organs.

The haunting screams slowly dimmed out and Robyn knew exactly why. He didn't dare look through the bush again. He sat at that tree in a state of shock. Any limp felt paralyzed, his blood felt icy while flowing through his veins, he wanted to scream but had no vocal chords, he wanted to cry but had no water in him to form tears and his breathing rhythm was completely out of any tact.

It took some time of terrifying silence until he heard his name being yelled in the distance.

Mama.

She was searching for him.

Oh Titan, she was searching for him.

It was dark. If she doesn't get a clue where to find him, she might not find him today at all.

Robyn looked around, checking if there was a way he could turn her attention here.

Nothing here could help.

Then he remembered.

Robyn reached inside his satchel and grabbed the bell.

He wouldn't be able to see more of this nightmare but if he was honest, he's seen quite enough and he wasn't sure how much more painful it will be once Catherine finds little Robyn. He rang the bell as loudly as he could.

"Sweetie?" her voice drew closer.

He rang again.

"Robyn? Little bird, give me a peep!"

He shut his eyes when the next time she used his name, it was a visceral, deafening scream. One that was followed by more. Each more heartbreaking than the last.

"We meet again, Catherine."

That damn voice... was back.

Had he... waited for her to find her dead son?

"YOU!" she yelled.

Anything after that was unknown as Robyn felt a pull, the zap and tingling again. The forest soil had turned to wood. Mother and son simultaneously let out a huge gasp. Catherine was shaking, tears ran down her face.

"Cathy, hey, shhh. It was not real. It was a nightmare. You're alright now. Shhh.", Ahana immediately rushed to her friend, "Take a sip. Calm down. Shhh."

Catherine hicced as she accepted the water from Ahana and chugged it down in one go. Ahana stroke her hand over Cathy's shoulder in comfort. She glanced over at Robyn, who looked just as terrified.

"What did you see?" she inquired carefully.

Robyn looked at the two women on the sofa in shock. After a small pause he began to retch. Ahana quickly made a basin appear and Robyn quickly buried his face in it. Nothing he had eaten today wished to remain in his stomach.

When he was done, he spit into it one last time and straightened his back slightly. He stared into the distance, unsure what to make of his findings.

"Sweetie-" - he shuddered at the pet name - "-I told you it was a horrible idea."

"No, I think I understand better now."

He raised his head to look at his mother. He wasn't sure how he could help better just yet but he'd figure something out.

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 3

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2.3k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: CanNOT believe I'm updating a third time in as many days. This whole chapter is just dialog. All 2,300 words of it. I am deceased. I love writing dialog, but there is a limit. Also, tumblr is held together with old gum and scotch tape, so currently I can't reply to comments on posts. Until they fix it just know I do see them all, even though I can't respond at the moment. For now, if you want a direct response you'll need to send an ask!

Benedict was quite certain he must be dreaming.

He stood outside his home, in the low light of evening, with the girl he had been searching for.

She had come to him all on her own; and now he knew her name.

Beatrice.

"A lovely name indeed," he praised, "But it would perhaps be more proper for me to address you by your surname." Even Benedict, with his distaste for the rigid etiquette of the aristocracy, would feel a certain level of unease referring to a young lady of rank by her given name.

Beatrice looked back at him nervously, "No no, I think Beatrice will do just fine."

"You do have a surname?" Benedict joked.

"Naturally," she lied. While her full name was rather long, it did not include a surname. As was the case with all members of the royal family.

Benedict raised a brow curiously, "It would seem you do not wish to tell me."

"Well...no, I would rather not."

"How intriguing; why ever not? Is your family embroiled in some sort of scandal?" he asked.

"It is nothing like that," she replied, her eyes moving to avoid his gaze, "It is only...well, truthfully I fear once you learn of my lineage, obligation will keep you from speaking honestly with me."

Beatrice knew she was dancing close to the edge. While she had not directly told Benedict her true identity, the more he knew, the more likely he was to put the pieces together. All but telling him her family was of a high rank was a risk, but she wanted to be as honest as she could be with him. She did not enjoy the thought of deceiving him any more than was absolutely necessary.

There was a small smile on his face as he examined her worried expression. He could see this was quite important to her, so decided to leave it be.

"My, your family must be quite important," he commented, "But I shall ask no more. I believe we are all entitled to a secret or two--and of course, I would also enjoy continuing to speak freely with one another." He smiled reassuringly at her as she stared back in surprise, "Beatrice it is."

She felt her face flush at the sound of her name. While it had been at her insistence, it still felt strange to be addressed so casually by anyone outside of her family.

"Thank you," Beatrice replied with a grateful smile.

"However, there is a condition," Benedict continued, "If I am to address you by your given name, I must insist you address me by mine."

"Oh." Beatrice hadn't considered it, but then again it did seem only fair, "I suppose that would be alright...Benedict."

She knew her cheeks were red, but she took some comfort in the fact that he seemed similarly effected.

He looked away, attempting to regain his composure, "Good. Yes, alright then," he cleared his throat, "Now that we've gotten all of that settled, perhaps you would do me the pleasure of an evening promenade?"

He seemed apprehensive, perhaps worried she would decline; Beatrice found it rather endearing.

"That sounds lovely," she answered. He looked back at her, clearly relieved by her answer, "Oh, but before we go," she pointed to his cheek, "you have a bit of charcoal on you face, just there." Benedict's hand instantly flew to to his face.

"How humiliating! And you said nothing as I stood here looking like a chimney sweep?" he joked through his embarrassment.

Beatrice laughed, "Well, there never seemed to be a good time to tell you--and if your were secretly in the business of cleaning chimneys, I would certainly have hated to embarrass you by pointing it out."

"Well then perhaps I should be thanking you for your discretion," he smirked, his hand moving to wipe his face in an attempt to remove the dust.

"No no, don't do that! You'll only smudge it more," she said, batting at the air near his arm in protest. He stopped, lowering his hand as instructed. "Here, allow me."

She lifted her arm, her free hand grabbing the reticle around her wrist. She adjusted it until she was able to reach inside, pulling out a handkerchief. It was lovely: Pure white, with intricate floral embroidery and a lace trim. She raised the handkerchief towards his face, and he instinctively leaned back.

"No ah, well, that is..." he sputtered, "You'll ruin your handkerchief," he finally managed to say.

In truth he was simply startled by her sudden action. She had been so casual in reaching out to touch him, as if it hadn't occurred to her how it might look. Benedict found himself once again surprised by her. So often she seemed to try to conform to the expectations of society, even when it clearly caused her discomfort. Then she would do something like this, and she hardly seemed to care what others might think of it.

"It is only a handkerchief, it can be cleaned you know," she replied, her hand moving once more. Benedict didn't shy away this time, and soon felt the soft fabric rest against his skin. His heart began to race at the simple gesture.

He suddenly found himself unable to look her in the eye.

Beatrice was gentle as she began wiping the charcoal away, seeming completely unaffected by the action or his reaction to it. It lasted only a few moments, but to Benedict it seemed far longer.

"There, much better," she said, removing her hand and smiling at her work. Benedict blushed.

"Yes, thank you," he replied nervously.

"It was no trouble," she assured him, moving to place the handkerchief, now stained with black, back inside her reticle, "Though, I believe I can offer little help for your gloves."

Benedict looked down, his white gloves covered with splotchy, black fingerprints. His hands must have been covered in charcoal when he left his room, and he simply hadn't noticed.

Had he truly been so distracted?

"Forgive me, I am truly a mess this evening."

"Not at all," she replied, before grinning, "It seems you were dealing with quite the begrimed chimney."

He smiled gratefully, "Surely they must keep their fire going year round, to build up such an impressive level of soot."

With that, he offered her his arm.

"Now that you will feel marginally less mortified to be seen with me, perhaps we can be off?" She smiled shyly, pulling at the edge of her hood.

"Yes, I would like that," she answered, her hand moving to entwine her arm with his. They set off down the street, strolling to nowhere in particular at a leisurely pace.

"So," Beatrice was the first to speak, "You are an artist then?"

"And what makes you say so? There could be any number of reasons for a man to have charcoal on his hands...and his face," Benedict quipped.

Beatrice smiled, "No, I believe I am right. You certainly behave like one passionate about the arts."

"Oh? And how is it I behave exactly?"

"Well, my grandmother would say you are rather...bohemian," Beatrice replied.

"Bohemian? And I suppose your grandmother would not mean that to be complimentary?" Benedict asked.

"Indeed she would not," Beatrice laughed, "Though as a rule she is simply not one for compliments. She is, above all things, proper, and can be rather terse at times."

Benedict nodded in understanding, "Ah yes. I have only a few childhood memories of my own grandmother, but she seemed much the same."

"Please don't misunderstand--I am actually quite fond of her," Beatrice corrected, "She is simply not an overly affectionate person."

"I see. So do you spend much time with your grandmother then?" he asked.

"As much as I am able, though my father is quite strict and doesn't like me away from home for too long. I am quite lucky he allowed me to stay with her for the season," she replied.

"Ah, an overbearing father. That makes sense," he commented, smirking at her as she pouted at him.

"Oh? And what about you? I can't imagine your parents restricted you much, given your proclivity for breaking with societal expectations."

Benedict laughed, "This from the girl who has clearly left home without permission to meet a man unchaperoned." She blushed in surprise, turning her face away.

"Well, that is..." She struggled to find a believable justification for her actions.

"Not that I judge you. If anything I'm glad you decided to break a few rules," he smiled as she continued avoiding his gaze, "And for what it's worth, you are correct; I am guilty of being raised by kind, loving parents who supported my interest in the arts and allowed me plenty of freedom."

"I knew it." Beatrice turned back, smirking at him triumphantly, "About you upbringing and being an artist, it would seem."

Benedict laughed, "Oh please, do congratulation yourself more."

"Perhaps I will," she joked.

Soon, her face fell into a thoughtful smile, "You're parents, did they love each other?"

That seemed an interesting turn in conversation.

Benedict nodded, "Yes, from what I remember they were quite mad for one another. My mother talks about it often, particularly mow that so many of her children have come of age. She is constantly encouraging us to find love matches for ourselves."

"You're all lucky to have such a caring mother. Not many would prioritize their children's happiness over their obligation to secure a good match," Beatrice replied.

"You're right, we have been very fortunate," Benedict smiled affectionately, "And so far my mother has gotten her wish: Both my brother and my sister have found love matches for themselves, though it is less certain that the rest of my siblings will follow suite."

"And you?" Beatrice asked without thinking.

"Me?" Benedict repeated, "Well, I'm not sure I shall ever marry."

In spite of herself, Beatrice could not help but look somewhat disappointed, "Oh, I see."

"Though," he continued, "I suppose love may be the one thing to entice me into such an arrangement, should I ever find it."

He couldn't help noticing how the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly as he spoke.

"And what of you? Are you hoping to marry for love?" It was little business of his, but he had to admit he was more curious about her answer than he aught to have been.

"I," she hesitated, her head falling as her gaze fell to the ground, "I would certainly like to, but I'm afraid it's rather unlikely. At best, I can hope my future husband is someone I don't utterly dislike."

"Ah, right--you mentioned your father was strict. Will he be choosing for you?" Benedict asked sympathetically.

"Yes," she confirmed, trying to hold fast to her smile, "My mother and father's marriage was arranged, and now the two despise each other. I suppose so long as my marriage is at all better than theirs I can count myself lucky."

"That must have been a difficult way to grow up," he commented, not know what else he could say.

"I suppose, though it could have been worse. My mother hasn't lived with us since before I was born. When they are forced to around one another, it is an unpleasant affair for all involved; so perhaps it's for the best."

"That's...quite an unusual situation," Benedict noted.

"Perhaps it is, but it is mine," she replied, glancing up at him, "But now it is I who has made you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should move to a lighter subject?"

"Of course," Benedict agreed.l

He wanted to comfort her in some way, but he wasn't sure how he could. He certainly had no idea what it was like to grow up the way she had, or what it was to know that inevitably your future would be chosen for you. There had been a certain level of expectation placed on him as the second son, but he still enjoyed immense freedom. He felt any attempt at comfort may come off as disingenuous, or perhaps even patronizing. He wanted her to know he was sincere.

"Are you attending the next ball?" she asked him after a long moment of walking in silence.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. This is my sister Francesca's first year out, and the second year for my sister Eloise. My brothers and I typically accompany our mother to help keep an eye on them."

"What thoughtful brothers you are," she replied, her tone somewhat teasing.

"Well yes, I suppose we are rather good brothers--the best, even. Our sisters are quite lucky to have such devoted elder brothers looking out for them," Benedict joked back. Beatrice smiled at that, turning her head so he wouldn't see.

Benedict cleared his throat, "Will you also be attending?" he asked as casually as he was able.

It was unlike him, but even the chance he may be able to dance with her was enough to entice him into attending every event for the rest of the season.

"I believe so," she answered.

"So we will see each other again soon?" He asked, hope clear in his voice.

"Yes, though..." she looked up at him nervously, "before that, perhaps I might visit you again?"

"You mean sneak out and see me at Bridgerton House?" She nodded in response, "Hmm...you're not going to throw more rocks at me, are you?"

Beatrice laughed, "I won't so long as you're paying attention."

"Well then, how could I say no?" He smirked.m, and she smiled back at him shyly.

At that moment, they stopped. Benedict looked around, surprised to see it had gotten quite dark. He realized they had walked farther than he had intended to go.

"As much as I loathe to suggest it, perhaps we should be heading back?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Beatrice agreed, "Though, I believe I am closer to home here than back the other way."

"Well then, allow me to walk you home," he offered.

"No!" she answered quickly, "Thank you, but I am quite alright getting back on my own."

He nodded, "Ah yes of course--your secret. Well, so long as you're certain you'll be alright alone?"

"I will," she looked away, looking pleased, "Thank you for understanding."

She unwound her arm from his, "Well, I suppose I should be off, it was truly a pleasure to see you again, Benedict."

He smiled, reaching forward, grabbing her hand and holding it in his.

"The pleasure was all mine, Beatrice," he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand gently. She felt her cheeks burn. He released her from his grip, and Beatrice held her freed hand tightly against her chest.

"Yes, well...I'll be going then," she replied, quickly turning and making her way down the lamplit street. She glanced back only once, and he lifted his hand to give her a small wave.

Benedict continued watching her until her silhouette finally disappeared into the night.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y

[raving-raven-writing]

Love and Leashes--Review and Thoughts

So I am still on my Asian films/shows kick and I recently watched a Korean film that has been on my to watch list for awhile.

It is on Netflix, titled "Love and Leashes". About two colleagues Jung Jihoo and Jung Jiwoo, who initially have a D/S relationship, but eventually it turns out that they also have romantic feelings for one another as well. On a bit of a deeper surface, they both struggle in love. Her with the fact that she has a "resting bitch face" and if she wants a man, she needs to stop glaring and frowning. Him with the fact that the person he dated before was highly unwelcoming to his BDSM side and doesn't want to be in another relationship lest he get hurt the same way.

I have never personally experienced a D/S relationship. I only know from what I have read online, but I like the way they approached this relationship. It seemed very healthy. Compared to something like 50 Shades of Grey, I never once got any uncomfortable/cringe vibes from any of the "play scenes" they had.

It was something that was new to each of them. Jiwoo did her research before she tried anything on Jihoo and the agreement they made with one another was for a trial period, terms were made clear, and both agreed to them. They came up with a safe word in case something went wrong and there was aftercare after everything. Initially, they were to keep things as just a D/S relationship...but obviously, both of them end up catching feelings for the other. Also, all the different kinks shown in the film had me squealing in excitement--rarely do you ever see movies (excluding porno) that have anything like that. To list some of the kinks; -Dog/pet play -Feet/Heels---being stepped on -Whips/Impact play -Wax play -Bondage -Verbal Degradation/Dirty Talking -Shibari (Japanese Rope Bondage)

But there were moments in this movie that made me just go "Aww". Like when Jiwoo found Jihoo crying bc he thought that she was referring to him when she was muttering about "He's disgusting" but was referring to their boss. (And idk why, but I enjoy seeing men cry, it always gives me "Aww, let me hug you" urge). Or when they had gone out on a date, and she had handcuffed them together and was feeding him while they had lunch (depending on the situation, feeding another person is just so sweet and endearing to me). And at the end, when they were in a disciplinary meeting, Jihoo stands up to the HR and is defending Jiwoo and how she did nothing wrong---this was also where he confessed his attraction to her and no longer seems to care as much if other people think of him as a freak or pervert.

There were also moments of humor too. Like when they had their first session at a love motel and were trying pet play, and they can hear the couples on either side moaning, so Jihoo starts barking at them to try and drown out the noise (or to tell them off via dog speak?). And this resulted in them they get kicked out because of a noise complaint! Not to mention when he was being punished and asked for her to at least curse at him. And she's calling him a "stupid dumbass" and he cheerfully agrees with "Yes, I'm a stupid dumbass!".

I also liked the ending, of how the message was that there is someone out there for you, who will accept and love you as you are, "without the mask on". And, coming from someone who is chronically single, this is a nice message and is somewhat hopeful.

If you're comfortable with watching a bit of kinky content, with humor, romance, and fluff, I would highly recommend this movie! It was really good; made my night!

[lily-fics-11]

I Can See You: Chapter 6 (Ellie Williams, TLOU)

I Can See You

Fic master post here

Also, I kinda cosplayed Ellie if you want to check it out

*Not beta read

Ellie Williams is a player, on and off the lacrosse field. You begin tutoring her so that she can get her grades up and stay on the team. You try to keep things professional, however, your affection is a great motivator. Ellie wouldn't be caught dead with you so you become her secret mission. 

Chapter 6

Your friends are trying to figure out who your mystery girl is while you and Ellie grow closer than ever. Turns out the back of the library isn’t as private as you thought it was…

Word count: 4.4k

CW: *Ellie and reader are both 18*, profanities, sexual innuendo/references, profanities

“I need your help with something,” Ellie informs you after giving you a kiss and plopping down at your usual table in the library. 

“Is it Chem? Your test is on Wednesday, right?”

“Yes, actually, it is. But that’s not what I meant. It’s not school related.”

You are surprised, but try not to show it. You are more than happy to help her with anything she needs, though you haven't gotten past the homework and Dunkin Donuts coffee phase yet. “What is it, El?”

Ellie takes a deep breath and blurts out “I really need you to come to my lacrosse game tomorrow.” 

“Ellie I want to, I really do. But I don’t know how I’m going to pull that off. My friends are going to see my location at a random lacrosse field and think I got kidnapped. If I turn it off they will think I got kidnapped. I guess I could just leave my phone at home…” you trail off, racking your brains for an answer. 

Ellie cracks a smile. “This game is at North. You told your friends you are seeing a girl who goes to North. Why can’t she be a lacrosse player?”

Your face lights up. “Ellie, you are brilliant!”

“Yeah, I am,” she responds, a smug grin on her face. 

You throw your arms around Ellie and give her a kiss. “I’m excited to watch you play live, instead of on some grainy live stream.”

“I do look way better in person. The camera doesn’t really capture how good my ass looks in those shorts.” Unserious Ellie is ridiculously endearing. 

You laugh, still holding on to her, unwilling to let go yet. Ellie starts to kiss your neck and the pace of your breathing picks up. She keeps nipping at your neck, leaving you humming with satisfaction. 

Out of nowhere, you hear voices, very close by. You are both startled, having been lost in the heat of the moment. Quickly separating from each other, you and Ellie try to act natural. 

Two boys walk past and start scanning the book shelf to your left. You turn to look and Ellie’s eyes widen. 

“Turn the other way,” Ellie says under her breath. 

You look back at her in confusion.

“Your neck,” she whispers.

Ellie had been kissing your neck moments earlier, she must have left some evidence behind. 

“Fuck!” You hiss and whip your head in the other direction. You fiddle with the hood of your sweatshirt so that it’s covering the spot that is missing Ellie’s warm lips. 

Neither of you even had any work out, it looks like you are just hanging out in the library. Which wouldn’t usually matter, but the two of you don’t want to be seen together yet. 

Thankfully, the two boys are most likely freshmen, who probably don’t care about girls' lacrosse. They probably don’t know who Ellie is and there isn’t any reason someone would recognize you when you don’t recognize them. That’s a bit of a relief. 

The boys don’t take too long and you can finally stop holding your breath.

“Those were freshmen, right? They wouldn’t know who we are?” Ellie asks, the tone of her voice quite grave.��

You reassure Ellie, but also yourself. “I doubt they know who we are. We should be fine.” 

“Okay good.” Ellie takes your hand and rubs her thumb over your palm. 

“I don’t know that this is a good spot anymore,” you mumble.

She puts her hands in her pocket with pain in her eyes. “I can’t believe it. No one comes in here after school, especially not this section.”

“Not for books,” you correct her.

Ellie’s freckled nose scrunches up. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve never hooked up in the library?” You question, having assumed that someone with Ellie’s track record had done it before. 

Her jaw drops and her green eyes are horror struck. “Why would I? Have… have you?!?”

“Uh yeah…” you scratch the back of your neck. 

“Who did you… never mind. I don’t want to know. Just for the record, I prefer the back of the locker room,” Ellie huffs. She seems to be displeased thinking about you hooking up with another girl. “But the library suits you better.” The two of you start laughing, too amused by your own stereotypes to stay jealous. 

You bow your head formally. “Why thank you, ma’am.” When you look back up at her it’s time to be serious. “We can stay here today, but we have to figure out a different spot for Thursday.”

“We need somewhere private,” Ellie agrees. 

“I have access to the chem lab for tutoring, my ID can get us in.”

“You tutor someone else in chem?!?” Ellie crosses her arms with an enormous amount of sass. 

“Ellie we’ve been over this,” you remind her.

“We have. That doesn’t mean I feel any less betrayed.”

You put a hand on her thigh under the table, if someone were to walk in they wouldn’t be able to see. “You are my favorite person I’ve ever tutored.”

“I better be. And just so you know, since my test is on Wednesday, I won’t have much work to do on Thursday. I don’t know how I’m going to keep myself occupied in a locked classroom with you,” Ellie smirks. 

You smile and shake your head. “That’s a tough one, El. What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got some ideas. But I need to study so you are going to have to wait until then to find out.” 

You continue to avoid PDA the rest of your time in the library, already anxious for the next time you can see each other, before you have even parted ways. 

You sent a selfie in the Snapchat group chat later that night using a filter that tells you which character you are from a show that you and all your friends watch. You hadn’t thought anything of it until you were being bombarded with questions about the hickeys on your neck. 

“They are from the girl that goes to North,” you lie and ignore their questions for the rest of the night. 

The next day at lunch you hear whispers about Ellie Williams in the library after school. She was seen with a girl who, believe it or not, has your hair color and skin tone. That’s crazy. 

Those damn freshmen. 

You: Good luck today!!😘💕

Space Nerd🚀🤓: Having you there is all the luck I need💚🍀

You get to Ellie’s game while the teams are still warming up. Ellie routinely looks at the bleachers as you walk around to the visitors side, searching for you, and a big smile grows on her face when she finally spots you.

The lacrosse spectators look somewhat familiar now that you’ve been to a few games. Joel is amongst them, talking to some of the other dads. It’s impossible to hear what he’s saying from this far away, but you can tell how proud he is of Ellie as he points down at her on the field. 

You watch Joel for a moment. It warms your heart to see someone care so much about Ellie. She’s so special and he cares so much, they way she deserves to be cared about. 

Joel happens to glance in your direction and makes eye contact with you. He gives you a knowing smile and you blush. Joel probably knows you are Ellie’s tutor?

But why would Joel know what Ellie’s tutor looks like? You were in the school paper recently, a picture and blurb about you and the 3 other seniors going to Ivy League Colleges. You are going to Brown.

This recognition leaves you flustered nonetheless. Another person knowing that you are connected to Ellie is overwhelming, though just as thrilling. Although it’s for the best, you don’t always love being a secret. It’s hard not to wish things were easier. 

After shaking off the self conscious feeling that had taken over you, the incessant buzzing of your phone blowing up can no longer be ignored. 

Nicole sent a screenshot of your location in the group chat. You should have expected this, she asked you to hang out and you told her you were busy and didn’t give an explanation. 

Melisssssssa🎤🙈💓: She’s at North👀

Caroline🦋🩵🍭: At the North LACROSSE FIELD👀🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Tee-rees-ah💟🎨🐞: Slay pussy boss queen👏🏼

Caroline🦋🩵🍭: Go get your woman!!!!!

NICOLE MY MAIN BITCH👯‍♀️💅👛💓: You do love an athlete

Melisssssssa🎤🙈💓: Jackie’s JV game is right after if you want to stay and watch!!

Caroline🦋🩵🍭: You should break up with her if she doesn’t win 

But that’s just my opinion 

NICOLE MY MAIN BITCH👯‍♀️💅👛💓: Why didn’t you invite us???? 

Do we embarrass you ma’am??  

Tee-rees-ah💟🎨🐞: Yeah we want to watch to

Melisssssssa🎤🙈💓: We want to meet her

NICOLE MY MAIN BITCH👯‍♀️💅👛💓: What is her name 

Melisssssssa🎤🙈💓: What does she look like

Tee-rees-ah💟🎨🐞: What’s her home address

NICOLE MY MAIN BITCH👯‍♀️💅👛💓: What’s her social security number 

Caroline🦋🩵🍭: BRB I’m going to stalk your Instagram following list  

You follow 3 North girls that have something gay in their bio which one is it

NICOLE MY MAIN BITCH👯‍♀️💅👛💓: I’m looking too

 None of them say they play lax:/

Melisssssssa🎤🙈💓: I think it’s the one with 🩷🧡

Tee-rees-ah💟🎨🐞: No it’s gotta be the one committed to UCONN

Caroline🦋🩵🍭: Y’all are wrong it’s gym mirror pic girl 

You: She doesn’t have an Instagram 

NICOLE MY MAIN BITCH👯‍♀️💅👛💓: WTF

Caroline🦋🩵🍭: 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

Tee-rees-ah💟🎨🐞: 😡😡😡😡😡😡 

Melisssssssa🎤🙈💓: We will find her 

Caroline🦋🩵🍭: Looking at the roster now 

The group chat continues to pop off, all theories about who the mystery girl is. You ignore them because the game is starting. 

Ellie is so graceful, yet domineering on the field. The way she plays it is effortless, but also so intentional. Ellie is swift and graceful, poised and confident. She looks at you every time she scores a goal.

You don’t outwardly cheer, just clap when you are supposed to. It’s painful for you not to yell Ellie’s name and jump up and down when she does something good. Unfortunately, you are ‘here for a girl from North’. You doubt anyone is paying any attention, or cares for that matter. However, you are still on a secret mission. 

At one point in the game there is a collision, a defender from your school has to be helped off the field. You can’t tell what was wrong, probably her leg, though not being able to walk on her own could mean a concussion or something. You will have to ask Ellie later and check and see if the girl is ok.  

North played a good game, but not good enough. They weren't as fast or strategic. Between Ellie and Abby, North never stood a chance. 

When the game is over you slip right out. It’s not like you can talk to Ellie anyway, plus you’ve got an essay to revise. 

You: YOU DID GREAT TODAY

KILLED IT

BEST LACROSSE PLAYER I KNOW

A SUPERSTAR

Space Nerd🚀🤓: Thank you for coming:)

It really means so much to me💚

You: I love watching you play💕

Space Nerd🚀🤓: I have to take the bus back to school but can I call you when I’m driving home?

You: Looking forward to it:)

You answer the phone when Ellie calls, proud of her performance out on the field today. “My superstar! Fresh off another win!”

“Well I did have my lucky charm there,” she tried to remind you, deflect from herself. 

“Shhhhhhhh. That was all you, babe,” you assure her, truly meaning it. She doesn’t need any luck. 

“Babe?” Ellie questions and you are unable to gauge her reaction to the use of the pet name from her tone. You wish you could see her facial expression and read her body language right now. 

Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! You really did mess this up, didn’t you. Nice job, valiant effort. But you really screwed up. Goodbye short fling that has changed your life, you will be greatly missed. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I…” you stutter, fearing you’ve made a grave mistake.

Ellie cuts you off. “I didn’t mean it that way. Not at all. I like it. A lot.” She doesn’t sound as confident as usual, more bashful. 

You are still nervous. This thing between the two of you? You aren’t quite sure that you will ever get used to it. It may never make sense. “So… it’s okay if I call you babe?”

“Yeah,” she responds immediately, making it sound as if it’s something you should have already known. “As long as it’s okay if I call you babe.”

“I think I can make that deal,” you laugh. 

“So what’s up babe?” Ellie asks, giggling. 

“Currently taking an intermission from essay revision.”

“That sounds riveting.” Effortlessly sarcastic, poking fun at you. That excites you, joking around with each other, the playful banter. 

“Hey I was wondering, what happened to that girl that got hurt? The defender that crashed into that tall girl while she was trying to score a goal. Is she okay? She looked like she could hardly walk.”

“Oh fuck! That happened, didn’t it. She dislocated her knee. Knee cap was totally in the wrong spot. Looked like a broken joystick. Super gross. It’s the 3rd time she’s done it so she has to get surgery. She’s out for the season now. At least she is a junior and not a senior.”

“Damn. That really sucks, I feel so bad for her.” You can’t imagine being taken away from something you’ve put so much work into. 

“Same. She’s our best defender too. And she’s the second one to get hurt this season. Now coach has to pull a player up from JV.”

“Hopefully that helps.”

“There is a freshman, actually, who is really good. Coach didn’t pull her up at the beginning of the season because we didn’t need another defender then. Her name is Jackie I think.”

“Jackie Laurent?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Jackie is Melissa’s younger sister,” Ellie is silent. “You probably have no idea who that is, do you. Caroline is one of my best friends. I’ve known Jackie since she was a toddler!” You are so proud of her. She’s been on the lacrosse grind for probably 10 years. Always up before everyone else when you slept over so she could go for a run. 

“Well maybe you will have an excuse to come to away games now,” Ellie proposes, her voice higher up in pitch than normal because she is so exhilarated. 

“Shit, you’re right! I’ll make it work,” you promise.

“You don’t even know how happy that makes me, babe.”

“Me too!”

You are both quiet for a moment, just so happy that you have to take a second to appreciate it. You can tell how wired Ellie is, you hear her drumming her hands on the steering wheel. 

“Joel says hi by the way, he saw you at the game,” Ellie informs you. 

That makes you gasp out loud. “Hi?… He said… how does he even know who I am?!?

“Well, I’m not usually so attached to my phone, he started asking questions. I ended up telling him about you. How you are nice, and smart, and beautiful, and amazing. Then he saw that Ivy League article in the school paper,” Ellie explains. “He was impressed. But not as much as he was surprised. Thinks you are out of my league. You know you’re the first girl I’ve ever bothered to tell him anything about?”

“Really?” It’s hard to believe you stand out from the rest, were more worth the conversation. 

“I’ve never really done the relationship thing before,” Ellie admits.

You knew that, knew her reputation, heard all the rumors. “But you could have, every girl at our school loves you.”

Ellie clears her throat. “They love that I’m popular and good in bed. No girl has ever cared to get to know me. They just wanted to say that they did. Casual… it wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was to feel wanted.”

You feel your heart breaking. “They all missed out. Big time. I’m so happy I’ve gotten to know you, I’m lucky to have had the opportunity. I care so, so much about you. You are incredibly special, Ellie.”

“You really think so?” Her voice is soft and shy. 

“I know you are. I’ve never met a girl like you before. And I mean that in the best way possible. Being assigned as your tutor is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.”

“Me too. And not just because you saved my grades. You saved me from feeling like I wasn’t good enough.” Her voice cracked on the word ‘good’.

“Ellie…” your chest hurts. You try to find the right words to comfort her but she keeps talking before you manage to string a sentence together. 

“I really mean that. I didn’t think I was worth more than a hookup or being something to show off. That I couldn’t offer anything that wasn’t just physical. But you want me, even though no one knows that you have me. You helped me see what I’ve had inside of me all along.”

You take a sharp breath, trying to keep yourself from getting too emotional. “You are so important to me. You always will be.”

“I don’t think you understand the impact you’ve made on my life.” A subdued confession from Ellie, who is seemingly nervous to reveal this to you. 

“I don’t think you understand the impact you’ve made on my life,” you emphasize, you want Ellie to know how much you value her. 

Ellie pauses for a moment. You aren’t used to her being so quiet, you’re unsure of whether or not you should be nervous. 

“That’s enough being sappy for today,” she sighs. “I’d rather look you in the eyes when I tell you this type of stuff.”

“That’s so sweet,” you like this emotional and vulnerable side of Ellie, getting to see deeper inside of her. 

“So is your face.” Ellie really is slick, isn’t she. Always got a line to pull out of her pocket. 

“Your freckles are sweet and cute,” you point out. 

“Well now I have a bruise on my face from today’s game,” Ellie grumbles. 

How dare someone go anywhere near such a precious beautiful face with such aggression? 

“What?” You practically yell into the phone. “Who did that? I’m going to find them and give them a piece of my mind!” You hear a little “hehe” from Ellie and you don’t appreciate her lack of respect for how much you like looking at her face. 

“Babe,” her voice is soothing to help bring you back down a notch. “We won, isn’t that what really matters?”

You let out a disappointed huff. “I guess.”

Ellie laughs. “Let me handle all the fist fights, okay?”

“No! I’m begging you please don’t get into a fist fight.”

“Begging?” Her voice is lower and more intense than usual. It’s hot. But you do need to get your point across. 

“Ellie please!”

“That’s exactly what I like to hear.” She’s doing her best to try and seduce you. It’s working for sure, but you can’t have her going around fighting people.

Your mouth curved into a frown, trying to think of the best way to get her to listen to you. “I know how to get through to you,” you tell her after a brief pause to collect your thoughts. “Don’t get rough with anyone but me.”

Ellie makes a sound that is almost like a moan. “Well when you put it that way…”

“No more fights?” You question with urgency. She doesn’t need any trouble or injuries. 

“I won’t start any fights,” she promises.

“Always throw the last punch, but never the first.”

Ellie chuckles. “I think you and Joel will get along.”

“I hope so.” You bite your lip. You know how important he is to Ellie, the thought of him not liking you makes you feel sick to your stomach. 

“He’s met other girls… in passing, and let’s just say no one’s ever… made a good impression. Or that he was fond of my, uh, behaviors,” she explains sheepishly. 

You tease her. “I’ve made an honest woman out of you.”

“You really have. I think you are the answer to Joel’s prayers.”

“Truly an angel sent from above,” you joke. 

“Sure look like one.” This girl really is smooth. 

“Why don’t you tell me more about Joel.”

Ellie starts to talk about Joel, her admiration for him present in her tone. She explains that he will be quiet at first. Probably get to know you before he lets you get to know him. He can get along with anyone, he’s a great guy, but he likes his time to himself. Values peace and quiet. She doesn’t explain the history of their relationship. Just that they've been through a lot together, and that she’s going to miss him a lot when she leaves for college. 

You realize you hadn't talked about this yet with her. “Where are you going to college?”

“Boston.”

“Boston College??” You question, that makes the most sense, but also not a lot. 

“Yeah,” Ellie tells you proudly. 

“How did you…” you trail off. You don’t want to offend her, but Boston College is not easy to get into. 

She chuckles. “Get in? Well my grades weren’t always so bad. Not until after I got into college and started fucking around full time. I was a solid B student before that. Don’t get me wrong, my grades weren’t good enough, but my coach is an alumni and had some pull.”

Lacrosse, that checks out. You know Ellie has academic potential, but Boston College has such a low acceptance rate. “So they are good at lacrosse?”

“Last year's national champions,” she states matter of factly, proud of herself. As she should be! 

“Shit. You really are good at lacrosse, aren’t you? I knew you were good, but I had no measure for comparison. It’s like trying to understand the force of an object on another planet. A completely different gravitational constant!”

“I know exactly what you mean babe,” Ellie snickers, and you silently scold yourself for nerding out on her. “When I heard you were going to Brown, I did some research. About an hour drive between us. I didn’t want to say anything right away though and be weird.”

That kills your good mood. Not the research, thinking about the reality of what will happen to the two of you when you leave for college. There isn’t even a label on your relationship yet. You probably won’t even make it to senior prom together because you are keeping things a secret. “You are going to be playing on a D1, nationally ranked team, with girls throwing themselves at you. You’ll forget all about your high school tutor.” Sad, but true. 

“You aren’t just my tutor! You are so much more than that. And even if you were, you are the hottest tutor on the planet. You’ll pull as a tutor, no doubt. But I bet you are going to be a teacher's assistant too, and have entire college lectures full of women in STEM falling for you.” Ellie sounds almost a little… panicked? She’s jealous? Does she really care that much? Is there hope for the two of you?

The overexaggerated implication is very amusing to you. Her jealousy has you feeling a little lighter, it reminded you how much she cares.  “So we both have some competition,” you joke. 

“I will be visiting Brown, and fending those smart girls off with my lacrosse stick if I have to.” There isn't a hint of sarcasm in Ellie’s voice. You can picture it now, her threatening some Ivy League engineering student in her full lacrosse get up. 

“I’ll have some heavy textbooks to bring to your games,” you tell her as seriously as you can, but you can’t say it all without giggling. 

“You are stuck with me now. No other girl is catching my attention. You are my girl. I only want you.” Ellie’s voice is stern, the way a life guard tells you not to dive in the shallow end. Like it’s about safety… maybe it’s about security. 

Your heart flutters, hearing Ellie vocalize her dedication to you. That requires a deep breath to try and settle your racing pulse.  “Good, because I don’t back down from things so easily. Would have been really annoying for you.”

“I much prefer you to go down than back down.” There’s that unserious charm you know and love. 

“I’m sure you would. I’ll make note of that,” you promise her. 

“There will be a test.”

“Well the only straight thing about me is my As.”

“You are starting to sound like me,” Ellie points out mischievously. “But I just pulled onto my street, so I’ll say goodbye now, and text you later?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Talk to you later, babe.”

“Bye, babe!”

When you park your car the next morning you have a text from Ellie. “Don’t go into homeroom right away.”

Your locker isn’t far from the room so you wait there, you know she knows where it is. The locker door is left ajar, to make it seem like there’s a purpose for standing there. No sign of her anywhere. The bell rings and you hope she’s close by, you don’t want to be too late. 

The last of the students that had been milling around start going to their respective home rooms. Then you spot her.

Auburn hair, half up half down. Beat up converse. Ripped jeans. A black t-shirt under a black and gray flannel. Ellie is waiting down the hall from you, looking smug. She waves at you and you are surprised, you aren’t totally alone, but wave right back. Ellie doesn’t move towards you though. She just watches, like she’s expecting you to leave right away. 

But you know what? Fuck it.

You shut your locker and strut towards her. Shoulders back, chin in the air. There’s only two other people in the hallway at this point. As you approach her, she looks very surprised, but just as happy. When you are right in front of her you look and see the two other student’s backs are to you. You give her a kiss, turn around, and go to your homeroom. 

Tags: @bready101, @st4r-b3rries, @tlou-bombshell, @stvrs13, @dinanellie, @everegretseverything, @mikellie, @lamolaine, @0pheli4, @soupycloud, @radioheadfan699, @callmelola111, @hysteriawillnotsuccumb, @normalthing111, @3isosoup, @lmaoo-spiderman, @cqliflower, @ellstronaut

(I most of these aren't even tagging, if you are tagged and it's not working lmk, I can try and fix it!!! I also think some people have changed usernames so if you have, I can replace it!!

[ddollfface]

𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"You're as hot as the bottom of my laptop, mamas ;)."

Trigger Warnings; gaslighting, manipulation, somewhat spreading misinformation, hinting at yandere behaviors, fluff, PDA, reader is referred to as a girl, honestly this is pretty tame lol If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Just a few headcanons on a new OC. And, just so you know, when I was writing this, I had an afab!reader in mind! If you have any requests, idk why you would, but send them in! I hope you enjoy:)))

Never, ever refers to you as your given name. He prefers to call you by some type of nickname or pet name, depending on his mood. His go-to is mamas, sweet cheeks, baby cakes, hot stuff, good-lookin', and so much more. Honestly, he could go on all day, just listing different pet names he has for you. At this point, it's become a source of entertainment for you, trying to see what odd name he'll call you. Come on, you don't like that nickname, sugar plum? How about dolly? Baby girl? Pumpkin? I don't know, you look like an angel, baby.

Though you'll admit it, it's somewhat endearing to hear, especially when you know he's only called you these cute names. But at a certain point, it gets embarrassing... Like does your mama need to know that he calls you bubble butt, of all things? Let me answer that for you, no, no she does not. If anything, that's something she should never, ever know.

He demands that you come to his games; he doesn't want you to miss a single one. He'll show up to your house at the crack of dawn, on a Saturday, and drag you out of bed to bring you to his game. He doesn't give too shits if your hair looks like a mess or if you're still in your jams. Nope, not at all. If anything, he likes it. He thinks you're adorable with your Hello Kitty booty shorts.

He just wants you there, to support him. He wants to have his own personal cheerleader, someone who he can come to after the game, and give a hug too.

While the thought behind it is endearing and cute, that doesn't change the fact that he's just so pushy. He won't give up, no matter what. If he says you're going, then you're going. You don't get a say in the matter 'cause if you refuse to go, then he's going to bring out the waterworks. He's going to look at you with the saddest eyes you can imagine, there's even tears. He'll cock his head to the side and question you, asking why don't you want to support me? What happened to 'friends first? Remember when I went to that stupid party 'cause ya' didn't want to be alone? Where's my payback, yeah?

He'll use emotional manipulation to get what he wants, making you out to be the bag guy, instead of him. His guilt-tripping usually always works, well, so far it has. And now you're at some stupid hockey game, wrapped up in his jacket, wearing his team colors. Great, now people are asking how you bagged a guy like him. Jesus, where'd they get that idea from? You're not even dating...

Well, that's what you think. Little do you know, he's been going around town tellin' everyone about you. He'll hype you up to his buddies, rambling on and on about how you smell, how your cheeks puff up when you smile, and God, you're so pretty when you're sleeping. Wow, he doesn't mean that in a creepy way! Why would you think of it like that? Because he's just admiring the prettiest girl in school! Don't you know, mamas? You being here makes me the luckiest guy in town, yeah?

He's just so God damn touchy; people can't help but think ya'll are dating. Everything about your relationship screams dating. He's always got an arm around your shoulder, and if he's feeling really ballsy, he'll place a hand on your hip. Though those moments are far in between, seeing as you'll give him a hard side-eye when he does it.

But the PDA doesn't stop there. He'll hold your hand, claiming that he's just warming your hands. After all, it's pretty cold in the winter, yeah? He's just looking out for you, nothing to freak out over. Sometimes, he'll hug you a little too tight, and for a little too long. His touch lingers for such a prolonged time it causes you to look up at him with a questioning look.

Of course, he's the master of diverting your questions, shifting your conversations from his touchy behavior to finals. And this does nothing but piss you off, but it's hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that. The way he scoots his chair closer to yours, intertwining your pinkies together, and smiling at you like a dork. The way he'll bring you coffee (or warm tea, depending on your preference) during a cold morning, always making sure his baby's all warm. Or how he'll cover for you when you're late to a lecture, stalling the class for a few minutes, just enough for you to slip into class unnoticed.

All these small things let you forget about why you were even mad in the first place! I mean, what could he have done wrong? It couldn't be that bad right?

And just like that, you walk right back into his arms, not knowing that he's the one you should be running from. You're such a stupid girl, aren't you? Don't worry, I'll take care of you babes.

[rabarbarzcukrem]

The eternal opposing relationship between the two sides of a mirror

or: In defense of Shiori

I feel like Shiori is one of the most controversial characters in Utena. Some love her, others despise her. And I don't have a problem with people having strong opinions on her character. What bothers me is the tendency to exaggerate her most negative traits, focus on her most harmful actions, completely ignore any redeeming qualities she might have and then paint her as a one dimensional villainous caricature, a mean straight girl who plays with the lesbian's feelings for the sake of it, without anything deeper going on.

I'm aware of the fact that some people refer to her like that in endearment or in a satirical fashion, and I'm not saying that you can't consider her your favorite problematic evil girl representation. I'm only trying to make people realize that it's her complexity that actually makes her such a compelling character.

I've seen people call Shiori all sorts of names, some of which were baffling enough to make me wonder if they even remembered what happens in the show, and weren't just judging a version of the character that they made up in their head.

So, let's look at the things Shiori actually does, throughout the course of the story.

Disclaimer: I'm only going to take the series into the account here, because I think we can all agree that everyone's characterization and personality differs at least slightly in the movie. Background characters also get a lot less screen time to explain their motivations in order to fully focus on Anthy's journey and struggles, which is understandable.

1. She "steals" the boy from Juri.

This is her biggest crime, which seems to define her from the very beginning. Even though Juri didn't actually have any romantic feelings for him, this action is detrimental to their relationship - it breaks the trio apart, isolates Juri from the pair, is an act of betrayal against her and proves it was done with full awareness that it would hurt Juri emotionally.

Shiori is a deeply insecure person, who constantly feels inadequate and beneath other people. The only reason why Juri seemed to actually like her that Shiori could think of was pity, and even when she found out she was the object of her romantic affection all along, she still struggled to comprehend it. Her self loathing and constant perceived inferiority make her desperate to gain any sort of control over her life and relationships, but they're also the exact reason she feels that the only way she could ever do that is by hurting others. She's always one step below and incapable of crossing that distance, therefore the only way to become equal to people is to bring them down to her level, by humiliation.

When she "steals" the boy from Juri, she achieves that. For a moment, she feels good about herself and leaves Ohtori thinking that she has found the answer, the solution. But she's wrong. From that moment on, it becomes more and more apparent to her that what she did was never out of love for the boy, even though she doesn't let herself acknowledge it fully. Because the truth is, Shiori actually regrets hurting Juri, which she admits herself during her elevator confession.

When the guilt starts getting to her, her confidence high wears off, and she ends up feeling ever worse.

That's why she breaks up with him and comes back. She's not ready to leave yet, not ready to progress. There's still something binding her to Ohtori - Juri, and Shiori's unresolved feelings for her.

2. She tries to set things right with Juri and to fix their relationship.

Even though at this point Shiori still thinks that Juri only ever associated herself with her out of pity, she still makes several attempts to get closer to Juri, who understandably (albeit coldly) turns her down ever time. This is a very clear sign of conflicting feelings Shiori has for Juri - jealousy and admiration, resentment and longing, hate and love. After all, Shiori admits that the two practically grew up together. Their friendship may have always felt fake to Shiori, but she clearly cherished it deeply.

3. The Black Rose Arc.

First of all, we should establish what is the purpose of this arc and how it functions. It explores the motivations of background characters and shows their worst side to the audience. The characters that end up in the elevator are the most unstable, vulnerable ones, with the least power in the system, in unequal and/or exploitive relationships with the duelists and their agency under threat. Mikage offers them a way to gain that power by making them follow their most toxic, negative emotions. And despite all other characters doing exactly that, from what I've seen Shiori is the one that gets the most hate for it. I don't think she should be judged any harsher for what she did under the influence of the black rose than, let's say, Wakaba or Kozue. Especially because the reason all of them ended up in that elevator is because they recognized that these urges were harmful and were seeking help and counseling.

What this arc does do is reveal how Shiori's inferiority complex drives her to act against her own desires. Even though she longs for things to be different, even though she is not happy at all with how her relationship with Juri looks like, she is unable to fix it, because that would require her to consider her own affection for Juri. And she can't do that, because it would mean admitting that she's not stronger than Juri, that she hasn't beaten her, that she's doesn't have control and an advantage over her. Although she tries to keep up this smug, self-assured facade, the reality shines through.

They key to understanding Shiori is noticing that she specifically doesn't want to acknowledge that Juri's feelings are reciprocated, and the obsession is mutual. If you paint their relationship as one sided, you're actually falling for her act.

4. She enters a relationship with Ruka.

Ruka is a handsome (arguable), respected boy who appears out of nowhere and starts showing interest in Shiori. It's obvious that for an insecure girl, who in addition struggles with confusing repressed feelings, this would be something unthinkably wonderful. The affection and praise she gets from him is exactly what her low self-esteem craves. You might be wondering why she didn't perceive Juri's feelings for her in the same way. And a part of the answer might be that, post nameless-boy-incident, Juri was nothing but cold to her. She might have been pining after Shiori from afar, but in the end she's distant and untouchable, and they're divided by their messy past. Meanwhile Ruka is a clean slate, seems openly affectionate, engaged in their relationship and he pays attention to her. But I think the main thing that makes Ruka so different from Juri is the fact that...he's a boy. Because, as Revolutionary Girl Utena establishes, gender plays a crucial role in interpersonal dynamics. Attention from a boy is fundamentally coded as romantic, desirable, necessary and most importantly: increases the girl's worth in society's eyes. It makes one a princess. Meanwhile Juri's advances could only be seen as an invitation to friendship, at best. But Juri's status and beauty make her special, while Shiori is not. Therefore, it can only be pity and mockery.

Of course, Ruka only uses Shiori to influence Juri and dumps her as soon as he achieves his goals. It's true that Shiori could have listened to Juri's warnings, but then again... why should she? From her perspective, Juri's her ex-friend that doesn't want anything to do with her, who only suddenly comes to Shiori when she's finally happy and fulfilled, and encourages her to end it. She doesn't know the wider context of the situation, nor does she remember the Black Rose arc. Juri's warnings don't sound sincere to her.

And so, Ruka gets rid of her in the coldest, most indifferent way, not explaining anything or showing even the slightest sign of compassion. Before that though, he makes an interesting remark, about Shiori putting on an act and polishing somebody else's sword.

Honestly, I don't really know how to interpret it in any other way than Shiori actually having feelings for someone else, despite trying her hardest to conceal it. Are my shipping lenses not allowing me to see any different possibilities? Am I going crazy? I don't know.

Nevertheless, Shiori begs him to stay, devastated. Her life got turned around so suddenly, she found appreciation, status, comfort and stability, and now all that's been taken away from her as abruptly as it was given. It's a public humiliation.

I once heard someone say that this would be the perfect moment for Juri to step in and defend her. And to be honest, although it may be true, I'm not completely sure. It may have been the one display of open care that Shiori needed from her, but it might as well have been interpreted by Shiori as Juri affirming her superiority over her and feeling sorry for her again. We will never know. In my opinion, so much of their relationship is going on in their own heads that the only thing that could ever cause positive progress is communication (which neither of them seem to be a fan of).

Instead, Juri only tries to console her after the fact, when Shiori's at her absolute lowest. In the context of all the assumptions Shiori holds and Juri's previous indifference, it quite understandably comes off as a sneering attempt to gloat.

That's about it. You may have noticed that I've summarized all Shiori's appearances into 4 points, and only one of them includes an instance of Shiori hurting Juri voluntarily, out of her own free will, not influenced by anyone. I'm not saying that she was forced to taunt Juri during the Black Rose Arc, I'm not trying to diminish the suffering she's caused or trying to paint her as a perfectly good person. I am trying to make it clear that she is not some cunning plotter, dedicating every minute of her life to finding ways to make Juri suffer that some people seem to take her for. I am trying to humanize people's perception of her a little bit. Especially considering the fact that last scenes of her include those when she waits for Juri and follows her so that they can go home together, and then joins the fencing club. If this doesn't show that she's capable of change, I don't know what does.

She's not an innocent princess, that's true, but she's not just an egoistical, manipulative liar either. She's a bit of both. After all, if Revolutionary Girl Utena is supposed to teach you anything, then I think it's that we're all just people, and the complexities of human experience make it impossible to fit anyone into a box, assigning them definite labels like "princess" or "witch".

And if you look at a teenage girl who, like all people in Ohtori, struggle under the system of patriarchy and heterosexuality, and all you see is a wicked, sinister witch, then you may have just fallen into the trap that the narrative had set for you.