#Discussed 2 State Solution

[kyreniacommentator]

President Tatar met with the UN Envoy in London

President Tatar met with the UN Envoy in London. President Ersin Tatar met with the United Nations Secretary General’s Personal Envoy, Maria Angela Holguin Cuellar, in London yesterday 1st July 2024. The meeting took place at the TRNC’s London Representative Office, and President Tatar was accompanied by his special representative, Güneş Onar. Continue reading President Tatar met with the UN…

[koheletgirl]

ok so i don't personally believe in the 2 states solution (for a myriad of reasons i won't get into now), but why does it seem like everyone who supports it these days is labeled as a zionist? i know why i might think that, but i doubt it's for the same reasons so i'm genuinely asking here

[thebibliosphere]

My husband and I were discussing how the first felon is defending the FDA and how the quality control of our food is gonna basically disappear and I proceeded to have so much anxiety about it that I didn't sleep last night. How do we prepare for this? Is there a way to make food safe at home? How can we avoid getting poisoned from the grocery store? Sorry for bringing this anxiety to your inbox but I'm exhausted and scared and I'm hoping you've come up with food safety tips what with your general food complications.

I’m afraid I don’t have a solution for something of this scale and am just as equally terrified, but that said:

Check your local state regulations. Some states actually have strict testing that the FDA when it comes to certain things like milk. See if they are listing any recalls.

Stop eating things raw for the foreseeable future. Wash and cook everything thoroughly, even if the bag claims it’s pre-washed, wash it again. Cooking will also help eliminate any remaining pathogens. It means no more salads for a while but that’s okay.

For things like fruit, try to go with things that have an outer skin that can be taken off. If it requires you to cut into it with a knife, give the outer skin a scrub and rinse to reduce the chances of your knife being contaminated by anything like e-coli and then contaminating the insides by cutting it up.

For fruit that can’t be peeled, make sure to inspect and wash them thoroughly. If you are immunocompromised like me, consider cooking it down into a jam or pie filling to reduce further risk. Not as fun as eating it fresh for some people, but it’s a valid way of still getting the flavor and nutrients.

For things like milk, only drink pasteurized and ultra pasteurized. Try to get pasteurized eggs if you can too.

If you don’t have a meat thermometer, now is the time to get one. Make sore everything is cooked to its required internal temperature. For poultry, the recommended temperature is 165°F (74°C), while for beef and pork, the recommended temperature is 145°F (63°C) with a 3-minute rest time. Ground meats should be cooked to 160°F (71°C). Eggs should be cooked until the yolk is set. No more runny egg yolks for a bit until we get a competent source of information back about bird flu.

For things like flour, try to go for reputable brands that have their own independent testing facilities for things like gluten. They also usually test for other things and clean their facilities thoroughly. My go to is King Arthur atm.

Also, stop eating raw cookie dough if you’re not going to toast the flour in the oven first. That’s how a lot of people get sick, not necessarily from the raw egg, though stop eating raw egg right now if you do. Again, bird flu. [Addendum] I learned the flour trick in a job I used to work, but apparently, the pre-defunded FDA didn't think toasting the flour made it safe, so maybe just don't eat raw cookie dough. And I know someone's going to be a cunt in the notes like "I don't care I do what I want" good for you, hope saying that made you feel better.]

This is a dwindling possibility with the tariffs but try to buy food imported from other countries that still have food quality control. I get my masa harina from a small company that imports directly from Colombia. They can’t afford the gluten free label required to be classified as such in the USA, but considering Cheerios in the USA can afford to buy that label and the celiac foundation certification logo and still routinely sells contaminated produce due to not using gluten free oats and a mechanical sorting system that can’t be certified gluten free (1) (2) (3), I’m more inclined to go with other countries labeling right now.

With clean water under threat, use a filter for your drinking water. We currently use the ones by Life Straw. They don’t fit into your faucet but the LS filters are better than most of the ones that can be attached that way and the housing of the jugs and countertop filters are easy to clean. Make sure you do so once a week and change the filters as directed.

Most of this is just basic food hygiene stuff combined with what it’s like to be immunocompromised, but it’s always worth repeating in case someone didn’t know, but especially worth repeating right now with all our rules and regulating bodies going out the window 😞

[txttletale]

What I don't get is that other your support of AI image generation, you're SO smart and well read and concerned with ethics. I genuinely looked up to you! So, what, ethics for everyone except for artists, or what? Is animation (my industry, so maybe I care more than the average person) too juvenile and simplistic a medium for you to care about its extinction at the hands of CEOs endorsing AI? This might sound juvenile too, but I'm kinda devastated, because I genuinely thought you were cool. You're either with artists or against us imho, on an issue as large as this, when already the layoffs in the industry are insurmountable for many, despite ongoing attempts to unionize. That user called someone a fascist for pointing this out, too. I guess both of you feel that way about those of us involved in class action lawsuits against AI image generation software.

i can't speak for anyone else or the things they've said or think of anyone. that said:

1. you should not look up to people on the computer. i'm just a girl running a silly little blog.

2. i am an artist across multiple mediums. the 'no true scotsman' bit where 'artists' are people who agree with you and you can discount anyone disagrees with you as 'not an artist' and therefore fundamentally unsympathetic to artists will make it very difficult to actually engage in substantive discussion.

3. i've stated my positions on this many times but i'll do it one more: i support unionization and industrial action. i support working class artists extracting safeguards from their employers against their immiseration by the introduction of AI technology into the work flow (i just made a post about this funnily enough). i think it is Bad for studio execs or publishers or whoever to replace artists with LLMs. However,

4. this is not a unique feature of AI or a unique evil built into the technology. this is just the nature of any technological advance under capitalism, that it will be used to increase productivity, which will push people out of work and use the increased competition for jobs to leverage that precarity into lower wages and worse conditions. the solution to this is not to oppose all advances in technology forever--the solution is to change the economic system under which technologies are leveraged for profit instead of general wellbeing.

5. this all said anyone involved in a class action lawsuit over AI is an enemy of art and everything i value in the world, because these lawsuits are all founded in ridiculous copyright claims that, if legitimated in court, would be cataclysmic for all transformative art--a victory for any of these spurious boondoggles would set a precedent that the bar for '''infringement''' is met by a process that is orders of magnitude less derivative than collage, sampling, found art, cut-ups, and even simple homage and reference. whatever windmills they think they are going to defeat, these people are crusading for the biggest expansion of copyright regime since mickey mouse and anyone who cares at all about art and creativity flourishing should hope they fail.

[shitpostingsapphic]

Why I don't feel disappointed by Vi's arc, but you might

I usually have pretty strong and polarizing opinions when it comes to my takes on Arcane, but this is one where I wanna open up the discussion a bit more and invite people to my perspective, and it's fine if you don't see it this way.

I think there are two primary reasons why people feel disappointed by the arc of s2 Vi. The first, being that Vi had stronger voiced concerns about the state of Zaun in the first season. The second, being that she spent the whole show wanting to be with her sister and she didn't end up getting that.

Why I actually feel fulfilled in Vi's arc has to do with these two points, and I invite you to sit with what I have to say next.

Both of these parts of Vi have to do with her fatal flaw: her neglect of self.

We know two things based on what the creators have said about the show: the theme of Arcane is the cycle of violence, and the entire show was written together, instead of season 2 being written after season 1 production. From this, I can then ask: what do the creators want to tell their audience about this message, knowing they wrote it all out together, knowing the events of season 2 were very purposeful, using Vi as a conduit for that message?

If violence is a cycle, can one person defy it? No, of course not. At the start of Vi's arc, she wants to be a person that breaks it, though. She wants to change things in Zaun, wants a better life for her sister. As season 1 continues on, she wants to pick up where she left off with Powder without truly processing the gravity of the years between them. She thinks she can hold the world on her shoulders and fix any problem that comes her way. She thinks she can use her fists to make progress, thinks she can physically reach out and create change, but it only contributes to the cycle. And that's not because she's morally in the wrong when she does so, but she doesn't grasp yet that her fists can't fix everything. Vander tries to tell her as such in act 1, and it's a lesson that goes beyond just the literal application.

Vi's tendency to try and fix everything around her leads to her neglect of self. Inevitably, when you try to change things you have no control over, it leaves wounds. It leaves a person feeling like something is deeply wrong with them. And we watch Vi go down this spiral. I actually find myself really brokenhearted watching Vi in the first 2 acts, because I think she represents a lot of us: we see pain and devastation around us, but we don't know what the right thing to do is. We try different tactics and try to fix things and are left wondering why things feel worse than how they started.

I think that's something a lot of viewers could benefit to reflect on: I think in watching a show with strong political messaging, we yearn for a message that tells us the answers to these big problems. Truthfully, most of us don't have a fucking clue what we're doing. We want change but don't know how to see it through. That includes the writers. This isn't a show about the solution to political strife. It's about the cycle of violence. It's about not knowing how to change something that's been continuous throughout history in some form.

If we put ourselves in Vi's shoes, it would eventually take a toll on us to try and change something that isn't within our ability to change. Vi can't fix the problems in Zaun. Vi can't change the way time and distance and pain has warped her sister into someone else. In season 2 act 1, she's still trying to take responsibility for things that are outside of her control. She blames herself for the way Jinx has changed and has to tell herself that the only way to fix it is to end the cycle with her own fists. She teams up with Caitlyn because she's convinced herself it's the only way she can help. She sees how violence has devastated not only Zaun but innocents in Piltover as well, and she feels responsible for it.

BUT SHE IS NOT AT FAULT. And she cannot fix it any more than she could have created it.

Perhaps people may feel Vi's arc is lacking because they wanted to see more of her involvement in the revolution of Zaun. They wanted to see her be able to change the situation with her sister and for them to live happily together. But because of the circumstances surrounding both, for Vi to do so, she would inevitably lean into her fatal flaw. She cannot do either of those things without neglecting herself. That's not who she is.

The whole point of a character arc is for someone to be a changed person from beginning to end. If Vi starts out as someone passionate about enacting change to the point of self-destruction, what would a resolution for a character like that look like?

Vi needs to choose herself. Vi needs to release herself of the responsibility of changing the world. She can't do it. There are ways to contribute to positive change that don't involve putting the world on your shoulders, and Vi has yet to put herself first in any situation. Vi choosing love is how she does it.

Amanda Overton, one of the main writers that contributed to Vi's character and the Caitlyn and Vi dynamic and relationship, said about Vi: "If she has no one left to protect, she would fall in love". If Vi finally lets go of this crutch of hers to protect, to fight, to take responsibility for things that aren't her burden to bear, she would fall in love. She would finally be able to choose something for herself.

This is why I find her arc fulfilling. I feel like it's not an arc we really see a lot. It's not every day we have a character that starts out like the classic anime slash marvel protagonist, and instead of being the person that saves the world, they accept they're not a superhero and it's okay to choose love and personal happiness.

If it applies, and you're reading this, I want you to ask yourself: are you perhaps disappointed with her arc because you expected her to be the superhero? And would you be okay with accepting that she isn't and doesn't need to be? That it would be better for her to choose herself?

[scarletmika]

The White Witch pt. 2 : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Avenger!Witch!Reader

Summary: Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both.

Warnings: soulmate trope, language, fluff, slight mental illness talk kind of, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, feminine description of reader, this is part two of three

Word Count: 3,576 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

Bob Reynolds was going insane, and it was your fault. The worst part? You didn’t even know it.

At least, he wasn’t sure if you knew it.

You had come back to the tower with the rest of his friends, his team, to discuss the lawsuit that Sam Wilson had filed over the name ‘Avengers.’ Bob heard small bits of the long conversation, how you tried to explain that Sam didn’t have a problem with them, he had a problem with Valentina and the government using the name, how keeping ‘The Avengers’ out of the hands of the government was something that Steve Rogers had fought so valiantly for.

That was all Bob was able to gather from the conversation, quickly disappearing into his own bedroom of the tower. And the second his door was shut, he was pacing the floor so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he left legitimate footprints seared into the flooring beneath him.

He knew three things for certain: you were even prettier in person than in photos, you were in town for the next two months for the opening of the exhibition, and since the moment your hands had touched, he could somehow practically feel you in ways he couldn’t describe. Bob decided to tackle each of those things one at a time.

You were pretty, he couldn’t deny that. He knew who you were; he didn’t grow up under a rock, and even drug-induced fugue states couldn’t make him forget who the Avengers were. Did he, maybe, have the tiniest crush on you growing up? Absolutely, but when there was a superhero witch that was your age, saving the world every day, who wouldn’t fall in love? But actually meeting you, seeing you in person, maybe that little crush he’d buried so long ago was creeping back in, especially when he’d stood close enough to you to even see the crackle of magic in your eyes.

Okay, the second thing he knew was probably the biggest problem, but the one he didn’t understand: why could he feel you? It didn’t make any sense, why even now, when he was sequestered in his own room, he could feel it in his bones, in his gut, that you were somewhere else in the tower and you were laughing, a bubble of joy spreading through him. Did you feel this too? Could you feel the anxiety in him that was practically eating him from the inside out?

The final problem was that you were here, and you’d be here for two months. 60 days.

Bob's solution to all three of these problems was simple: ignore you. Steer clear of you around every turn, and he wouldn’t have to deal with these weird feelings coursing through him, or how every time he pictured your face in his head, you only seemed to get prettier (as if that was possible).

“Morning, Bob,”

The plan encountered a small hiccup when, not even twenty-four hours later, Bob was strolling into the kitchen of the tower hours before the rest of the team would, and there you stood. Hair a mess, a worn-out Black Sabbath t-shirt that looked much too big to be yours hanging loosely off your frame, and a soft smile that made his heart flutter on your face as you greeted him.

“Uh, I uh…hi?”

You’d chuckled at his awkwardness, turning back to the coffee machine before you, while Bob still stood frozen in the doorway of the kitchen, ready to bolt if he needed to.

“Thought I was the only person insane enough to be up this early, nice to know that I’m not. Coffee?”

“Uh…s-sure,” Bob answered after a moment, taking cautious steps around the island counter to sit in one of the uncomfortable barstools Valentina had insisted on for the ‘look’ of the room. “What uh…what are you d-doing here?”

His eyes stayed trained on you as you poured a single cup of coffee into one of the mugs from the cabinets. He followed your movements as you pushed it off to the side, pouring another cup before raising your hand above the mug, fingers seeming to dance over the top of the liquid with the faintest hints of white magic seeping from your fingers as the brown color of the coffee inside the cup lightened into a deep tan.

“It was Yelena’s idea. I’m still a public figure, a prominent one at that, so for security reasons it doesn’t make sense for me to stay anywhere else in the city for the time being. While, sadly, under Valentina’s control, this tower is the safest guarded spot in New York. Plus, it was my home first, so staying here just made sense,”

You were standing directly across from him now at the island counter, sliding the first coffee mug you’d poured in his direction, just watching him. Bob watched you too, even as he took the steaming mug in his hands: you were cautious, speaking slowly and deliberately when you looked at him, as if sensing that he was poised to run if he needed to.

Bob took one sip before shutting his eyes in disgust, a shudder running through him. Bitter. Earthy. Disgusting was the word he’d use to describe coffee. Then, you laughed, and Bob felt it in his bones once again.

“Not a fan?” the amusement in your tone was clear as Bob shook his head, a sheepish, tiny grin crossing his face.

“I uh…I don’t actually drink c-coffee,”

You didn’t laugh, only smiled. And Bob watched as your eyes never left him, hand coming up to rest over his mug still in his hands as your fingers danced again, and suddenly the color of the drink he had just decided he hated lightened, matching your own.

“Try it now,” your voice was gentle, nodding toward the mug. “I hate straight black coffee, too. And your roommates are monsters; there wasn’t an ounce of creamer in this fridge, so I had to improvise.”

Bob’s eyes didn’t leave yours as he tried the new drink. Lighter, with a hint of chocolate. A touch of sugar, and what he thought might be honey, too. His smile was involuntary as he nodded his head.

“Okay…that I-I like,”

You laughed once again, and Bob felt it through his whole body once again. The lightness, as if the darkest parts of him were shoved and locked away. Peace.

He knew, then, that his plan was fucked.

You were everywhere. No matter what Bob was doing, you seemed to end up in the same orbit as him, spending your time around him. And when you weren’t? Bob found his way to you. Coffee in the morning became a constant between you both, a comfortable hour and a half together before anyone else woke up. Whenever John and Alexei managed to convince Bob that he should train, you ended up in the room with Yelena, watching him. And without fail, the two men could instantly notice the way that Bob seemed to perk up and try harder when you were watching.

It got easier to accept how pretty you were…and by easier, Bob meant it was just easier for him to ignore the raging blush that coated his cheeks anytime he was in close proximity to you. What didn’t get easier were the feelings. When you smiled and laughed, he could feel it. The two times he saw you leave a meeting room after having a private conversation with Valentina, he could feel it then too: the anger and the resentment.

There was one night when John and Ava were arguing in the middle of the common room after a mission. Loud, insults being thrown left and right, and nothing Bucky, Yelena, or Alexei said was calming them. Bob was off to the side, wringing his hands together, the argument playing out before him feeling all too familiar to those he’d watched of his parents. Then, suddenly, you’d burst out of the elevator, still in the clothes that you had been wearing from your meeting downtown with the mayor that Bob was sure you were still supposed to be in, throwing the two apart with a single flick of your wrist and ordering them to stop in a tone that only an Avenger could carry.

And when Bucky had asked you why you left your meeting, you’d told him you knew something was wrong. And when he asked you how you knew? Bob swore your eyes had darted to him before you spoke: “I…I don’t know. I could just…feel something was wrong.”

That was the first moment Bob thought that maybe, just maybe, you could feel what he felt, just like he could with you.

“It was right here where we sent Loki back to Asgard with Thor. God…I was a child back then, who thought it was a good idea to let me fight a god?”

Bob enjoyed moments like this the most in the few weeks he’d gotten to be around you. The rest of the team had been sent on a mission, and Bob was required to stay behind for this one, per Valentina’s request. Bob was sick of having to hang back, of feeling like a liability, so you’d taken it upon yourself to stay with him for the duration of his team’s time away. He hadn’t even had to ask, you’d simply appeared in his doorway and said you were taking him out.

He knew where he stood with you right now, you didn’t have to say it: the Bethesda Terrace in Central Park. He’d seen the bystander photos in their quick tour of the unopened museum hanging on the wall, commemorating the ‘Battle of New York’ from way back in 2012, a time that felt like a millennium ago. You were stood side by side, leaning against the railing of the terrace and simply people watching those around the fountain, and while part of Bob wanted to feel upset about not being on the mission, your presence calmed him. Being around you felt like that moment he’d shaken your hand for the first time, that wave of calm and peace washing over him, washing away his anxieties.

“A-At least you got to help, to fight,” Bob mumbled, though he knew you could hear him. His eyes stayed trained on this couple sitting together on the edge of the fountain, their hands wrapped around one another and fingers intertwined as she laughed at him as if he were the funniest person she’d ever seen. “I just do dishes. Makes me…makes me f-feel useless.”

There was silence for a moment, just the sound of everyone milling around the area. The screaming children, the laughter of friends, and then suddenly your hand was resting on top of Bob’s, and every ounce of anxiety just seemed to roll off his body without a second thought. He turned to you, and you were watching him with a soft smile.

“You’re not, I promise,” your hand left his, eyes turning back to the fountain, and Bob felt the need to chase after the feeling immediately. “When Fury brought me onto the team, Steve took me under his wing immediately. He became this brother I’d never had before, but with that came protectiveness. I remember when he tried to leave me out of the D.C. incident and I screamed at him that he couldn’t keep me out of it forever, that he couldn’t…he couldn’t make me feel useless, not when I am what I am. Valentina leaves you out of it because she’s a bitch, and trust me I’m itching for a way to knock her off her pedestal. The team does it because they care about you, which is a good thing, but if you have to be honest with them about how you feel.”

Your words took hold of Bob, but so did your voice. Quiet, but certain, words spoken with a level of care that Bob had never had directed toward him until he met Yelena. And then, he felt it: affection, care, kindness. It felt like you, because it was you, and he felt it so deeply in his bones that it ached.

Bob was aware of the eyes that were on you as people walked past you both, the people who recognized you for what you were in their eyes: a hero. His eyes stayed locked on the side of your face, a gentleness in his eyes and an affection toward you that he hadn’t felt before blooming in his own chest, watching as the corner of your lips quirked up just a hint.

“W-Why do you do it? Why do you want to be a hero?”

“Well, at first I wasn’t given a choice, Fury kind of threw me into it,” you’d laughed, turning your head to look at him again as a smile stretched over Bob’s lips at the sound of your laugh. “Remember that friend I mentioned?”

“The one you lost?”

“Yeah, him,” that fondness was back in your voice, but so was the tug of hurt in Bob’s chest that he’d felt the last time you spoke of your friend. “If Steve took me in like a sister, then I took him in like a little brother. Pe- he was so good, so pure. And I’ll never forget what he said once: ‘When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.’ That’s why I continue to do what they did, what my family did. But the real question is, why do you want to be one, Bob?”

“S-So I can do something good,” Bob didn’t have to think about his answer as he looked at you, at the eyes and smile that encouraged him to speak and held a promise of never judging him. “I don’t want to make things worse…I-I want to make them better.”

The conversation ended there, nothing else needing to be said. Then, Bob found himself curled into a corner of the common room couch hours later while you ran around the kitchen to prepare the popcorn, promising to show him a bunch of movies that you adored and used to watch with the Avengers that came before them—promising to tell him stories of the people that used to be your family.

“Alright, I’ve got kettlecorn,” you reappeared next to the couch, smiling down at him and holding both of the bowls in your hands up for him to see. “And the closest that I could get to butter-drenched, movie theater popcorn. Pick your poison.”

“Movie theater,” Bob nodded his head with a grin that you mirrored. “I-If I’m going to get heart disease, might as well get it happily.”

You laughed, and this time Bob was prepared for that feeling in his bones. He welcomed it, the warmth it brought, and it brought another feeling of his own to the surface: affection. That same feeling he’d never felt before, until just hours before, and suddenly, when he looked at you and how pretty you looked in the dim lighting of the common room, Bob’s breath caught as his brain seemed to catch up with his heart.

Oh god, his crush was back in full force.

He watched as you tilted your head for a moment, still not taking the seat beside him on the couch. You only watched him, a slightly curious look on your face, and Bob shifted. That seemed to break you from your trance-like state as you sat beside him, passing him the popcorn bowl he requested as you kept the other.

But when your hand grabbed the remote, prepared to press play on the first Rocky movie, you stopped. You hesitated. Then, you put the remote back down before you spoke.

“You know…I can feel it, too,”

Bob paused, frozen in place, as you turned to look at him. He opened his mouth, prepared to find a way to talk around the topic, to pretend like he didn’t know what you were talking about, but there was no ignoring it now.

“You…you do?” his voice was a whisper, anxiety dripping off his words. You laughed again, and when Bob felt it this time, he could also feel the bits of anxiety laced through your laugh.

“Yeah, since the moment I shook your hand,” you fully turned to face him now, a perfect mirror of one another. Backs pressed to opposite ends of the couch, legs tucked under your bodies, and nervous, tiny smiles etched to your lips. “And I…I think I know what it is. I didn’t for a while, but then I called some friends.”

“Friends?”

“There’s not much that the Masters of the Mystic Arts don’t know,” you’d tried to joke, getting a breathy laugh out of Bob. “What he explained to me was…ancient. Rare. Something only seen twice in history, but both times it had been with witches. The French were the first to document it…they dubbed it an âme sœur.”

“A-An…an âme-?”

“When the Big Bang occurred, when the universe was created, it created the Infinity Stones. But it created more than that,” you’d cut in, voice speaking so quickly that Bob could pick up the nerves laced throughout your explanation. “Many races in the universe, most notably humans, believed that each of us was born of the stars, that a piece of the universe lives in each of us. And when the universe was born, those stars were scattered, which placed us where we are now. But, in rare instances, those stars would split. They could be hurled galaxies apart, on different planets within the same solar system, or just miles apart. But, subconsciously, they’d find one another again. They’d…they’d complete one another. That these two people were so intune with one another that they could…they could feel one another. The two witches before me, they could feel their other halves…that’s how they found their âme sœurs…their soulmates.”

Bob’s breath caught, eyes transfixed on the way you bit into your bottom lip, more anxious than he’d ever seen before.

“S-Soulmate?”

“It can mean a lot of things,” you’d laughed lightly. “The first pair? They were best friends, and they remained that way forever. The other two…they were friends first, until it became more. Until they fell in love. It’s essentially just someone who’s meant to be in your life, someone destined to walk your path with you. Friends or lovers…that’s for them to decide.”

Friends or lovers. The next question was tumbling through Bob’s lips and out into the world before he could overthink and stop himself.

“T-Then…what are we?”

That question hung heavy in the air between you both. Bob watched you open your mouth to speak, before shutting it, repeating that action time and time again as you tried to find the right words to say.

“I think that means…we’re whatever we decide we’re going to be,”

Those words settled in Bob, and a wave of calm seemed to envelop the room around you both, as if having your destiny spoken out loud put everything into perspective finally. And all he could do was look at you with a look of absolute wonder written across his features.

Before he could speak, the elevators opened.

“AH, OUR BEAUTIFUL HOME! It is so good to be back, my friends! I say we get matchy-matchy in our tracksuits and spend this evening enjoying each other’s company, maybe with a fresh pot of hot cocoa,”

“Hot cocoa? Jesus, you sound more like Santa every day-”

“And how could you miss this place? We only left for the mission this morning?”

You’d gotten off the couch to greet the others, the moment between you both shattered. But Bob’s gaze never left your figure, even as you moved about the room. And when that bloom of affection found its way back into his chest, it had changed: desire, the need to hold you, the need to worship you, the need to taste you and claim you as his in a way he’d never felt before. And by the glance you threw over your shoulder to him, he knew you could feel it, too.

Fuck, this wasn’t just a crush.

So, when Bucky Barnes threw open his door at 2:36 in the morning to a dissheveled Bob Reynolds who looked like he’d just run several marathons, he already knew it wasn’t going to be good.

“Bob-?”

“I-I think…I think I’m in love with her. L-Like, I think we’re destined to uh, to be in love. Like, even if I didn’t want to be I-I wouldn’t have a choice, like I’m meant to love her. Well, not entirely, we can kind of d-decide if we’re going to be. But it doesn’t feel like a choice, i-it feels like I’m meant to. But even if it wasn’t destined I-I think I’d still fall in love with her because she’s so pretty a-and nice and she treats me like me, and…yeah. Yeah, I’m…I’m in love with her,”

Bob took a deep breath, having ranted to the man before him without taking in a single breath of air. There was a beat of silence, and then a sigh from the super soldier standing in the doorway.

“Well, destiny or whatever this is aside, did you tell her all of this?”

“...no?”

Another sigh. “...god damnit, Bob,”

TAGLIST: @cypherpt5fttaehyung @dark-silhouette @greenbean-4ever @qardasngan @one17 @nutellajade @etheralponygirl @spencerreidswifexd @alexwinchester23 @am1525 @artistadistrada2002

[tarotbyjam24]

Main paid readings' list

This is a main paid readings list ,every link of new paid readings are available in this post and you may navigate there through this post or you can dm me your queries I'm always here to help you find a solution love 🫶🏻

𐙚 ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ 𐙚

pick a piles free reading feedbacks paid reading feedbacks

𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚Free reading offers⠀𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

readings I offer ⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩

18+ readings

intuitive moodboard readings

pick a piles paid readings

2\3\5\7\10 cards readings

detailed pick a piles readings

astrology+ tarot reading combination

Mickey and co mystery box

tarot packages[scroll down to check them out ]:25 $ \1500 rs

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

HOW TO BOOK A READING : send me your questions + name\initilals via dms . I can send you your reading via dms or emails as per your wish

length of readings will depend on the things I'm able to pick up or I'll be allowed to pick up from your energy and it may differ from person to person. Length for free readings offer may vary ♡

I'm very grateful if you support me to earn my first 1k dollars which will be used to purchase my 1st ever laptop 🩷🥂

If you're not sure what questions you wanna ask I can suggest you few questions regarding your situations or you can take ideas from pick a piles posted on my blog <3

My e-mail: tarotbyjam24@gmail.com

PAYMENT MODE : paypal \Google pay \upi \kofi

RULES───── ⋆ ��� ⋆ ─────RULES

Regardless of the price and word limit I won't compromise with the quality and honesty . I'll be brutally honest and help you to show light at the end of tunnel .

You must pay before and send screenshot of payment before I start doing your reading

No refunds policy

clear and respectful conversation with no room for misunderstandings

you must provide me feedback after the reading as it'll help me to improve my abilites and attract more customers

Waiting period : most likely I'll do the reading few mins\hours later. appx time : 24 -72 hours after you've done payment but if there's any emergency then waiting period is of 1- 2 weeks .

if I've slots booked already and you want urgent reading within 15mins to 3 hr then fee is 100 rs \ 5 $ for small readings

and if you want urgent packages reading within 1 -5 hrs then fee is 300 rs\ 9 $.

No health\death\leagal\3rd party related questions

All the private information shared by clients will be kept confidential .

Readings are for guidance purposes only and do not replace professional advice (medical, legal, financial, psychological).

please have trust and patience in me while purchasing readings as it's my first time trying paid readings or anything of my own .

and lastly nothing's set in stone take the readings as guidance offered to you according to your current energies and what my cards had to tell you .

for 18+ readings you must be 18 or 18+

───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────

Tarot reading packages

I'll answer all of your curiosity you can also ask for mini questions like why,where,when,who,etc to be added under those prompt's questions and specifically ask me to focus on any particular topic that you'd like to get more insight on . In case reading gets super lengthy or out of what I offer I suggest you to either curate your own another pacakge or purchase my 3\5\7 cards readings to get more clarity and focus on one aspect \ situation

delivery time is 2-7 days after payment is done incase of emergency waiting period is of 1-2 weeks

you can create your own package too . We can discuss it while you purchase your readings .

All packs can be edited [add or remove ] according to your taste,mood and vibe🫧

you can also get\create your own personalised pack of 4-6 pick a pile topics from my masterlist for same price too [ 25 $ \ 1200 rs (1200-2000 words ) ]

If you wanna add more questions but don't wanna pay more then I'll keep the reading length as stated below .

Every question add on costs 5$\250 rs

10 images moodboard along with tarot packages costs 5$ \100 rs and so on

rest all rules are same

1 pack price : 25 $ \ 1500 rs [ words : 1200 - 2000 ]

Reader's note : I feel I'll never be actually able to create perfect packs suitable to everyone's taste so yeah you can always add your spice and magic . I'll for surely come up with another solution for this issue in future 🌸

Intimacy────୨ৎ────Desires

[ These packages are customisable for any person you'd like to get reading upon ex : fs,crush,bf,gf, celebrity,etc ]

Totoro's Secrets

1. What are their late-night thoughts about you?

2. What would they do if you appeared in front of them for the first time?

3. What about you turns them on?

4. What would they find sexy about you?

Princess Mononoke's Wild Heart

1. What makes them horny about you?

2. How will they express jealousy and possessiveness?

3. What are their expectations in bed?

4. How will you fulfill their expectations?

Howl's Moving Castle of Relationships

1. How will they act when you two are in public vs alone ?

2. What are their kinks?

3. How will they handle conflicts for the first time? How will be your make up sex?

4. How would they aftercare you?

Hoshikage

1. What will they do when they catch you secretly pleasuring yourself? What will be their reaction?

2. What about you will make them have desire to pleasure themselves?

3. How clingy they'll be ?

4. How will they handle you when you act all bratty and bossy ?

5. What about you will make them hard\wet ?

Confessions────୨ৎ─────Roses

[ These packages are customisable for any person you'd like to get reading on ex : fs,crush,bf,gf, celebrity,etc ]

Ponyo's Ocean of Affection

1. How will they pursue you?

2. What are your FS's favorite things about you?

3. How will they confess their feelings?

4. What's their vision for your future together?

Whisper of the Heart's Promise

1. What's your wedding/engagement day with them be like?

2. What are their red and green flags?

3. How do they feel about you?

4. How will they spoil you?

5. What you and they'll feel on this special day

The sunlit hearth

1. how will they celebrate you and their all firsts ?

2. What will be their emotions on these special days ?

3. how will they treat you ?

4. How will you be treated by their people [parents\friends\siblings\relatives,etc ] ?

5. How will their people [parents\friends\siblings\relatives,etc] percieve you ?

Mind ────୨ৎ──── Body

Spirited Away's Journey of Self

1. What's your sexual appeal?

2.What makes you intimidating?

3. What are your red and green flags?

4. What do others find sexy about you?

5.What's your seducing style?

6. How do you serve ?

No-Face's Reflections

1. What's your reputation?

2.Why are you "that\it girl/boy"?

3. What are your most attractive traits?

4. What's unique about you?

5. How do others perceive you [ can be read for any specific person too like colleagues\crush\this stranger ]?

Ashitaka's Inner Turmoil

1. What's your current emotional state?

2. What's causing turmoil in your mind?

3. How can you regulate your emotions and these disarrays ?

4. Clarity regarding the situation you're stucked in

Grandma Hama's Ancient Wisdom

1. How does your higher self want to motivate you?

2. What's your inner child's dreams?

3. How can you nurture your inner child?

Universe────୨ৎ──── Energy

Zeniba and the Soot Sprites Within

1. What's the energy around you?

2. What upcoming surprises does the universe have in store for you?

3. What's happening in your life sectors?

4. What's something you should improve, let go, and adopt?

Mei's Little Blessings

1. What's the current state of your relationships?

2. What's blocking your blessings?

3. How can you navigate your life?

4. What's the outlook for your career and finances?

5. How can you invite more material abundance in your life?

Changes ────୨ৎ────Opportunities

Catbus's Unexpected Paths

1. What's the current state of your career?

2. What opportunities are coming your way?

3. How can you increase your financial abundance?

4. What's the outlook for your long-term career goals?

Nausicaä's Winds of Change

1. What's the biggest challenge you're facing right now?

2. How can you overcome your fears and doubts?

3. How can you develop a growth mindset ?

4. What's your vision for your life?

5. How can you cultivate mindfulness and presence?

6. What's the universe's message for you right now?

Manifestations ────୨ৎ──── and Shadows

Kodama's Forest Guidance

1. What's your spiritual purpose?

2. How can you connect with your higher self?

3. What's the universe's guidance for you right now?

4. How can you cultivate spiritual growth and awareness?

Calcifer's Fiery Purpose

1. What's your life purpose?

2. How can you align with your values and passions?

3. What's the meaning of your life experiences?

4. How can you find fulfillment and happiness?

Fio's Ingenious Empowerment

1. What are your strengths?

2. What are your weakness?

3. How can you empower yourself?

4. What's your personal mantra?

Kagemasa's Hidden Truths

1. What's your shadow self trying to tell you?

2. How can you heal your inner wounds?

3. What's the root cause of your fears and doubts?

4. How can you integrate your shadow self into your conscious awareness?

5. How can you develop self-compassion and self-forgiveness?

Lin's Golden Dreams

1. What's blocking your manifestations?

2. How can you attract abundance into your life?

3. What do you need to manifest your desires?

4. How can you maintain a positive mindset ?

Family and ────୨ৎ──── love life

The Yamada Family's Everyday Bonds

1. What's the current state of your family\ relatioship dynamics?

2. How can you improve your relationships with family members\lover ?

3. What's casuing of conflicts in your family\love life?

4. How can you maintain healthy boundaries in your family\love relationships?

Arrietty's Secret Connections

1. What's the current state of your love life?

2. Who's coming into your life romantically?

3. What's the potential for a long-term relationship?

4. How can you attract your ideal partner?

5. How can you improve your communication skills?

San's Deep Connection

1. How can you deepen intimacy with your partner?

2. What's blocking emotional connection in your relationship?

3. How can you communicate your desires effectively?

4. What's the key to maintaining a healthy and fulfilling sex life?

Self worth ────୨ৎ──── and growth

Osono's Warm Embrace

1. How can you cultivate self-worth and self-respect?

2. What's blocking your ability to receive love and affection?

3. How can you practice self-care and self-compassion?

4. What's no longer serving you ?

Chihiro's Great Transformation

1. What's the biggest area for personal growth in your life?

2. How can you overcome self-sabotaging patterns?

3. How can you transform your life?

4. How can you maintain motivation and momentum on your personal growth journey?

Jiji's Guiding Wisdom

1. What's your life purpose and how does it relate to your career?

2. How can you align your career with your passions and values?

3. What's the potential for success in your current career?

4. How can you make a career transition that aligns with your life purpose?

Celebrity ────୨ৎ──── and you

Baron's Inspiring Presence

1. What's the energetic connection between you and your favorite celebrity?

2. How can you embody the qualities you admire in your favorite celebrity?

3. What can you learn from your favorite celebrity's life experiences?

[night-daily]

Don't touch her | Roronoa Zoro x fem! reader

summary: You, Nami and Zoro are captive by Buggy when one of his freaks decide to have fun with you.

warnings: spoilers ep 2 one piece live action.

“Can you stop fighting with each other and instead look for a solution to get out of here?” You were exasperated, your cage was little and tighter than Nami's and you were between them so you couldn't stand them anymore, they had been fighting as if you weren't trapped and Luffy was who knows where.

Nami looked at you smiling apologetically and Zoro looked... worried? Maybe was the stressful situation making you see things. Fortunately, Nami was a great thief and of course, she could open her cage and then help you. Hearing a voice coming closer makes you a little nervous, after all, those weren't normal pirates, they were freaks as the clown pirate called them. “Try to distract him” Nami murmured low.

He finally showed up, looking at the three of you carefully, and finally, his eyes stopped on Zoro. They started discussing about his brother, apparently, he was killed by Zoro and he was indifferent making Cabaji furious. He made Zoro spin while throwing knives at him, every time he ''failed'' a vital spot it made your heart race like crazy because if he wanted to kill Zoro, he would have done it already, right?

But you couldn't help the words slip out of your mouth when a knife almost touched one of his wrists.

“Hey freak, do you even know how to throw a knife!?” You were clearly trying to get his attention and you did it. His face turned red, and he looked more furious with you right now than with Zoro, you didn't know if that was good or bad for you, but you didn't care, at least Zoro it's okay it doesn't matter.

But there is a simple rule in this world, never mess up a psycho with a knife.

“You want to be my target so bad, pretty girl?” Cabaji was standing in front of you, so close you could feel his breath on your face. “I promise you I won't fail” He stated so sure of himself it made you shiver.

“Don't touch her.” Zoro's voice was aggressive and his eyes darkened, he clenched his hands into fists ready to fight.

Cabaji ignored him, smiling mischievous still looking at you but before he could do or say anything, Zoro pulled one of his arms out of the rope capturing Cabaji, tightening the grip around his neck suffocating him and dropping him on the ground.

You were focused on Zoro and Cabaji so you didn't hear when Nami opened up the lock from her cage until you saw her by your side helping you to get out.

You and Nami freed Zoro from the ropes when you were done you heard it Luffy's scream across the room, the three of you looked at each other.

“Ready to go?” Nami asked, you and Zoro nodded your heads walking behind her. Then you felt a hand on your wrist forcing you to stop and face him.

“Never do that again, it was stupid, he could have hurt you or worse, kill you” He was serious even a little scared, you have never seen him like this and it made you nervous, you avoided his eyes and he grabbed your chin gently. “I'm serious, I was going crazy.”

“But I'm alive... and it's thanks to you, Zoro” You stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the corner of his lips, taking him by surprise.

This time, you started walking with a big smile on your face, “you coming?” Zoro followed you from behind with a smirk on his face.

[yoongihan]

Services Rendered - BC - 2/3

pairing: escort chan x femreader

genre: smut, with little plot, a lot of talking, fluffy, but there be angst in this part

word count: ~ 13.5k

warnings: sex work, smut: pentrative safe sex, hand jobs (both rec.), oral (both receiving) ; a lot of kissing, older reader, chan goes by chris, reader shorter than chris, many more 'babys' and 'yeonins' because it's chris, the most ethical escort service ever; alcohol imbibed, but no one's drunk, more discussion of insecurities on reader's part, cursing. if i've missed something, let me know.

rating: 18+/M

summary: seeking a solution to your lack of experience, you assume the process will be business-like. you're entirely wrong.

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. i swear i thought it'd take a couple weeks and i started it right after posting the first part. i don't think the final part will take as long (she says while packing her apartment to move states literally next week). thank you so much for the kind reception of the first part. there's some book discussion in this part, those books belong to their authors. i hope you enjoy it. big thank you to @moni-logues for reading this over and making sure it actually makes sense.

part one

Part Two

You wake up at some point, way too early. The sleepy realization that you aren’t in your own bedroom gives a moment of panic, but it subsides. You also realize that you aren’t currently the little spoon, or any spoon at all. There’s another irrational moment of panic, this one about him, that he’s left, that he’s gone. 

You roll as gingerly as one can toward the other side of the bed, which reveals a head of messy hair and a peek of bare shoulders. Had he ditched his pajama shirt sometime in the middle of the night? Does it matter?

Your heart rate slows though. He’s still there. 

You turn back toward the nightstand and the bright digital numbers that tell you that you are up well before any person needs to be. You get out of bed, standing to walk to the bathroom. As you do, you realize that you are sore. It’s a stupid thought, honestly. Of course you’re sore, but still, it’s surprising, and unnerving. You’re sore because you’ve had sex. 

You had sex.

You shut the door to the bathroom before you turn on the light and once you do, you nearly audibly groan at what the mirror shows. Bedraggled. The last vestiges of your makeup are smeared (even though there wasn’t that much to begin with), eyes a bit bloodshot, hair a disaster. 

You wash your face thoroughly and pat it dry. You also decide to brush your teeth. You’re not convinced a stunning specimen like Chris would even have morning breath, but you definitely do, and maybe even if you sleep a few more hours, this will mitigate the worst of it. 

When you return to bed, he hasn’t moved at all. You slide in, staring at the back of his head, wondering about the course of today. 

Will it be a sex-fest? You doubt it because you hardly think you have the stamina, even if he’s studied tantric or whatever. 

Will it be awkward? Possibly. You’ve had only a handful of waking hours with him. What will happen when there are long, non-seducing hours? Conversation had been fine last night, but this is so much time. 

Will it be claustrophobic? The hotel room is yours until twenty-four hours plus from now. That doesn’t mean you can’t leave the hotel, but does an escort want to be seen in public with his less than perfect-looking client? Does he want to be seen with you, as though you’re a couple?

You shake your head, closing your eyes despite wanting to reach out and trace your fingers along those bare shoulders. You don’t know how much time passes; you don’t think that you really fall back asleep, but you do doze some. A pleasant dreamy fog of rest, mixed up with memories of the previous evening: a pull of emotions and impressions. 

When you come back to this plane of existence, you can feel lips on your shoulder. 

“Chris?”

“You expecting someone else?” His voice is deep from sleep and glazed with amusement. You rub your eyes, by the nightstand clock you can see that a couple hours have passed since your first wake up. There’s a lazy bite on your shoulder, you shiver before tentatively rolling over to see him. 

The wild hair, the barely-open eyes, the flushed skin. 

God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Hi,” you say for lack of anything creative. “Good morning.” His head tilts to the side and sniffs once. 

“You brushed your teeth,” he accuses as he covers his mouth with his hand. “That’s hardly fair.” He starts to pull back the covers, as though to leave the bed. 

“It’s not a big deal–”

“Nope,” he interrupts, laughing as he slides to his feet and heads to the bathroom. “We have to be the same here. Equality, right?” He winks at you before entering, the door shutting behind him. 

You sigh, embarrassed now for NOT having morning breath, before forcing yourself to sit up, back resting on the headboard. You touch your hair to make sure it’s not too crazy. 

When the door opens, not more than a minute or two later, you’re already back to feeling horribly anxious at what the day will bring. He walks to your side, looking down at you. 

“Equal now?” you ask softly. 

He sets his knee on the bed, gracefully climbing on without even touching you, enclosing you with his presence. You stare up at him, swallowing as your throat feels dry. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes sparkling. He leans in, his hands pressed into the mattress at your sides. His lips find yours, a minty burst. It’s biting, the mint, but his mouth and tongue are soft and warm. It’s like sinking into a hot bath. 

“Morning,” he murmurs, lips barely a millimeter from yours. He goes back in, drawing it out, making you sit up higher, your hands encircling him by the neck to keep him close. When he breaks for air, he lets his nose bump yours before sitting back on his heels. “Sleep okay?”

You’re muddled from his kiss, brain slow to engage. “Mmmhmm.” You move again to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You can tell he’s grinning when your lips meet his, but you slip your tongue in his mouth, curling with his. He groans, reaching to pull you on top of him instead. His hands slide along your legs to your hips, gripping tightly as you continue to taste him. It’s relaxed this morning, the tangling of your bodies. He seems not inclined to speed up, rubbing his hand up and down your back, almost in rhythm to the kiss. It’s so engrossing, being wrapped up in him, that you don’t even question when your hips start to rock against his. 

Well, the stuff you’ve heard and read about morning wood certainly is true. He groans when you thrust just right; you echo his groan, barely audible since detaching from his mouth seems wrong. 

He breathes your name against your mouth. “Hold on.”

The words eventually make themselves recognizable in your mind and you break away. “You don’t…want to…I thought guys were always up for it in the morning?”

“Oh, I am. We are,” he says quickly, as though he realizes that you’re beginning to feel ashamed by your assumptions and zeal. “But you might be sore? A little? And it’s by no means required.” He cups your face in his hands before you look and dart away. “Talk to me.”

“A little sore.”

“Thought so.” He kisses you softly, nose brushing yours before letting his head fall back on the headboard. “Breakfast?”

It’s difficult to switch from desire for him to considering desire for food. “I mean, we can do room service.”

His fingers trace along your ears before dropping to his lap. “Let’s go out. Do you like diner food?”

“I wouldn’t trust someone who doesn’t.”

He laughs, reaching out and squeezing your thigh. “That does seem like a good litmus test.” He stares at you for a second. “Want me to shower first?”

You nod slowly as you roll off his legs, sitting back against the headboard next to him. “You want to go out?”

He looks over at you, still comfortable on the bed in the twisted sheets. “Supposed to be a nice day. I figure, good breakfast, maybe we go to the park…” He trails off at your expression. “Do you not want to?”

“No, that…that sounds nice,” you mumble, eyes falling to your hands, folding back the sheet like that will make order out of chaos. 

He leans over, mouth at your ear. “Did you think it would be sex 24/7?” His whisper and breath on the sensitive skin makes you tremble. 

“I both thought too much and not enough about this weekend.”

“Meaning?”

“I worried, but tried not to imagine what scenarios might happen. I didn’t think you’d…” When you look over at him, he gives you a questioning look. “Never mind.”

“Nope, you promised to tell me. What you’re thinking.”

“That’s still in effect? I think you mastered getting my brain mushy and senseless.”

He chuckles, hand grasping your chin to turn you to him for a kiss. He lingers, enough to make you want all over again. 

“Tell me?”

You want to look anywhere but at him, but his hold on you is firm. “I wasn’t sure going out like a date was something we could do.”

He stares at you for more seconds than you wish he would. “Sometimes I’m hired as a date for events.”

You suppose if you’d given yourself a moment to think about anything you know about sex work (specifically from films and books), you would have remembered that. Hopefully no one would blame you for focusing solely on the ‘sex’ part of the occupation. 

“Right.”

He kisses you again. “You’re worried about something.”

“Do you want to be seen with me? In public?” Might as well just ask. He already knows you’re insecure about things.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he counters, fingers skimming your jaw and cheek. 

“I’m older than you.”

“I know.”

With as insightful as he’s been already, you hoped you wouldn’t have to spell it out for him, but apparently he’s making you do that anyway.

“You don’t mind being seen with me? Even though I’m…”

He kisses you for a millionth time. “A couple things. I chose to take this job. With you. That includes being seen with you. Also…” He shakes his head. “I feel like I should make you say another positive thing about yourself.” He lets his hand glide down your neck, a caress. 

“Chris…” You think for a moment before continuing, “I don’t think I’m disgusting or repulsive. I really don’t. I just know how the world sees me. And my good qualities…” He grins when you smile. “Don’t seem as admired by society as the qualities I lack. It’s not low self-esteem, but a realistic understanding of the world?”

“That seems a little like justification for not thinking you’re beautiful. And you are.”

You can’t help your immediate grimace at the compliment. 

“See?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s…I don’t trust compliments about how I look.”

“From anybody or from men?”

Insightful as fuck.

You sigh. “Why ask when you seem to already know?”

His thumb traces along your collarbone as he answers: “I like to make sure my assumptions aren’t completely off.” He takes a moment, his touch lackadaisical. “So, breakfast…out?”

“Yes. If you’re sure.”

He rolls his eyes before cupping the back of your neck to kiss you. “Yes. I’m sure.” And he gets up to walk back into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door and you open your mouth to question, but he pops his head out. “Feel free to come in if you need to. I’m not shy.” He winks and disappears. 

Yeah, you’re not doing that. Sex is one thing (a thing you’re still processing), but domestic daily acts together? That’s a level of intimacy you can’t fathom. 

You are combing through your luggage for something to wear when he comes out of the bathroom…in only a towel.

“All yours,” he says, going to his own bag to find clothes. 

You stare, which is silly, because you’ve already seen him two seconds ago with only pajama pants on. It’s the same thing, right?

It’s not. The towel leaves less to the imagination, and the scattered drops of water catching the light on his torso heighten your awareness. 

He glances over at you when you don’t respond, or even move. He smirks. 

You scoff, embarrassed. “You know you’re hot,” you retort when you grab your clothes and move toward the bathroom. He catches you by the arm, pulling you close. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, nose to nose with you. His fingers caress your forearm as he lets go and you mutter a ‘you’re welcome’ as you dash into the bathroom, shutting the door behind. 

–

“Is that enough meat?” you ask, not in a judgemental tone, but more in astonishment. He grins cheekily across from you in the booth. 

“I told you. I’d share if you got the pancakes.”

“I know, but…” You gesture to his plate with toast, eggs, and enough bacon and sausage for the carnivore in anyone. “It’s…impressive. Thank you. I really do hate choosing between sweet and savoury for breakfast.” You set pancakes on the spare plate. 

“Well,” he begins, setting some of his protein on your plate. “I did use up a lot of energy last night.”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the amusement and know he’s smirking again at you. 

He says your name plaintively when you don’t look up or comment. 

“I think you just like embarrassing me.”

“I think you’re cute like this.” He points at you with a fork. “You’re cute always, but especially right now.”

The meal is mostly devoured in quiet as you are hungry (you expended energy, too, after all), but you find out that Chris loves working out, playing sports with his friends, going to concerts, and cooking.

“I’m not good,” he assures you about cooking. “I’m not awful, but I’m not going to impress anyone.”

“But cooking is a skill. There are people who pretty much order out for every meal. Minus like cereal and sandwiches.”

“I still do that…sometimes.”

You laugh at his sheepish expression. “I do too. Some days after work, I’m too tired to even think about making something. It’s enough to decide what I even want to eat.”

He nods. “Understandable.” He puts another piece of bacon on your plate even though you’ve definitely eaten your quota of food for the morning. “Do you like what you do?”

“Work-wise? I guess. It’s enough for now. I can do the job, some days I feel like I do it well. But I wouldn’t say it fulfills me. Helps me pay the bills.”

“Is that okay?”

You startle when you stretch out your legs and hit his. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he replies simply before hooking his foot around yours at the ankle. His eyebrows lift at your expression, like he’s daring you to make a scene. “Is it okay to not be fulfilled by your job?”

“I…” His foot is rubbing your calf and it shouldn’t be stimulating, but my god, it is stimulating. “Well, are you?”

“Fulfilled?” He cocks his head to the side, thinking. “Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’ve done well.”

“This job?” you ask, swallowing before grabbing your mug of coffee. Chris, with another very unique trait, doesn’t drink coffee and is having orange juice. “Your…current work?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes warm. “This job.”

“I mean…not the acting, not like specifically…a…client…but your work overall…”

He leans closer, despite the table in the way. “I know what you mean.” He waves down the server and hands her a credit card before you can even get your wallet out of your purse. 

“You…”

“My treat.” 

“Tax-deductible?”

He laughs. “Sure. Something like that.” 

You finish your coffee by the time he’s signed the check. He slips his hand in yours (he’d done the same on the walk from the hotel to the diner) and leads you back outside. 

“Anything you wanna do?” he asks. “There’s a park a few blocks away. Some shops if you’re so inclined.” 

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Us just…hanging out?”

He watches you while you both wait at a crosswalk. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. I…I feel like I might be wasting your time.”

He squeezes your hand. “I don’t feel like that. You said that you don’t take time off from work a lot.”

“I did?”

“In your interview. I figure this can be about some relaxation as well as…other activities.” 

“I don’t want you to be bored.”

“I don’t want you to be bored either.” He gestures toward the sign that announces that you’ve arrived at the city park. “But…there’s fresh air, trees, and a used bookstore all within a couple blocks.”

“A used bookstore?”

He grins at the delight in your voice. “Fresh air first.”

It’s a nice park. People are out on a clement Saturday, walking their dogs, playing frisbee, and having picnics. Chris leads a meandering pace, stopping to pet dogs whenever the opportunity arises. You also indulge scratching behind the ears for several, getting licked and jumped on. You don’t want to think about the dusty paw prints left on your pants, just Chris’s big smile and laugh when he falls from a squat position because the golden retriever is a little too excited. 

He’s still chuckling when you offer your hand to him (the excitable dog and his owners have already moved on). He takes it and you brace your feet to pull him up. He brushes himself off, and before you can overthink it, you do the same, wiping the stray dirt from his t-shirt. He grabs your hand after a moment, lifting it up and kissing it softly.

“Thanks.”

You want to ask if he’s the top employee at his company. How could he not be, with warm eyes looking at you like you matter. How can any client go back to their real life after time spent with him? 

It’s a dream. A dream that you made happen, but still a dream.

“You’re a dog person,” you reply to his gratitude, trying to move his focus off of you. 

“I am.” He doesn't let go of your hand, but draws you toward a bench. You sit next to him, clasped hands on his thigh as he looks out at the people milling about, dogs chasing sticks. “My folks have a dog, but my life is so busy that I can’t have one now. Maybe someday.”

“That sounds nice.” You stare at his profile for a few seconds. “Dog, house, white picket fence?”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know about the fence. What’s your ‘someday’? Your job sounds pretty involved.” He glances at you. 

“It’s silly.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, what I want.”

“Lies.”

You take a deep breath and turn your focus on the trees. “I want a quiet life. Sure, I’d still work, but it’s mostly at home. I have a small garden where I grow things that end up on my table. The idea that what I put effort into actually is something that benefits me tangibly. Instead of just a paycheck.”

“Don’t insult the paycheck.”

“Everything I work with is conceptual, you know? I can’t touch it, see it. It’s documents and meetings, and something posted on the internet. There’s nothing to hold.” 

“Makes sense. I like traveling, but it’d be nice to have more than a tiny apartment to come home to.” He squeezes your hand. “Want some ice cream?”

You look around, confused.

“It’s behind those trees,” he says, pointing. “Stay here, I’ll go get it. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Surprise me.”

His eyebrows rise. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me,” he says, before leaning close. “You trust me?”

“You seem to have me pretty figured out already.”

His brow furrows. “I doubt that.” He’s so close with his unsure expression, it’s cute. You cover the remaining distance and kiss him softly. He returns it, light and breezy. “See…I didn’t know you’d do that.”

You grin at him. “That’s because you can’t see what I see.”

The blush growing on his cheeks makes him all the more endearing. “Smooth talker,” he mumbles before kissing you again and getting up. You watch him go before looking back out at the activity. 

You can’t remember the last time you sat somewhere and people watched, without taking out your phone either to scroll or work. It’s calming. Chris, his very presence reminding you why he’s here, sets your nerves alight. In all the good and anxious ways. You worry so much about what you say or do, that in this moment, it’s nice to just be. 

“I got two that I like, so whichever one you prefer, I’m good with the reject.”

You startle at his voice, intently watching the final outcome of a boy, about ten years old, in a tug-of-war with his beagle. 

“What did you get?”

“Chocolate peanut butter, and mango sorbet.” He carefully sits next to you, a cone of melting goodness in each hand. 

“They both sound good, but I'm leaning toward mango.”

“Interesting decision,” he says, handing over the bright yellow-orange swirl. 

You take a lick of it, closing your eyes to enjoy the burst of flavor before responding to his words. “Is it? Is there some psychological diagnosis about me choosing fruit over chocolate?”

“Possibly,” he replies, leaning against the back of the bench, staring out at the clearing, still inhabited by people, dogs, and activity. “Are you denying what you really want due to some social concern that you can’t have the thing you desire?” He raises an eyebrow when you laugh. “Are you assuming I would rather have chocolate and you are appeasing me over having the thing you want the most?”

“Maybe mango sounds better than chocolate right now.”

He scrunches his nose. “Unlikely.”

You laugh again at his mocking disbelief before enjoying several more bites of the sorbet. “Did you study psychology or sociology in school?”

“Neither. There was a gen ed intro class I had to take. It was cool.” He offers his cone to you. “You have to try it, to know if you made the right choice.”

The familiarity of sharing ice cream with someone you met yesterday is not lost on you; how strange this entire experience is. So you lean over to taste and it is really good. You offer your cone. 

“Equality, right?”

He chuckles and tries the mango. 

“I don’t regret my choice,” you say when he goes quiet, either pondering psychology classes or chocolate over mango. 

“Hmmm,” is all he gives you. “I can’t complain. This is really good.” 

You smile at his apparent glee for ice cream, and how the sun shines on his face, highlighting his skin, casting shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks. 

The smear of chocolate by his lips. 

“You…you have…,” you begin, gesturing to the mark. 

He doesn’t look embarrassed, but leans toward you. “Can you get it?” 

You wipe it with your thumb, offering the remnants to him without much thought. Then you see his eyes spark when his lips touch your skin. There’s a light scraping of his teeth and the ice cream feels less like an enjoyable dessert and more like a precursor to something else. 

When he draws back, your eyes are glued to his mouth, your thumb still proffered in supplication as you’re frozen.

“It’s melting,” he says softly, nodding toward your ice cream cone. You blink and focus  on the sorbet, eyes straying back toward him after a little bit. “So…do you want to go to the bookstore after this?”

Your thoughts are definitely not on books, or shopping, or anything public. You don’t answer, unable to figure out how to say what you want. 

He says your name, drawing your gaze from what’s left of your sorbet to him. Does he know? Can he tell?

“I don’t want to go to the bookstore.”

His eyebrows raise. “No? Um, there’s…” He pulls out his phone, you assume, to look up what’s around. “There’s a farmer’s market several blocks away. And–”

“Chris…

He glances over. “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, channeling whatever confidence you have in everything but sex. “I’d like to go back to the hotel.” The confidence lasts just the duration of the sentence, and you look away immediately.

“Yeah? Why?”

Your head turns so fast, because you can’t believe he might be oblivious, not after last night, but he’s grinning widely at you, those beautiful brown eyes heated. 

“You like making me spell things out, don’t you?”

“I do. I like how flustered you are about the very reason you hired me.” He stands up, waiting for you to do the same. “We can finish on the way.” 

He chats the whole way back about when he was growing up in Sydney, but you can’t really focus on his actual words. Just the rolling sound of his voice, the accent in full effect. You’re thinking too much, as per usual. Worried, as usual, about how you’ll perform. It doesn’t seem to matter that everything last night went way better than you could have hoped or imagined. Your brain doesn’t allow you to relax, to take in the evidence that you can ask for this, that he might want to even if it is why you hired him. 

When you two are waiting for the hotel elevator, ice cream wrappers discarded in a street bin, he bumps shoulders with you. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“Into the twisted, thorny mire that is my brain.” 

He laughs and kisses you without warning. It’s almost perfunctory, natural and domestic. “Your brain sounds like the part of the Sleeping Beauty cartoon, where the prince has to hack his way through the huge vines into the castle.”

“That. With no castle or end in sight. And probably a bit grimier.” 

The elevator doors open and you both enter as he is still chuckling at your description. “Grimier?”

“Yes. The cartoon seems too clean, you know? That much plant life would be dirty with soil and insects, and that mossy loamy smell.” You lean back against the elevator wall as the doors close. “Maybe swampy too.”

He’s still grinning when he turns toward you, lips finding yours in half a laugh. The relative privacy allows you the freedom to slide your hands around his middle, pulling him close. He’s cosily warm; the ice cream has left you a little cold and his natural temperature banishes that chill. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tantalizing. Your head falls back against the wall as the elevator dings to announce its arrival to your floor. He pulls away, hand slipping into yours to drag you toward the long hallway. 

It feels both interminably long in distance as you stumble after him, but also short because…sex…again. With him.

How does most of the world’s population consider sex to be a normal (albeit enjoyable) thing?

Once you’re both inside the hotel room, he looks at you with that raised eyebrow. 

“What?” you ask, wishing your missing boldness would not be missing. 

“I’m half-wanting you to just pounce, I guess.”

His smile softens the sharpness of your nerves. 

“Just half?”

He moves close, not touching you, waiting. “More than half…what’s got you looking so wide-eyed?”

“Nervous.”

“Why?” At this, his hand comes to your cheek, careful. 

“I guess I thought, you know, having sex once would make me less awkward about it.”

His eyes soften. “Once would make you a sex goddess?”

You make a face at the absurdity. “I didn’t say my thoughts made logical sense.”

His hand molds to your cheek and jaw. “It’s okay to still be nervous. And it’s okay to be awkward.”

You know you’re pouting, but you can’t help it. “I just…I want to…enjoy and for you to enjoy.” Your face heats at that last part. 

He dips his head so you can’t look anywhere but at him. “I do. I will. And I’ll tell you if I’m not and we’ll try something else.” His thumb pulls lightly at your bottom lip. “Trust me?” 

“I do…” If you think too deeply about it, it’ll worry you how much you trust and admire this man, after less than twenty-four hours of knowing him. “Really, I do. It’s more me, than you.”

He lets his lips brush yours delicately, as if inviting you to make the decision to add pressure and intensity. It’s so lovely, like the touch of a rose petal. You cover his hand on your cheek with yours and lean in, prolonging the kiss. His arm curls around you, pulling you flush against him. Using his hold on your face, he angles your head, shifting from a quiet kiss to hot and wet and shiver-inducing. 

“Wanna try something new?” he whispers, lips still touching yours with the question. 

“Um…”

He draws back, still holding you because he rightly knows you might try and run away. 

“Like…?” 

He bumps noses with you, teasing. “I have a feeling you already know what you want to try.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why do you make me say everything?”

“Cause you need to. So it’s clear,” he replies, unbothered by your frustration. “It gives you the power. This is your weekend, baby.” He dives back in, the kiss as stubborn as he is. You melt against him, wishing you could be absorbed by his heat and scent. “What do you want?” It’s as though he addles your brain on purpose, just to ask questions like that. 

“Orgasm,” you breathe.

“Sure. How?” His head drops to suck a mark on your neck, making your fingers dig into his arms. “You can say it.”

“Your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Never mind that you know you’re flushed from saying it. “Do…you…mind it?”

The smirk is devastating. “If someone…in your future, tells you they don’t want to…dump that person. Immediately.” He maneuvers you to the bed, chuckling at your inability to walk normally. He sits you down, so your feet are planted on the floor. 

“You’re overestimating my dating life,” you finally say. 

He cocks his head to the side, regarding you before dropping to his knees. You swallow, hard. 

“I think, if you truly wanted to date, you could. Successfully.”

“Have you met people, Chris?”

He laughs, resting then sliding his hands along your thighs. “I have and I stand by what I said.” He presses one kiss on your knee before starting to undo the button and zipper of your shorts. “Why wouldn’t someone want to date you?”

You’re so focused on where his hands are, how he’s slipping off your shoes and socks. He massages your calves idly, like he’s barely thinking about it before tugging off your shorts. 

He says your name when you don’t reply. 

“I’m not answering that,” you breathe out as his hands map your legs.  “It’s like you asking for me to say something nice about myself yesterday.” 

“Lay back, baby,” he says, rising up on his knees to kiss you softly. “We’re back to the color system, okay? Red if it’s too much, or not good. Or if you don’t feel safe. Yellow to slow down, or change. Green if you’re out of your mind with pleasure.” His smirk makes your eyes narrow in mock-annoyance. “I really want it to be green.”

He kisses your bare knee before trailing his lips up along your inner thigh. 

“Yeonin?”

You make some sound in response. 

“You gotta relax.” You feel him cover your hand which is clenched tightly in a fist (you didn’t even notice) and carefully undo the curling of each finger. “You’re supposed to enjoy it.” He has that amused thread in his voice. 

“I do. I am.”

His fingers slot with yours. “Deep breath.”

You do as he instructs, and your muscles relax with the exhale.

“Good girl.”

Oh.

“Hmmm, I figured,” he says softly, lips back on the inside of your thigh. There’s a nip and a soothing touch of tongue. As he gets closer, you try not to squirm, but it’s impossible. He lets go of your hand to hold your hip down. “Easy.” Then you feel his mouth on the gusset of your underwear.

The noise you let out is humiliating, but you cannot be appalled at yourself because holy shit. He chuckles, and you can feel the vibrations in your core. He hooks a finger on the fabric, his finger brushing your swollen and sensitive and wanting cunt. You whine as he pulls the clothing down your legs and off. His hands slide back up your thighs, thumbs barely brushing you there.

“Chris,” the whine is more pronounced. “Please.”

“So polite,” he says, his breath fanning out on your clitoris. It feels like an eternity, his fingers digging into your skin, breath heating then cooling, before you feel his mouth. You’d levitate if his hand wasn’t so firm on your hip, keeping you on the bed. A slow lick, excruciatingly slow. He hums, sending vibrations again, this time more intense before his lips enclose over your clit and he sucks. 

You are forming words, you think, but you might be nonsense as well. There’s ‘Chris’ and ‘More’. 

“As you wish,” he answers one of those ‘more please’s with that low voice, full of provocation and fondness. His fingers, first one then a second, slip in, curling up and proving how much attention he pays as he finds the exact spot. You shudder and his fingers retreat; this time you whimper.

“Not so fast, baby. It needs to build for a bit.” His explanation in no way makes you not wordlessly complain the next two times he does the same thing. He checks in with you, asking for your color, and saying the word ‘green’ is its own kind of torture as breathing is challenging. Your hand is in his hair, twisting, tightening. He’s laughing, but when you raise your head to actually see him, his eyes are black, pupils blown out, and you’re sure the image of him looking at you while giving you oral will be seared in your brain for fifty years. 

Then he doesn’t back off or relent and you are sent beyond this mortal plane, the experience not old hat to you, the pleasure prolonged as he continues until you come back to yourself, breathing heavy and fingers releasing their grip on his tousled hair. He lifts his head, hand patting your thigh and wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. When you stare at him, unable to speak, he climbs onto the bed to lay next to you. 

“Verdict?” he asks softly. You pull him to you, kissing him messily, trying to rid him of his shirt at the same time. He obliges, tossing his shirt to the floor before cupping your face in his hands to kiss you deeply, apparently not in a hurry like you seem to be. 

“Good,” you finally speak, breath somewhat back to normal. “So good, god, Chris…” You don’t know what to say, how to phrase how much this means to you: to be given pleasure so freely, that he cares enough to get you off with no expectation of reciprocity. 

But you want to reciprocate. You start to undo his jeans, and you don’t notice that he’s only smoothing your hair, pressing soft kisses on your cheek, forehead. 

“You always want to rush,” he murmurs as you shove down both jeans and his underwear. It’s not a protest, his dick definitely isn’t saying no, but you look up at him even as you take him in hand. 

You want to say that time is limited. That it’s less than 24 hours till he leaves, a part of that has to be dedicated to some sleep as you can’t function properly to get yourself home if you don’t. You have to rush because you don’t have any guarantee that you’ll get to experience this again.

And not with him.

So you say nothing, denying a realization of feelings that are better looked at tomorrow, when you’re on your own. 

“Can you get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained as you explore his length, intrigued by how hot it is, how delicate the skin, and how stiff. “Please?”

You meet his eyes with your own smirk. “Now who’s being polite?”

His lips twist. “I’m always polite.” And he gives your nose a peck. You ignore the flutter of your heart at such a small gesture, letting go of him to grab a foil packet from the box. You roll it on him, squeezing carefully. 

“That okay? Green?”

He huffs a laugh, face flushed and glowing with light perspiration. “Green.” He wraps his hand around yours and starts to press the head to your entrance. 

“Like this?” you ask, not sure why side by side, facing each other is shocking to you. Sex always seems like one person is above, the other below. There’s something even more intimate about this.

“Yes?” He smiles. “Okay?”

You nod as he slips in, your earlier orgasm allowing the breach much easier than last night. You clench instinctively and he slides a hand down your side to your leg, lifting it so it’s slung over his. The angle changes and you gasp.

“Better?” He tips your chin up to capture your lips again as he draws back to thrust. You grip his shoulders, lost in the feeling of his cock moving against your walls, the rhythm of his tongue with yours. You don’t think (not much anyway), drowning in the sensations of heat, sweat, sharp inhales and exhales. He whispers compliments, words you don’t really comprehend, but with his accent, the timbre, you think it’s poetry. 

His fingers bring you to completion before he lets go and comes himself.

Chris props himself up on one elbow once you both get your breath back. He’s giving you that sleepy grin, self-satisfied (you can’t be mad at him…he should feel satisfied) and content. He moves a piece of your hair out of your eyes. 

“Still green?”

You snort then laugh. “Yeah, if I had strength I’d give you a high-five.”

He holds up his hand and with effort you smack it, making him giggle. “That’s a first for me.”

“Never been high-fived?”

“Not after sex.”

“Pity.”

He falls to the mattress next to you, eyes never leaving you. You stare back, breathing mostly normal now. 

“It was good for you, too?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t sure?” He scoots closer, nuzzling your shoulder, leaving a kiss. 

“I mean, it sounded like it was good. But…I guess I want verbal confirmation.” 

He moves even closer so your faces are inches apart. “Yes. It was great even.” He kisses you without heat, only sweetness. He rolls to his back, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s early.” He glances at the nightstand clock then at you. “Any thoughts on how we can while away the hours until dinner?”

There’s nothing to hint mischief in his voice, but you still think he might be angling for more of something. You want to, but you’re also a little shaken by what’s just occurred. That he wanted to, did, and did so with skill. 

“You did say there was a bookshop?”

If he’s disappointed, you can’t see it in his face. “To add to that stack over there?” The books you brought have not moved a millimeter since yesterday.

“One can never have too many books.”

“Nerd,” he teases, clasping you by the jaw to turn you toward him for another kiss. “We’ll get dressed and go then. Maybe you can recommend something for me.” He dwells on the kiss, lips tasting yours. He pulls back as your eyelashes flutter open. “Hmm…though…” 

You go still entirely when you feel his hand rest high on your thigh. “Chris…”

“You can have three,” he says easily. “Should tide you over until after dinner, yeah?” When his fingers find where you are sensitive, you shudder. 

“I don’t think…” Surely you can’t again. He’s gentle, attuned to your workings so well that it takes a light touch, circling and pressing. 

“Sure you can. Just a little one.” 

With a kiss, he muffles your sharp exhale when your stomach drops yet again and the spread of pleasure tingles through your body. 

“A goddamn menace,” you huff out as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Yeah, you’re really upset about it, I can tell.” He slides out of bed and into the bathroom without another word while you’re prone for several minutes before hauling yourself up to gather your discarded clothes. 

–

“Oh, it’s lovely,” you say reverently when he slows you down in front of the bookstore. You were so intent on avoiding the two teenagers on skateboards that you missed it. 

He opens the door and you enter into tall, overstuffed bookshelves. It’s not a big space, but every inch of it is used. There’s a small counter and till to your right, and the clerk nods in greeting. You nod back, reaching for Chris’s hand and tugging him toward the fiction section. “You said to recommend something.”

“Yeah, I have a job that I have to fly to, so I’ll need something to pass the time.” If he notices your falter at the mention of another ‘job’, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t ask, though the morbid side of you wants to, if it's this kind of job: creating intimacy with a client, a stranger. You tell yourself it could be a legitimate acting job, but it punches you in the chest anyway. 

“What do you normally read?” you ask with a steady voice. You stop in front of the Bs, pulling out a copy of Wuthering Heights. “Want a great presentation of badly-parented children that grow up and treat each other horribly?”

He chuckles. “That’s such a sales pitch.”

“It’s a pretty copy, though,” you say, sliding it back on the shelf. 

“I read more nonfiction.” He sees your expression. “I know, it’s boring, but a lot of it has been acting methodologies. To expand my skills.”

“Would you prefer nonfiction?” You run your finger along the spines, stopping on familiar surnames. “I have a few I could recommend.”

“No, no way. Give me something that’ll suck me in.” He comes up behind you, resting his chin on top of your head, arms around your waist. 

“Okay…more recent, or stuff like this,” You gesture to the books in front of you. “Classics?” You lean back into his embrace, savoring. There’s a long list of moments from this weekend you want to carve into the stone of your memory. This is one. 

“Uhhhh, maybe more recent. I’m not that smart.”

You sniff, covering his arms with your hands, holding him close. “That’s ridiculous. And besides, there are multiple kinds of intelligence.”

“There are?” You feel his words in your hair as much as you hear them. 

“There’s a theory that there are nine, and less than half are what would be considered academic.” You pause. “Sorry, I get a little ranty about stuff like that. You know how there are people who are so good at reading others, registering their emotions and how to empathize?”

“My mate, Felix.” He’s so sure. “He’s very affectionate, very aware of how to care for his friends and those around him.”

“Yes, exactly. That’s its own intelligence. You can be an astrophysicist, but cannot walk into a meeting with any awareness of the people around you. Two types of intelligence.” 

“So all that to say?” His words are shaded with repressed humor. 

“I’m going to find one classic and one more modern book for you.” 

You feel him kiss the top of your head. “So generous.” And he lets go. “Am I allowed to find something for you?”

You turn to him. “You want to?”

“If you trust me.”

“Absolutely.” 

Your confident response visibly surprises him; he blinks then that devastating smile, complete with dimples, appears. He drops his head to kiss you before disappearing down another aisle of books. 

You wander along the classics first, considering what you know of him, what story might immerse him. It’s easier to focus on that than on the job he’ll work after you. 

You have no idea how much time passes when Chris finds you in a corner, legs crossed and seated against the shelves. There’s a stack of five books next to your knee as you leaf through one. He squats down in front of you and waits until you notice him. 

He chuckles when you jolt at his presence. “I thought you were only recommending two?”

“This is my short list,” you reply indignantly at his amusement. “You might go and play sports with your friends, but I read when I have free time.”

He plops down across, offering you one book. You reach out to take it as he speaks.

“I’ve not read it, but I know the author wrote a book I liked as a kid. And I read the first page? I don’t know…I thought it sounded a bit like what you were talking about at the park. A simple life.”

A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle; a memoir of her time at her family’s farmhouse. 

“Oh this sounds lovely.” You clutch it to your chest. “Thank you. I didn’t even know she had nonfiction.” 

“Glad you like it…” He looks at the books. “Do you need help narrowing down?”

“No. I think I’ve got it.” You pull two and hand them over. 

“Okay, I’ve heard of Frankenstein…why that one?”

“It’s a good book that happens to be a classic. It’s not terribly long in case you are intimidated by the older language. And it’s very different than any movie that has Frankenstein in the name.” You tap the other. “The Talented Mr. Ripley–”

“Also has a movie or two.”

“Yes, but I thought, with you being an actor and that’s basically what Tom is doing, you might enjoy it. It’s a series, so if you do like it, there’s more. Though it’s really dark, so I don’t know if you are into that.” You start to second-guess yourself. “Nor is it that recent…It’s from the fifties. Give it back.” You reach for it, but he holds it out of your range. 

“No. These are the ones you picked and I’m intrigued.” He shrugs. “I also like that neither is like, Game of Thrones-sized.”

“You read those?”

“God, no. I thought about it when I watched the show. Then saw the number of books in the series and the page numbers and decided: not for me.”

“If you like fantasy, I can–” You start to scrabble off the floor.

“Yeonin…I’m happy with these. Thank you.”  He doesn’t say anything for a second, smile still bright. “Want to browse more? Or should we go get a drink before dinner?”

“You don’t drink.”

“I don’t, but there are some really good mocktails out there.” He stands up, holding out his hand for you. You take it, letting him pull you up with ease. 

You bend down to gather the books that you pulled in your pursuit of finding some for him, and start to put them back. He doesn’t say anything, but shadows the retracing of your steps, humming something you don’t recognize, but is comforting. When you're done, he plucks the L’Engle book out of your hand and heads toward the till.

“Chris…” You hurry to follow. “Don’t you…Christopher.”

He turns at that, surprised. “Oh, good thing you don’t know my full name if this is all it takes.”

“If you’re going to buy my book,” you say as the clerk takes the stack he holds. “I should buy yours.”

“No.”

You actually harumph. “Then I’m paying for dinner.”

He opens his mouth, says nothing, then closes it. “We’ll see about that.” He thanks the clerk, who seems amused by the both of you. He hands you the brown paper bag. “You can–No, I can’t even let you do that. I’ll carry them.”

You huff, “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins at you, holding the door open. “I’m okay with that.”

You wait for him to step alongside you. “I’m certainly fine with drinks, but do we need to change for dinner?” You were in what you’d put on this morning: shorts, a soft and fluttery blouse. He was in jeans and t-shirt (it sounds simple, but the way the t-shirt fits him is illegal). 

“I meant to ask. Did you want to go fancy?” He stops you both at a red ‘don’t walk’ light.

You think about it, noticing how your arm is almost touching his, thinking maybe you should take his hand again, stay in that moment for a bit. But you feel his gaze on you as the light changes and you both make your way across the street, so you don’t, trying to remember his question. 

“I don’t feel like you could fit a suit in that one bag of yours.”

“You really are fixated on me in a suit.”

“You put that image in my head,” you reply, enjoying his grin. “It’s really your fault.”

“Sure it is. I do not have a suit, though I could probably do a bit better than this, if you wanted to?” He looked down at himself before switching the bag of books to his other hand and taking yours. He does it so easily without a concern or second-guessing. You wish you could have his confidence.

“I didn’t pack my ball gown.” 

“Pity.”

“I’m okay with wherever, really. We’ve already established neither of us can do spicy, so I trust whatever you decide on.” You laugh. “I think I just like not having to make a decision.”

“You can make the decisions later,” he says so casually as he leads you to a bar, more tavern, but a bar. You almost stumble at his words, the implications of later sending a wave of heat through you. It reminds you of the decision he’d coaxed out of you an hour or more ago. 

You’re so flushed, it’s like you already had spicy food. 

He squeezes your hand and pulls you into a stool at the long curved wooden bar. The bartender hands you both a menu which includes food, but you flip to the cocktails while Chris looks at the ‘zero-proof’ section. You smile over the top of the menu at him.

“What are you smiling for?” he asks, not even looking up. His observational skills are off the charts. 

“No reason.” How can you tell him that every detail about him makes you smile? You wouldn’t have minded if he did drink, but the fact he chooses not to strikes you as admirable, and cute. 

You are so far gone on him, it’s concerning. 

The bartender comes back to take your order: for you a rosemary gin fizz and for Chris, something with papaya. 

“Thank you for the book, again.”

“I hope you like it.”

Can you ask for some sort of contact from him? So you can tell him what you think once you finish it? Can you ask for a phone number so you can hear what he thinks of his books?

But you signed a contract about confidentiality. You could request him again if you wanted to have another weekend, night, hour, but this truly had been a venture and dent in your financial security.

You’d be so tempted to use every cent to see him as much as you could.

“I’m sure I will.” You can’t look away from him, happy to soak in the brightness that he radiates. 

“Stop.” He laughs at you.

“You’re handsome, Chris. I can’t help it.” It’s nice to be on this end of the teasing, to see the red in his skin, the duck of his head and glancing away of his eyes. 

“Please stop.”

“Fine,” you sigh in mock-exasperation.

He looks back and grins before resting his hand on your thigh. Your drinks are delivered and there’s a swapping to try the other before settling and discussing favorite books read in school. During the entire conversation, he doesn’t stop touching you in some form. None of it is inappropriate (you almost wish it was, a little), staying in the realm of casual and affectionate. 

But you are so stirred by it. You’ve spent years seeing how your friends and their partners interact in public, and casual touch is a thing you envy so much. The reassurance of someone’s presence by you, always. 

Chris is saying something about Fahrenheit 451, and your eyes are welling up with your everlong internal monologue. 

He says your name, interrupting himself. 

You shake your head. “Sorry. Thoughts.”

“Gonna share them?” 

You sort of want to. Because nothing you’ve revealed to him has backfired; he has not shamed or chastised you for being open and vulnerable. 

But these thoughts put a burden on him, a possibly very unwanted burden. They shove your feelings and wants and needs on a man who is only next to you to fulfill a contract. There is no longevity in this transaction. 

You’re lucky he turned out to be as wonderful as he is.

You shake your head again in answer to his question. “Not this time.” 

He looks skeptical, but lets it pass, before asking if you want another cocktail. It was exceptionally good, but you don’t want a buzz from any substance. He’s enough. You’re also a lightweight with spirits and you don’t want to hinder any part of tonight. 

He nods and asks for the check. You protest again, and he smiles winsomely as he hands the bartender his credit card.

“Can I buy dinner then?”

He sighs dramatically. “You make it very hard to properly court you.”

You laugh at the old-fashioned word. “Is that what you’re doing? I feel like I’m already very wooed.”

He shrugs, signing the receipt before standing up, hand out to you even though sliding off a barstool does not require assistance. 

Like you’d deny yourself the chance to hold his hand. 

“So,” you begin, curling an arm around his as you move into the nearly-gone sunshine outside. “What’s for dinner, since we’ve dispensed with the fancy?”

He leads you across the street, his other hand resting on your arm that’s tucked into his. Perhaps ‘courting’ is the correct word. 

You wish it was an autumnal day, with chilling wind so you could have an excuse to burrow into his warmth even more. 

“Hotpot?” he says, stopping in front of a restaurant with that in its title. “I never go to these with friends because they get it so spicy, but I figure, you and me…”

“The non-spicy ones.”

He laughs and opens the door for you. “I like that. The non-spicy ones.” 

You’re directed to a table, and you’re chuckling as Chris explains to your server that, basically, you want the blandest option they have. He, your server, looks unimpressed by the both of you. But the food is delightful, and filling, and not too spicy, though it does come very close to your threshold of tolerance. 

You both drink a lot of water. 

Dessert is bingsu three doors down from the hotpot restaurant, with strawberry and chocolate. He playfully smears some chocolate sauce on your lips, giving you no time to lick it off before doing so himself as though he’s reminding you how easily he can turn you on.You don’t need reminders, but you enjoy them. 

Which leads you back to the hotel, and your room, and the bed. 

He sits on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands with a glint in his eyes. “So…you said something about lingerie last night.”

“After that dinner?”

He smirks. “You think that’s gonna matter?”

“Of course I think that’s gonna matter,” you argue, hands immediately going for your stomach which is…quite full. 

He rolls his eyes and gets up, helping himself to your suitcase. 

“Chris!”

“You can’t tell me you have lingerie and not let me see you in it. You aren’t that cruel.”

You had felt very optimistic when you’d bought it, but that positivity is fleeting and currently absent. 

He pulls it out, finger-hooked in one of the shoulder straps. “Wow.” He looks at you. “Please?”

You try to argue again, but it’s hard to deny him anything, not with heat in his eyes, and a pout on his lips. 

Taking the garment from him, you squat down to grab the second piece, the bottoms, and he doesn’t move away. 

“You don’t have to put those on.”

Bashfully, you look up at him. “No?”

He shrugs. “Just saying.” He winks and walks over to the window to look out. “Up to you.”

“He says after begging for me to put it on.”

“Begging?” He turns to see you heading to the bathroom to change, but you waver at his tone. “You haven’t seen me beg…do you want to?”

“I…” You’re completely at a loss. “Do I?”

His smile verges on the arrogance of a smirk. “Maybe.”

You hurry into the bathroom and assess yourself as well as the lingerie. It’s difficult to see yourself as attractive to someone you find attractive, but surely with the evidence of the past day, you can accept that Chris does, on some level. And all things that are attractive can be enhanced with something pretty: makeup, a perfectly wrapped present, a book with sprayed edges. 

You repeat these mantras in your head as you undress and pull on the lace and satin. It’s a fairly simple piece, not in the realm of scandalous according to your friends who helped you pick it out. But as you remind them, and yourself, your deep end is not others’ deep end. You adjust the top, so it fits and holds in what it needs to hold in. 

You assess again, full view in the mirror. You tidy up your leftover makeup, and accept your hair (you can’t work miracles) as is. 

Deep breath. You look fine.

You open the door, and peek out. He’s still by the window, the city lit up below him. He makes such a lovely silhouette that you forget what you’re supposed to be doing (what are you supposed to be doing? A grand reveal? Should you say ‘tada’?) and walk out fully into the room. 

He turns.

“So…yeah.” Not much better than ‘tada’. 

He doesn’t say anything, but comes over. The silence of the hotel room is deafening. You fidget because he doesn’t move quickly at all. You also look everywhere but at him. So when his hands take yours (and cease your fidgeting), you’re staring at his socked feet before allowing yourself to look up. 

You regret taking no photos of him because his face is art. 

“It’s okay?” you ask as he still hasn’t spoken. His eyes travel, feet to the top of your head, down each arm to your fingertips and back up to your neck, then face. 

“‘Okay’ is not the word I’d use,” he says, voice in that lower octave that makes you shiver. 

“Above average?”

The corner of his lips lift in amusement. “A bit more than that.” He takes a step closer, his hands releasing yours and settling at your waist instead. He leans in, mouth at your ear. “You look extraordinary.” 

You blink at him as he draws back, the word reverberating in your mind. You choose to believe him, actor or not. You choose to accept his admiration and desire. 

And enjoy it. 

“Thank you,” you reply. His answering smile is proud (of you, you think, for not dismissing the compliment) before he kisses you, his fingers tightening against the satin. You lean into him, convinced that kissing him for decades wouldn’t be any sort of difficulty, would never get old even as you and he got old.

Oh. That thought does not need to be chased. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, mouth parted from yours. “Did you want to try anything new tonight?”

Do you? You’ve liked everything, and you know there’s a whole gamut of positions to be explored. Probably most beyond your imagination. 

But.

“I want–” You swallow as your throat is a bit dry. 

“Tell me.”

“I want everything we’ve done. Again.”

He half-laughs. “All of it?”

“Yes, please.”

He’s kissing you, laughing against your lips as he maneuvers you to the bed. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands sliding underneath the hem of your top, finding your skin. There’s a slight roughness to his fingers, grazing that makes you quiver. With hands in his hair, you kiss him as deeply as you can, tasting, tongues playing. He groans when you roll your hips, subconscious as your body works to quiet your mind. You do it again, feeling how hard he’s become in minutes, the friction almost too harsh for the thin and delicate fabric you wear. 

You want and crave, and break away to start on the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Baby,” he whispers, lips pressed to your shoulder and collarbone. “You first…”

“Can I…? Can you show me how to…suck you off?”

It’s his turn to blink, to take a moment to comprehend your question. “You wanna…fuck, yeah, of course. But in a minute, okay? I need to taste you first.” With hands spread on your back, he moves so you're lying down beneath him. His hands slip to your underwear like he’s going to take them off, but he pauses.

“What is it?”

He’s staring at you, specifically that underwear. “I’m always so grateful for lingerie. It’s the best thing.”

You try to hit his arm as he starts to giggle. He dodges you and drops down to press an open mouth kiss right to your clothed core. Your hips buck and he pushes them down. 

“You know I’m gonna drag this out, yeonin.”

It’s such a tease, to get his mouth, but have something in the way. To feel the heat and the wet, but not fully. 

“Christopher…” There’s nothing but whine and need in your voice. 

He hums, sending pleasant vibrations against your sensitive skin. 

“Please…take it off.” He may still be holding you down with his hand on your hip, but you can squirm, desperate to be closer, to have more. 

“I thought you wanted me to beg.”

“Chris…” It’s plaintive and without shame. 

He acquiesces and the sodden underwear is removed. But there’s not an immediate return.

“Fuck, you really are dragging it out.” You lift your head to see him watching you with all the arrogance someone as gifted with his mouth could be. 

“Maybe I like hearing you curse.” He leans back down, but kisses right below your navel, one hand finding purchase on your thigh. “Maybe we need a lesson in delayed gratification.”

You cover your face with your hand. “You seemed so nice till now. What if I write a complaint letter to the company?”

He moves up so he’s face to face with you, his expression stern. “That a threat?”

“Maybe.”

He drops his head to kiss under your jaw, near your ear. He bides his time, sucking the skin in just the right spot. You moan wantonly, unable to keep your hands twisted in the sheets, seeking his shoulders and arms to cling to. 

He’s still dressed.

You pull at his shirt when he finally withdraws from your jaw, undoubtedly leaving a mark (you know you’ll look at it in the coming days, remembering). He indulges you, removing his t-shirt so your greedy hands can caress the bared skin. But he doesn’t stay put, returning to where he’s left you so wanting.

You feel his breath at your entrance.

Your next ‘please’ is broken and without sound. 

When you feel his tongue glide up to your clit, you are gasping nonsense into the quiet of the room. He sucks and licks lazily, taking breaks whenever you feel the imminent high. You curse several more times, words catching when he adds his fingers to coax the build even more, curling inside you as his mouth reengages. 

And finally, finally, you break, pleasure throbbing and pulsating. 

He doesn’t stop when you come down from it.

“What–what are you–”

“You can give me another.”

And you can, to your surprise. It’s almost like an aftershock of the first one, remnants of bliss sweeping through. 

Only then does he lie next to you, wiping your essence from his mouth. Minutes go by as you come down. 

“So, do you still want to–” He doesn’t finish his question because you’ve rolled over, one leg over his hips so you’re straddling him. You go back to that button and zipper of his jeans, ignoring his hands trying to do it himself. You tug down his jeans, pulling them off before climbing back on top of him, palming his cock.

“Fuck..wow, okay.” He props himself onto his elbows as you discard his boxer-briefs as well. You wrap your hand around him, thumb at his tip, a little shaky. “You can use–” You cut him off again, this time when you bend down to lick. “Holy..fuck…yeah.” You look up at him, sucking the head before sliding down to take in more of him. You think what he says next is another curse, but you don’t recognize it. “You said to teach you…”

You slide off. “Wait, it’s good? It’s…well, it’s not much different than having a popsicle.”

He falls back, laughing bewilderedly. “I guess that’s not wrong…but–” 

It’s really quite fun to stop him talking with your mouth. 

He gives you sparse instructions (‘hands where your mouth can’t reach’, ‘suck harder’), but when his dick hits the back of your throat, he pulls you off.

“But…”

“No,” he states, reaching for a condom. “I won’t last much longer if you keep that up. Damn, you were good.” He slides the condom on in record time, then places a pillow under your lower back. He pauses when you cup his face in your hands, needing his mouth. He sighs at your kiss, his tongue entwining with yours, his hands gripping your thighs, moving them so they’re wrapped around his hips. Still kissing, he pushes in; it’s still a stretch, but it doesn’t jolt you. It feels:

“Decadent.” 

He retreats slightly. “What?”

“You feel decadent,” you say, uncaring that you’re breathy and needy. You trace along his shoulders and chest. “Hedonistic.”

He doesn't say anything, sheathed entirely in you, letting your body adjust to him. You’re smiling, eyes half-open; your ability to filter eradicated. 

“I always think of decadent…for like, sweets.”

You rub noses with him, delighted. “A very very excellent dessert, Christopher. Can’t stop from having another bite.” You punctuate this with a nip on his neck, causing him to shudder. He pulls out of you to thrust back in. You’re wrapped around him, hooking your ankles together at the small of his back. “So. Fucking. Good.” Staccato, nearly in time with his thrusts. You clench when he lifts your leg to his shoulder, the angle changing. “Oh god.”

“Almost there, baby?” he pants out, the drag of his cock along your walls making you to tense even more.

You nod frantically, seeking any skin to kiss, bite, taste, your hands scrambling for purchase on his back, nails digging. His works your clit, fingers practiced and you feel the drop in your stomach chased by the spread of elation through your limbs; you feel drunk and you force your eyes to stay open, watching as he thrusts faster. You smooth his hair as he stutters, spilling into the condom; his weight heavy on top of you. 

You draw your index finger up and down the middle of his back, relaxed and sated. 

Eventually, he lifts his head, setting his chin on his hands that rest above your breasts. You wonder if you both wear identical sleepy smiles and tired eyes. 

“Hi,” you whisper into the quiet of the evening. 

“Hi yourself.” He raises his head just enough to meet your lips before returning. “Am I too heavy?”

“No. Feels good.” You let your other hand drift down to the curve of his ass. He jumps at your grip. “Very good.”

He chuckles. “Not so timid now. Confident woman.” He takes a deep breath, words a little slower. “Wanna shower with me?”

You’re hesitant, but the looming deadline of this escapade is making you bolder, so you say yes. To have Chris wash your hair, his big hands massaging your scalp…shoulders and back with a loofah…

Still decadent. 

“So…since you seem like the expert.” You soap up his hair, returning the massage. He rests against you, his back to your front and you use the shower wall to hold you both up. 

“Hmm?”

“Shower sex? As sexy as it sounds in books or is it an accident waiting to happen?”

You wish you could record his gleeful laughter, uninhibited. 

“Um. You have to be really careful. Would recommend bathtub mats.” He turns to you, your hands still in his hair. “Is that a suggestion?”

You can’t help it, you glance down to see he’s already half-hard.

“Wow. You were half-asleep ten minutes ago.”

He leans close to you, kissing you softly. “You can’t beat the clean up when you fuck in a shower though.”

Now you’re laughing, then gasping because he’s slipped his fingers into you, mouth on yours. You don’t protest, you just hold onto his shoulders as your muscles tighten and tighten–

He swallows your moan, holding you up as you tremble. When you can stand on your own, he moves you both under the spray of water. He tilts his head to you, rinsing it, and you shakily run your hands through his hair to rid it of the shampoo. He flips it out of his eyes before reaching to turn off the water, but he freezes when you encircle his dick with your fingers.

“You don’t have to–”

“Easy clean up, right?” It’s empowering to feel how he stiffens at your touch, how stroking, gently squeezing works him into short breaths and his head thrown back. You keep playing with him as you eliminate the distance between you, mouth to his neck, sucking and licking.

“Fuck…I’m…”

It’s messy, but the shower washes it away. He slumps against the wall, energy depleted. He opens one eye to look at you. 

“Very confident.” 

The shower is turned off, and you both wrap up in towels. You rub his hair dry, smiling at its wildness. He tugs your towel off in retaliation, and makes a plea for you to sleep naked with him. 

“Or the lingerie?”

“I can’t imagine that’s comfortable to sleep in,” you retort, still naked, but pulling on your pajamas quickly. He’s pouting on the bed, your towel in his hand. You plop next to him, toying with his towel, wrapped around his waist. “But feel free to sleep naked.”

He makes a not-really-chagrined face at you before finding his own pajamas. Teeth are brushed, your hair is somewhat dried, and you both are in bed with the lights off. The dark and quiet take over. You look at the clock on the nightstand, time continuing to move toward his departure. It hits you again, in this moment, how much you like this man.

Chris drapes his arm over your middle, curling closer. “Good?”

“Yes, good…good night, then.” You work hard to not let any tell-tale emotion into your voice, and though you have been more open with him in these two days than anyone outside of your closest friends, you are adept at hiding how you feel. It’s a way of surviving and that’s what you need right now.

He nuzzles you. “No kiss?” The playful teasing lilt to his voice has you hesitating, but you turn your head and kiss him, languid. “You’re really good at that.”

“Kissing?”

“Mmmm,” he affirms. “I like kissing you.”

You swallow, shoving down the incessant ache of feelings. “I like kissing you too.” You can barely see in the lack of light, but you know he smiles at you. You can sense it, attuned to him. 

When his breathing seems to slow, you turn away carefully. You don’t move his arm from your stomach, but you don’t cover it either, lace your fingers with his. Half your brain is saying, ‘do it! Take this moment, this affection and enjoy it. You’ll never have it again!’. The other half, the stronger half that is built from the past, experiences and disappointments, doesn’t yell. Doesn’t need to. The voice is unrelenting and mocking; ‘don’t enjoy too much, because when he leaves tomorrow, you’re gonna hurt. You absolute idiot, you’ve gone and fallen for him. Keep as much distance as you can, because maybe then you won’t be devastated tomorrow in an empty hotel room, in your empty home.’

You hate that voice, the one that tells you the truth. You didn’t think there was danger of actually becoming attached to a man you hired for sex. Yes, sex produced oxytocin which gave anyone cuddly feelings, but this is no longer about the sex. You’re more devastated by the warm smile that wasn’t trying to seduce, the laugh, the hand-holding while walking in the park, the furrowed brow when you talked about books he hadn’t read. The compliments that had nothing to do with your looks, the compliments that did. 

You feel your eyes burn with impending tears, but you force them back and down. There will be time for that tomorrow. When you’re back home, in reality. 

–

It’s hazy, the sounds you hear. Rustling, movement. Something being zipped opened or closed. Then there’s a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m gonna go grab some coffee, okay?” whispers, soft and low. You mumble something before hearing the door. You blink open your eyes to see that it's very early, before seven.

Seven.

When he arrived.

You bolt up in bed (it’s not quite that as you’re still seventy-five percent asleep), nearly falling as you scramble to the bathroom. He isn’t exactly paid by the hour, but you bought two days, forty-eight hours.

That forty-eight is over in fifteen minutes. 

You wash your face, brush your teeth as quickly as you can, then stumble back out into the bedroom, wondering about changing. Do you want Chris to see you in just your pjs as his last image of you? You are really overthinking this. It’s not cold, but you slip on a soft sweatshirt for coziness. You open up your purse for chapstick, a regular morning routine, and as you do you see the small stack of business cards. Your business cards. 

You rarely use them. You aren’t much good at promoting yourself and your skills, even worse your workplace. But the employee handbook insists on having them, so there they are in your purse, metaphorically collecting dust.

You look at Chris’ bag, unzipped, open. 

Surnames are not shared from the company, for confidentiality purposes obviously. You do not know his. He does not know yours. You imagine that during an engagement, assignation, whatever one calls this, the escort or the client could share their last name, their actual place of work, their town or city, anything that grounded them in actual reality. 

But Chris never offered his. You aren’t about to cross that line and ask. 

He might not want to know. He might not feel anything close to what you’re feeling. It’s his job. He might be incredibly good at connecting with his client every time, and you’re only another client. 

But you’re bad at letting go. 

So you drop one business card into the open bag. It could never be found, crumpled after several re-packings for his many trips…his many jobs. 

But you’re no good at letting go.

You hear the sound of the key card scanning and the door opens with Chris, dressed in a black henley and dark jeans, his hair as fluffy as air-drying makes it. He smiles to find you sitting on the bed, hands clasped in your lap. He offers you one of the two to-go cups.

“Morning,” he says as you take it, dropping his head to kiss you softly. 

“Good morning.”

He tilts his head toward the large window and seating area. “Come.” Your hand finds his as you walk over to sit on the couch, looking out at the waking city. 

“What did you get?” you ask, gesturing to his cup. “Since you don’t like coffee.”

“Tea…I need something this morning,” he replies, shooting you a wink. The reference to last night’s activities and their endurance normally would embarrass you, heat your skin and cause you to drop your gaze from him, but you stare at his profile as he looks out the window, your mind full of saying goodbye. He takes the lid off his cup and blows on it. He glances at his watch. 

You wonder if he’s as hyper-aware of the dwindling minutes as you are. 

“Do you have a break before your next job? Or is it all work, no play?”

He half-grins, looking over at you. “Do you really want to know?”

He’s got you there. 

“Do you get enough time off?”

“I do. If I don’t, my friends make sure I do.”

“They sound lovely.”

“They can be.” He sets down his tea, leans toward you. “You good this morning?”

“Of course.” 

“I thought of waking you when I woke up, but I figured you needed your sleep?” He rests his hand on your knee, much like the first night, but so different from the first night. “I’m sorry we can’t–” He tilts his head to the side in apology, his silence filling in the rest of the sentence. 

“Having coffee…or tea with you in the morning for a few minutes is really nice.” You don’t know if you can explain to him how much of the non-sex parts of this weekend were as meaningful and special as the rest. Is that appropriate when so much of his job is sex?

His hand molds to your knee. “Yeah, it is.” You can feel his gaze as you sip your coffee, doctored like you like, which means he paid attention yesterday at the diner. 

Of course he did.

“Chris…” you begin, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.”

He waits until you meet his eyes before nodding. “You’re welcome.” He takes your cup from you, setting it on the table and cups your cheek in his hand. “You’re very welcome.” 

You try not to lean into his kiss too much. You try to memorize how he feels, tastes, smells; to tuck it away in your memory bank like an old photo album that you can look through from time to time. You savor for as long as it lasts. 

“So…is there a place that I go to, like Yelp, and leave a good review?” you murmur when he draws back.

You get his laughter, the bright sound of it, the image of shaking shoulders and eye-crinkles. Something else to add to that album.  

“I think the company does contact you with a survey.” His eyes sparkle when he looks at you, before he reaches for his tea. 

“It’ll be glowing.”

He shakes his head, amused and maybe a little embarrassed. That rosy hue highlights his cheeks and twists your heart in ways you don’t want to think about. He is the most devastating man. 

It’s quiet for a few, you sipping your coffee, him his tea. Then you hear him check his watch when something beeps. 

Seven am.

“You have to go,” you say before he can. He glances up from his watch, looking at you. You smile, probably tinged with sadness, but it’s a real smile at least. “Be safe.”

He doesn’t move as you do, to stand up. To walk him to the door and bid him goodbye. You walk to the bed, unmade and haphazard. You zip up his bag as you hear his footsteps follow. He’s very close when you hold out his bag. 

He takes it, but lets it drop to the floor before pulling you into his arms. He’d be a good hugger too, of course. You hug back, hands splayed against the breadth of his back, the ribbed henley scratching your fingers lightly. 

“You be good to yourself, okay?” he whispers in your ear. He draws back only a little. “Say a nice thing about yourself every once and awhile.”

You look up at him as he traces his finger along your eyebrows and nose, seeming to take you in. 

“You too.” 

He smiles at you, kissing your nose then your lips. You let go and he grabs his bag. He pauses at the door, looking back at you, then nods before opening the door and disappearing through it. 

You let yourself fall back on the bed the moment the door shuts. You don’t think you’ll be able to move for a while.

--

© yoongihan 2025. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans. 

[dj-of-the-coven]

To the leftist and anarchist Jews of Tumblr -- shalom!

My name is Rivkah (aka DJ) and I work at an anarchist bookstore collective. Since the beginning of the Israel-Hamas war in '23, I've watched as the welcoming center for humanist resources that I worked so hard to maintain became more and more infested with antisemitism--because of and in spite of people's honest attempts to be good allies to the populations of the Gaza strip and West Bank. There's been antisemitism mixed in with everyone's humanitarian rhetoric since the beginning. I knew this, as every Jew did, and it wasn't easy remaining silent about it. I was doing so in order to let the voices of the most affected people speak first, expecting that once the shock wore off, we'd have more of a national discussion about how to care for Palestinians and Israelis as well as Jews in the diaspora, shifting the conversation towards a 2-state solution, more conscious efforts to de-radicalize antisemitic and islamophobic extremists, and peace between the multiple indigenous populations of the Levant. Well. Needless to say, this was rather optimistic thinking.

A few months ago, someone in the collective crossed a line. A book appeared on our sale table entitled "The Invention of the Jewish People" by Shlomo Sand. I doubt that I need to elaborate what this is to the population of Jumblr.

After this happened, I confronted the collective about this spike in antisemitic sentiment--the deliberate spreading of Khazar theory was simply too much for me to bear--and to my horror it was also revealed that we had no literature on contemporary Jewish issues aside from books on Palestine. I snapped. In the wake of this incident, I began a project of intensive research on the history of antisemitism and the ways it infiltrates leftist rhetoric and breaks up social justice movements. What I found left me surer than ever that something needs to be done about antisemitism in leftism and anarchy before it's too late; before more innocent people are killed by ignorance and misguided justice.

I'm taking a great risk by making this request on my main blog, but I'm doing this anyway, because I want to make it clear to people that wanting peace is not a "centrist" opinion. I am an anarchist. I am a punk. And I am a Jew who believes that a 2-state solution where everyone is safe is possible. We're not going to get a perfect socialist utopia out of the region any time soon, but two democracies are better than none.

Why should any of this matter to you? Well, I have something to ask of any parties that are interested.

I'm planning to give a presentation to the collective about antisemitism and how to recognize it within themselves and their activism, and to this end I've already done a massive amount of research, but nothing is complete without qualitative data. If you have anything to say to goyische leftists about what to change rhetorically in order to reach a more egalitarian future, I want to hear about it. Feel free to add your comments in the notes or in my asks. I will be accepting stories of antisemitism that have happened to you as well, if you're willing to share.

Thank you all for reading and I hope to hear from you soon!

Antisemites will be blocked on sight. Islamophobes will be blocked on sight.

[kyreniacommentator]

President Ersin Tatar holds meeting with UK Parliamentarians

[mllemaenad]

Okay, no, actually I am angry about the Tranquil, or rather their absence, in Veilguard.

We start here, in Origins, with the simple fact that these people are left behind in every crisis. Yes, all the mages have also been locked in the Circle by the templars (because seriously: fuck the templars), but as you climb the tower you find that many of the mages are proactively dealing with this situation. But even they have simply left the Tranquil where they found them.

Roll forward to Dragon Age 2, and you find that, while the proposed "Tranquil Solution" has been officially rejected by Divine Justinia, it also becomes apparent that Meredith is doling out Tranquility as a punishment for things like "passing notes". It's played out through a lot of environmental storytelling: you watch the mages in the Gallows Courtyard be replaced by more and more Tranquil as the Acts go on, and you hear those Tranquil report being beaten and abused, just as much as the other mages. This is really happening, and the fact that it's not an officially sanctioned atrocity is hardly comforting.

Then to Inquisition, where we find that the Tranquil have once again been forgotten and left behind – neither the mage rebellion nor the Inquisition collect all that many. Rather, we find that quite a lot of them have been kidnapped by the Venatori and ritually murdered to make magic seeing skulls. We also have a companion character, Cassandra, grappling with the discovery that she herself is a former Tranquil, and that her order has used this rite for millennia – and always known how to fix it. And on top of that, we have Tranquil characters grappling with the possibility of a cure, and whether or not they would take it.

If you include the supplementary material, you get the plot of Asunder, which spends a lot of time on Circle culture: the fact that it is normal for mages to simply disappear, and you may never know if they were killed, made Tranquil or just transferred. They view the Tranquil with horror because they symbolise the constant peril in which every mage lives. The templars can do anything to you, and no one will even ask about it. We have a whole story about the brutal lengths to which the Seekers are willing to go to stop the cure for Tranquility from getting out.

There's also Pharamond, a former Tranquil who provides the most detailed – and horrifying – description of the experience we have, and who would prefer to die than be returned to that state. And another Tranquil woman, who is unnamed and unknown, but who at multiple points in the narrative provides as much information as she can to the protagonist and his allies as they attempt to fight back.

Over and over this is depicted as a means for the powerful to control the powerless, as torture dressed up as mercy, as a deeply damaging and peculiar thing which is not well understood, but which has nevertheless been used liberally throughout history.

And then we get to Veilguard. And the big fucking reveal is that the ancient elven kings, the evanuris, used this on the titans, the shapers of the world ... and that this is one of the big reasons Thedas is kind of messed up. Which ... sounds important! But honestly, you barely need to even think about it. The consequences of this are confined largely to Harding's personal quest, and even that really only addresses ... whether she, personally, should be mad about it?

They don't even bother to use the word when they talk about it.

The artbook uses it: it specifically says that Solas rendered the titans tranquil, but the artbook apparently cares about a bunch of things Veilguard itself does not.

The takeaway from this discussion, unbelievably, is "the darkspawn aren't people" (yes they fucking are), and then we can hop right back to talking about "the gods" as like ... the ultimate Batman villain, or something.

We go all the way through this exploration of power and abuse, and the end result is "Actually, they aren't people. If they were, killing them might be bad! So they're not! Let's keep killing them!" And yes, they apply this logic to the blight, but the blight is part of a Tranquil titan. We literally just uncovered this.

Not one Tranquil, current or former, is present to object to any of this. Not one little bit do we care about what happened to any surviving Tranquil from the previous games. We do not care at all about the outcome of the mage rebellion in the south. We do not care if the Venatori still think Tranquil make great magic skulls. We do not care about them at all.

The more I look at the older material, the more upsetting I find Veilguard. It feels like ... oh, you know when someone has attempted to "restore" an ancient mosaic or a Renaissance painting, but they don't know what they're doing, so they've messed it all up? It feels like that.

Because we went through all that, and in the end Veilguard forcibly puts you on team "the Tranquil aren't people".

[diz-eaze]

Brainrotting about the two types of yanderes there are.

Type 1 :I want a future with you, you're my everything, my world. If you get harmed my heart will blow in a thousand pieces from how much it hurts seeing you sad

Type 2 : horny. THATS IT.

And ofc we can have a mix of them but 90% of the time it's one of these 2 categories.

Also who do u think will fall in what category?🌚 cause I feel like albedo would be a mix, Neuvi would be first and I think we all know what category scara is. But like...what abt ifa?? Or kinich? OR LIKE ANY OTHER CHATACTER?? I'm honestly really curious abt how u portray them

i would argue that type 1 and type 2 are one and the same, but it's also fun to think of it as two completely separate genres <3

; yandere.

Type 1: "our hearts are one and the same, beats synchronized. i yearn for you with every breath i take, and my breath shortens when you part from me. i could recall each pore of your face from memory reliance alone. there is no future if there is no you. i exist solely to love you." core.

albedo. the lengths he went through for his own synthetic human project, paired with his extraordinary capabilities as an alchemist, concocts the perfect mixture of a man willing to do anything he can to ensure that the future he envisions of you and him comes true. there is literally no limit for him; his morals may become skewed, his actions be condemned, and his name be tainted in scorn, all that matters is acquiring and preserving your love.

shenhe. her dissonance from humans while growing up has caused her to be quite stunted and lacking in meaningful connections, which makes her attachment to you all the more deadly. the world is rendered useless the moment you cease to exist.

ei. have you seen her pursuit of eternity? granted, the cruel actions are more accredited to the shogun, but it doesn't erase ei's involvement in it. i believe that she would covet you in her plane of euthymia; hidden from the world and only existing for her pair of eyes.

neuvillette. it's already been discussed in a previous post, but <333 soggy pathetic man who's just as intimidating when provoked. yes, scrumptious.

arlecchino. the entire way she treats the house of the hearth would be reminiscent of how she treats you, i think. her actions may seem ruthless and unfeeling at first glance, and you'll only see the sacrifices she has made for you when her actions are willingly uncovered. as much as she likes the mystery around her person, she much prefers you knowing the amount of love she has for you.

kinich. his tragic childhood of his parents' relationship would serve as a cautionary tale for kinich the moment he pursues you. his devotion and obsession, as well as him trying to be everything his father was not, result in quite a... passionate lover in him.

ifa. he's a coddler and undoubtedly gets his feathers ruffled every time you venture out without him, his knowledge, or cacucu to accompany you. you're no saurian, yet you can't help but feel like one the moment ifa obsessively checks over your entire body and runs multiple tests for possible injuries as soon as you get back.

kaeya. despite his multiple connections to people scattered around mondstadt city, i believe that deep down, he feels rather lonely. he finds that long-awaited companionship in you, and sticks with you since. he is half of you, and you are half of him <3 :)

kazuha. life as a vagrant leads him to places that he yearns to share with only you. kazuha exists in a constant state of bliss whenever he's around you, so he tries to get you to stick around as much as possible. oh, you don't fancy the traveling lifestyle? that's okay :)) he'll guide you through it all.

wriothesley. killing his adoptive parents during his youth is only the tip of the iceberg that comes with wriothesley's mind. that is to say, he's very capable of committing murder a second time, thrice, if he believes this to be the solution to his problems.

chasca. you are the only thing that ails her abyss-corroded body and mind, so her protectiveness over you propels over the scale of what is deemed as 'acceptable'. after all, despite her title as peacemaker, chasca often settles conflicts through violence.

skirk. i can't really delve into why since it's minor leaked content, but just know she's a lovergirl through and through <3

pantalone. his impoverished lifestyle has led him to strictly covet what he deems as his, and you are no exception. the cruel life out there in the streets has taught him some of the most valuable lessons that he lives by; it causes him to wear selfishness like a second skin, firmly unrelenting in letting you go.

Type 2: gooner supreme.

xiao. his karmic debt caused him constant agony and pain, so when this was calmed, only then was xiao introduced to the world of gooning. it's like a repressed virgin finally letting loose with how he perceives all your innocuous actions to be the devil's incarnate. smh. let him hit it from behind pls.

alhaitham. he goons only when he's 1000% sure that there is no living person in his vicinity. it's a matter of pride; he can't have anyone, absolutely anyone, knowing that he gooned off to the book you just returned to the library.

emilie. it's mostly personal bias speaking, but emilie is enough of a gooner to think about your underwear while she cleans a morbid crime scene. i'm will always be a firm believer that she's crazily obsessed with your body scent and the smell you leave behind on worn clothes. it's better than the perfume she makes in her opinion.

chiori. perveted seamstress who accidentally gets too close to you for comfort while she measures out your size and proportions... yeah, okay... fortunately, she's always wearing such a nonchalant facial expression that it's impossible to tell if she's lying or not, allowing her to slip through confrontations with ease.

dahlia. world's worst deacon by the way because he prays to barbatos nightly for the wind to mysteriously tear your clothes apart during church :/// and when it happens, let's just say he now suddenly owes several tavern tabs to his name because of a bard named venti.

yae. scheming is her middle name. oh! looks like the stack of books she was carrying accidentally fell, won't you be a dear and pick it up for her?? :)) no, she's not looking at your ass, what are you talking about? by the way, she needs you to taste test this promotional dish in the works, and don't worry if you suddenly feel hot!

columbina. my goonerbina agenda.... she's the type of gooner to sweetly ask you to hold up your top so she can grope your skin with absolutely no shame whatsoever. why should she? it's not her fault you're so irresistible, you know? :((

wanderer. the gooner overlord... literally goons over everything you do, it's a miracle how he can get an ounce of work done whenever you go to the house of daena to study. he'll snatch your quill and goon over it. he'll get a whiff of your hair and excuse himself to goon. he sees you're his partner for the upcoming research study and needs to goon. goon goon goon.

xilonen. subtle gooner because she's employed and people rarely accuse the working class of being gooners. but she is :) she'll voice record you in secret when you come to check up on her within the workshop, and every little sigh or sound you make gets clipped together to form a special radiant spincrystal, all for her to listen to.

childe. he's like a horny mosquito because he gets off on the sight of you being bloody or all beat up, the blood doesn't necessarily have to be yours to begin with; violence just fits you so well, that's all. so don't be surprised when you see him sporting a hard-on mid-spar, okay...?

lumine. she goons after helping you with a menial task. she'd usually be bothered when randos come up to her with commission requests of the dumbest things, but when it comes to you, you could tell her to hop around in circles, and she'd do it a hundred times over, all in the hopes that you'll let her hit it one day. day 1 plotter i fear.

[yexthiccxa]

Secrets of the Second Shift - (Part 1)

summary: By day, you are a strong, independent, and dominating force at a successful tech company. By night, you live a second life as an escort at Blinded Bliss, a high-end hostess club. Here you relinquish every ounce of control you hold during the day. It isn’t about the money—you don’t need it. You’re there because you crave freedom of letting go. But when you meet a mysterious client leaves you wanting more, you discover his hidden life might be more similar to yours than you think.

wordcount: 4.7k

full fic c/w: choso smut, choso/fem!reader, choso/oc, modern!au, some plot, plot what plot, porn with plot, gentleman!choso, soft!choso, praise kink, blindfold sex, oral, fingering, vaginal sex, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms

Tumblr Master List | Read this chapter on AO3!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

This week has been long, the type of week where minutes feel like hours and hours feel like days. It’s thirty minutes to five and each tick of the second hand feels like it’s crawling to meet the finish line. Thankfully it’s Friday—the one day a week where you can let loose and finally feel free.

The thought of this type of bliss only brings forth anticipation, but before you can even think of turning off for the week, an email hits your inbox and your stomach drops.

Subject: Acquisition Notice - Zenin Tech & CurseCore Solutions 

It’s from Naoya Zenin, your manager—charismatic enough to climb the corporate ladder, but smothered with an ego that thrives on undermining the women around him. You click on the email with disdain written all over your face.

As you may have heard, Zenin Tech Inc. has successfully acquired CurseCore Solutions. Their team will be joining ours, and we will be having a team meeting to discuss logistics and the integration of both companies first thing Monday morning. Please be prepared for the transition and be ready to contribute to the planning process. I expect full cooperation from everyone.

You read it again, trying to process the information but the words blur your mind. You knew this acquisition was going to happen, but not this soon—just weeks before your promotion. This was supposed to be your moment, but knowing the financial state of the company, this would push the review cycle and send everything into chaos.

Your heart sinks as the frustration rises within you. Naoya’s name alone sends a ripple of irritation through your veins. It’s no secret that he never plays fair. But this, this is personal. Your promotion was in the bag, and now? Now it’ll be anyone’s game, and you’re not willing to let that go.

The anger boils over, and before you can talk yourself down, you're already standing in front of Naoya’s office door. Your fist knocks sharply against the wood, and you don’t even wait for a response before you enter.

Naoya doesn’t look up from his desk as you storm in, his eyes still glued to the screen. His usual self-satisfied smirk is plastered on his face.

“You have 2 minutes. I’m about to pack up,” he states—voice laced with annoyance as he finally glances up.

“This is going to mess with everything and you know it” you snap, unable to hold back the frustration anymore. “I’ve spent months in this uphill battle with you trying to build this product and this entire team with the shitshow that you handed me. And now we’ll have to bring on all these people who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing?”

Naoya’s gaze turns cold, and he leans back in his chair with the casual arrogance that makes you want to slap him. “What can I say, the company came with a great manager and his team was the deal breaker. It’s just business.”

My jaw dropped to the floor. No words could describe the rage that coursed through me.

“If you’re as good as you think you are, your promotion will still come through. If you think CurseCore’s manager is a threat, then maybe you should reevaluate,” Naoya sneered.

You narrow your eyes, knowing this is just another attempt to reclaim his power. The words linger in the air between you, unspoken but clear: try all you want, a woman like you could never reach the top.

You force a smile, tight-lipped and brittle. "We'll see about that, Naoya."

With that, you turn on your heel and leave, your mind racing. This felt like you were climbing a slippery slope, but you’ve worked too hard to let him win. Determination fills your heart and you’ll do whatever it takes to secure your place.

As soon as you step out of the office, you close your eyes for a moment, drawing a slow, deep breath to center yourself. The anger you feel from the encounter with Naoya is just a shadow, fleeting and unimportant. You can’t afford to let it control you. Life working at Zenin Tech was only half the battle. The other half outside of work is a whole other story.

As you pack up your belongings and make your way to the car, you feel your shoulders lighten and the furrow between your brows soften.

Outside of the office, you’re not the sharp, dominating force who claws her way through Zenin Tech. Instead you’re the woman who offers herself to the thrilling sensations that await you behind the platinum doors of Blinded Bliss—a high-end club where clients come to indulge in everything they can’t have in their daily lives. Here, your power comes from relinquishing control.

You could say Blinded Bliss is a hostess club, and you could call yourself an escort, but it doesn’t feel anything like that. You don’t do it for the money—thankfully Naoya pays you enough to keep you stable. What you truly do it for is the escape. For once in your life, it’s a space where you don’t have to fight for every inch of respect. You can just exist and bliss naturally follows—plus, getting paid a little extra never hurts.

You walk through the platinum doors and take comfort in the entryway’s soft curves and dim lighting. The transition in your demeanor is always a smooth one. The change of clothes, the makeup, the deliberate shift in posture. By day, you are calculated, efficient, in charge—but by night, you are dripping in sexual prowess.

Your manager, Satoru Gojo, meets you as soon as you walk in. His presence is immediately soothing, as always. If there’s anything Satoru knows how to do, it’s how to take care of his girls. 

“Ah, there she is—one of my favorites,” Satoru croons.

“You say that about all your girls,” you playfully chuckle.

Blinded Bliss may have started out as your typical hostess club, but Satoru has turned it into something that feels out of the norm. While client satisfaction at the club is important, your satisfaction is non-negotiable . No scrubs, no duds, only suitable matches allowed for each of the girls—otherwise they’re banned until a new recruit comes along who can match your style. After all, what else can you give a man who has all the money in the world? Apparently nothing, except the satisfaction of knowing how and who will pleasure his girls.

"Big night," Satoru says, his eyes sparkling behind his signature blindfold. "We’ve got high rollers on the client list, and I’ll be handling your sales personally this time around.”

You smile, the tension in your chest loosening.

Typically everyone switches off when it comes to sales negotiations and matching clients—one girl acts as the sales assistant, while the other presents herself in the hot seat. When a deal is made the sales assistant may step away.

It’s always nice when Satoru’s in charge. His easy confidence makes you feel like you can just relax and let everything else fade away. The world of Zenin Tech, the pressure of the job, the promotion—none of it matters here.

After getting ready, you head to your assigned room and Satoru greets you at the door, “Welcome my dear, your throne awaits.” He opens up to allow you in first and follows shortly behind you.

The room is large enough to house various drawers, a vanity desk and cloud cushioned loveseat, but still small enough to feel cozy and intimate. The walls are dark with leather clad panels that bounce off waves of diffused lighting (and provide excellent soundproofing). One end of the room features a mirror that practically spans the entire wall. The other has a bed, the hot seat , with a canopy frame—which looks like it’s meant for decor, but is not-so-secretly meant for restraints.

You make your way to the bed and brush your fingers against the delicate blindfold you’ll wear for the night.

“New set?” you ask Satoru.

“Like I said, we’ve got some heavy hitters tonight—needed to do a little refresh. Plus this one is thicker so you can truly see what I see—or rather don’t see.” Satoru’s words feel like velvet. 

He picks up the black cloth and ties to cover your eyes. Your view instantly turns black and you feel your mouth tug into a slight grin.

The warmth of his breath hovers over your neck as he unties your robe, revealing your supple breasts and smooth curves. Satoru gently slips it off your shoulders and your nipples begin to harden—whether it be from straight arousal or the cool air surrounding you, you’re unsure.

“Tonight, just focus on how you feel ,” he whispers. “...and let me handle the rest.” He kisses your forehead and directs you to the edge of bed.

You’ve done this dance with Satoru countless times, but each time, the sense of anticipation still rushes through you. All you have to do now is wait.

Satoru makes his way to the seat of the vanity desk to your left and you hear his muffled voice speak into his mic, “Let’s begin.”

✦✧✸✧✦

The sound of a creaking door filling the room and heavy footsteps settling in lets you know that bids have started. You can sense each client’s presence, their eyes on you—evaluating, appraising—despite the blindfold shielding you from their gaze.

Normally, the thought might unnerve you, but here in this room, a sense of calm washes over you. Though he may sit silently, you know Satoru is doing the exact same thing to them. He’s been with enough women and men to know what constitutes the best of the best.

He tells you when someone is particularly interested, but none of them have what he’s looking for. Not yet. There is occasional back and forth questioning, but he ultimately rejects the first few—his commentary light but cutting.

“Pass. Too boring.”

“Too aggressive.”

“Nope—aura’s all wrong for you.”

“Could use a little work—visually.”

Finally, the door opens with a slight creak, and a new presence fills the room. The energy is different this time—sharp, commanding, but strangely composed. 

“Hmm.” Was that Satoru’s hum of approval? Intrigue? Or Both? 

The silence shifts as you feel someone approaching.

“Haven’t seen you around town,” Satoru starts. “Passing by?”

You hear a male’s voice, his tone is low and rich. “No, I’m new—just moved here for work.”

“Welcome, we’re so delighted to see you here tonight. What do you do for work?”

“I work in tech—you can say I always keep busy. But while I’d love to chat, I seem to be a bit distracted. I think we have more important things to focus on." You’re still seeing black, but you sense him shifting his gaze. "Like the gorgeous woman who’s in front of us.”

He makes his way towards you. His footsteps are deliberate, and before you can register the sudden tension, you feel him pause. “May I?”

Typically clients direct their questions to Satoru, but you feel the rumble of his voice flow straight to you.

You tilt your chin upwards to signal your agreement, exposing the area between your neck and collarbone. 

As you feel the man motion towards you, Satoru interjects, “Above the waist only—below will cost you.”

Your senses tell you that his focus never wavers. Despite the cover over your eyes you feel the heat of his gaze burn right through you.

His voice is tender, but resolute, “Oh no worries, I have every intention of following through, but first…”

Goosebumps crawl across your skin as you feel his breath nearing. But to your surprise, you feel his hand gently take yours. His grip is comforting and steady. He runs his thumb gently across your knuckles before pausing directly on the three delicate stars tattooed between your thumb and pointer finger—a reminder that no matter what path you’ve chosen, the stars will always align for you.

His lips press a delicate, respectful kiss into your skin. “Such a pleasure to meet you today,” his voice is low, but clear.

There’s something about him—something both powerful and unnervingly calm—that makes you shiver. Even Satoru seems to pause for a moment, his usual playful demeanor slipping just enough to notice the shift.

This is no ordinary client.

“Love, why don’t we give the man a taste?” Satoru’s cue to move to the next phase.

“Gladly,” you purr as a devious smile sweeps across your face.

You feel the mystery man kneel down towards your center. The thought immediately tightens your core, causing yourself to drip with desire, but you stop him just short of his destination.

Your hands meet his hair, but you notice that your fingers are blocked from running them through. You feel one…no—two, hair ties around his hair and gently guide him up until your breaths mingle and your foreheads touch. “No need to rush, we’ll have all the time in the world for that.”

“Forgive me,” he apologizes. His words are not guarded, accepting of the fact that good things come to those who wait.

The man’s head nudges as the sound of Satoru scraping his seat across the room fills the quiet air.

“Take a seat and you can have a taste. Play your cards right and you’ll get your fill.” Satoru directed to the man, his tone slightly edged with menace. Satoru takes a spot next to you at the edge of the bed and it’s your cue to open your legs.

You scoot back just enough to have your heels rest on the edge and knees bent above—giving the man a full display of all you have to offer.

“Such a pretty little pussy you have there,” the man murmurs—each word sending a wave of ecstasy to your folds.

You tilt your head slightly towards Satoru to signal that you’re ready. Within milliseconds you feel Satoru’s slender fingers swipe the pool of liquid resting on your flesh and bring it towards your clit. The initial shock sends chills, but the sensation is hot to your core.

A quiet moan escapes as he circles the sensitive area of your body. Without a second thought, you take your hand, the one still warm from the mystery man’s kiss, and gently slide two fingers in and out of your entrance—perfectly matching Satoru’s pace. You two have mastered this song and dance. Countless attempts with only a handful of successes.

Your breath becomes shallow and hurried while your insides begin to coil. Heat builds from within and each touch gets you closer and closer to your peak.

Your craving for desire causes your naughty inner thoughts to leave your mouth, “Satoru I love when you touch me like that.”

Satoru loves this tactic because it makes or breaks each man who comes through this room. He lives to prey on each client's unique mix of power or vulnerability. Do they become impatient, possessive, and retaliate? Uncomfortable, uneasy, and eventually break? Or do they simply remain secure and patient knowing that whatever Satoru does to pleasure you, they can do it ten times better?

When you hear the subtle thud of the man leaning onto the back rest of his seat, you know you have a winner.

Silence fills the room as he watches—eyes locking onto each stroke. His hums echo your moans every time he sees the wetness cling to your fingers. You could feel him studying every bit of you—the way your star tattoos flex with every pulse, the way your pussy twitches when Satoru strokes your clit. Your yearning for lust only leaves him wanting more.

“I could watch you do this all day,” his voice carries a smoky edge.

You feel a steady pull in the air, the energy swirling between the two of you. Without a word, Satoru yields, his approval evident in the subtle lift of his hands. You follow his lead, lift your own and gesture to the man in front of you. Are you ready to have a taste? You don't need to speak—he's been waiting for this since the moment he set his sights on you.

Despite your lack of vision, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric and his steady breathing draws closer. Finally, the warmth of his mouth closes around your fingers, sucking every last bit until he’s satiated. “You truly do taste as good as you look” he praised.

You smile and sense Satoru’s nod of approval. The air is cool around you as he lifts himself off the bed and makes his way to the door. “Enjoy,” he croons as he departs from the room.

The door clicks and you realize you two are finally left alone. 

As he releases the hold from his lips, the man moves towards you. You feel the warmth of his body guide your back onto the bed. The faint scent of his cologne—spiced and earthy—fills your lungs, grounding you even as your heart races. You can almost feel the weight of his gaze on you, dragging across your skin like a whisper. The intensity sends a shiver down your spine and an ache between your thighs.

“Does he always make you feel that good?” the man asks. His teasing tone suggests that he already knows the answer.

You feel your brows lift and get ready to challenge, “Think you can do better—”

Before you can finish your thought, you feel his grip secure your waist and his lips press against your neck. The instant heat that floods through you tells you everything you need to know.

As the initial shock settles, he kisses his way down to your collarbone while his hands slide towards your folds. His hands are strong, and his fingers are thick. Even the slightest swipe causes you to whimper.

He slowly glides two fingers into your entrance, filling every crevice with erotic delight. The feeling curls through your stomach and radiates to the tip of your toes. If his hands could make you feel this way, there's no telling what other parts of him could do.

You’ve felt the touch of many men but something tells you that this one is not like the others. His touch is commanding, yet not aggressive. His cadence is gentle yet still purposeful. It’s as if he’s giving his everything, but with only your pleasure in mind and asking for nothing in return.

“Oh fuck, yes, ” you moan loudly—grateful for the sound proofed walls. You ride his fingers in hopes of him going deeper.

“You’re so fucking wet. Do you like it when I do this to your pussy?” The timbre of his voice vibrates through you.

Your lips part, but no words come out—they’re caught in the tension coiled tight between you. All you can do is let your touch roam his body. His arms were honed to perfection, his chest solid and firm, his abs defined and sculpted, all reflecting the build of a mythical god. You don’t need to see him to visualize this beautiful man and all the filthy things he could do to you.

The silence draws a chuckle from him—soft, rich, and entirely too confident . How could he not be? Every move left you speechless.

“No words? I’ll take that as a yes.”

His rhythm doesn’t cease, but you feel his warmth drift away, gradually moving towards the lower half of your body.

“If you enjoy that, I have a feeling you’ll love this even more.”

He situates himself right in between your legs, planting kisses on the insides of your thighs. As he works his way towards the center you feel your body climb to its peak.

The first touch of his lips sucking against your clit immediately sends your body into euphoria. From there, his tongue and hands work in tandem to pleasure you in ways you didn’t know you could comprehend. His mouth is wet and warm—mixing with your fluids to effortlessly slide his fingers inside and out. Each stroke builds upon the last, until you're on the brink of eruption. 

Your back arches, causing you to grab hold of the ties on his hair, momentarily pinning him as close as you can get him. You continue to savor the pleasure by grinding against his tongue. “Fuck, that feels so good. I’m so close,” you cry in delight.

The grip your thighs have on him grows tighter by the second, but he lifts his head just enough to whisper into you, “Yes that’s it. Louder. Let me know how much you need it.”

His words spark a fire and immediately send you into a spiral. Your moans intensify, growing louder, more insistent and raw.

“Oh yes, don’t stop—F-fuck, don’t stop.”  

In a final crash—the tides of ecstasy flow through you as you come undone and lose control. You feel your entire body shudder as he slips himself in for one last time. His tongue keeps moving but his strokes pause so he can feel your inner walls pulsate against his fingers. Your thighs clench around him as you let out a symphony of pleasure. 

When you release him from your hold, he kisses his way back up your body—ending his trail with a kiss that claims your lips with undeniable authority. He pulls away—you get the feeling that he’s trying to get a good look at you, but you grip his collar and bring him back to echo your claim. 

Your tongue travels through his mouth, allowing you to taste the subtle notes yourself coming undone. He catches a nibble of your lip while he grabs your ass. Instantly, you melt. The ache between your legs returns and it longs to be filled. You do everything you can to strip him down until you can feel his length graze your skin.

In all your time at Blinded Bliss, you’ve never cared to see or get to know your clients. Usually the blindfold comes off at their request, never yours. But today, you want this man—no, need this man. At this point, there’s not a single ounce of decency or control left in your brain. All that’s left is your body’s desire to test the limits and see who this man is and how good he can make you feel.

Between the tumbling to undress and the ravenous kissing, you momentarily break the connection between your lips. His breath felt hot as you both lingered for a moment.

Instinctively you asked, “Am I able to see the man who’s been keeping me in the dark or will all of this remain a mystery? 

“Hmm, someone is becoming a bit hasty, I see,” he teases—placing one more delicate kiss onto your lips. “Personally, I enjoy anonymity,” he whispers—fingers traveling back down to your slit. He buries his head into your neck before returning his exploration of your mouth with his tongue.

“Are you scared I won’t like what I see?” You smirk.

He pauses, deliberately sliding the trickle from your center onto your clit—echoing Satoru’s move from earlier that drove you crazy. “On the contrary, I think you might like it a little too much —or so I’ve been told.” his tone laced with a low, modest confidence.

Between the rumble in his voice and his movements on your clit. This man sends you in a complete frenzy. 

“But that’s not the point,” He continues. “Keeping it like this means no pressure. No attachments. No strings. Just us in the moment–and this .” He plunges two broad fingers deep inside you, stretching you from the inside.

You try to speak but your words come out breathless. “For the record, I’ve come across many individuals with bold claims. I can assure you that you don’t have to worry about me getting attached.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about you—I’m worried about me.”

Butterflies in your stomach form, keeping you irresistibly drawn to him. Though he remains unseen, you feel the prolonged connection of his gaze.

He finally moves to position himself to your side. You feel him pull away as if he’s extending his reach, unfazed as the tip of his flesh grazes across your thigh.

No stay, please. You whimper as the needy thought crosses your mind. You’ve become addicted to his touch and will do anything to keep him close. Little do you know, he has the same idea.

The distinct crinkle of a condom wrapper fills the room as it falls to the floor. Moments later his warm touch lands on your knees, gently guiding your legs further apart until he can fit in between them. You feel him tease your entrance and instantly begin to gush.

The shock turns your whimpers into moans. “Fuck, please—” you plead, shifting your hips to show him just how much you crave him.

“For someone so eager to see what's going on, something tells me you’re enjoying the suspense a lot more” he quips.

His remark leaves you speechless, but so impeccably turned on.

“Do you want me to fill you with this dick?” He growls.

“Yes—” you breathe. “Please—”

His dick enters you, causing a momentary flash of pain as you adjust to his size. You don’t know how big he is, but if his hands were any indicator, you know that this is only the beginning.

“God you’re so tight,” he grits as if he’s trying to hold back his own release.

He slowly slides into you and you can’t help but moan as your pussy takes him inch by inch.

“That’s my good girl, we’re almost there.” His grip on your waist tightens, making you feel safe as he draws closer to you.

There’s more? He’s already budging against your cervix and you don’t know if you can take the rest.

When the gap between you closes, you exhale—feeling completely filled by his shaft. Your body is searing with pleasure but you try to hold back the tension winding up inside of you.

He rhythmically thrusts himself into you, filling the air with nothing but the sound of your skin slapping against each other. He palms your breast, rubbing the knot of your nipple which causes you to release a cascade of shaky whimpers. You knew this was coming, but you weren’t prepared for the euphoria it would bring.

His breath becomes labored, but the way he glides in and out tells you that he’s enjoying himself. “Fuck—you feel so good. I can’t believe I get to fuck this pretty little pussy.”

Unraveling, there’s no other word for it. You’re starting to unravel and you can’t control yourself.

Without warning, you feel his other hand grab yours—moving it towards your mound. He keeps his hand over yours, resting his thumb gently over your tattoo. as he guides you to massage your clit. This definitely doesn’t stop you from coming undone, but at least he’s giving you back the sense of control you secretly yearn for.

“I’m so close, I think I’m gonna come,” you cry out.

“Show me how beautiful you look when you come,” he replies.

His vibrating timbre triggers your release. Once again a surge of pleasure washes over you, like a flood of light piercing through the darkness of your blindfold. Every nerve in your body seems to come alive, a warmth spreading from your core to your fingertips. 

“F—fuck yes, I’m coming!”

His breath is unsteady but his tone does not waver, “Come for me.”

You feel him jerk his hips for a final thrust until you both become a mess of pulsating flesh. Your insides are milking every last bit of him and he roars with desire. After fully draining himself into you, the weight of his body covers you—the firmness of his chest contrasting the softness of yours. The moment settles and you feel your breaths gradually syncing to a calm rhythm.

You both lay in silence until he finally lets out a deflated sigh. 

What was that—disappointment? Frustration? Regret? Your stomach turns, but not in a good way. “Is everything ok?” you ask.

He lets out a nervous chuckle—more a release of tension than humor. “So much for no strings,” he mutters, almost to himself. “This is gonna be harder than I thought and we've only just begun.” Hmm, attached so soon?

Clients getting attached isn’t new; in fact, it’s honestly great for business. You’ve heard this sentiment countless before. But this time, something feels different. For the first time, you’re scared you might agree.

[revvethasmythh]

Oh man, you're right, if the gods are mortal on Exandria that means they are on the wrong side of the Divine Gate which actually makes it worse? That . . . Is a terrible solution but would be a fun campaign 4 world state?

"this is a terrible solution but would be a fun campaign 4 world state" is pretty much my mood LMAO. like, I don't know that we're actually solving anything??? I think ashton will be satisfied with the idea of "humbling the gods" or whatever by making them mortal, but making them mortal introduces and whole new suite of issues i don't think ANYONE is ready to unpack. from just fan discussions, it feels like there's some ambiguity to whether this solution intends that gods will be permanently mortal, but consecuted and continually reborn, or if they will live one lifetime and then return to divinity like they did in Downfall, but BOTH of those present their own problems. the whole pantheon, on earth, reincarnated like Kryn do, amassing power over lifetimes is insane. even just ONE lifetime is going to have incredible consequences on the world once they reach adulthood and realize who they are. what's stopping them from waging actual warfare on each other with armies?? they'll still hate each other and now have the ability to launch physical attacks that will drag other people into their fights AGAIN. Calamity 2: Electric Boogaloo, Mortal Warfare Edition. it presents A LOT of questions about how the betrayers will turn out wrt nature vs nurture, who gets the responsibility of raising them, etc., etc. it's a MESS, and if they DO become gods again upon their deaths, would they be on the other side of the divine gate afterward?? like, it feels like one way or another, the gods might be coming out from behind the divine gate, as either mortals or re-ascended divinity, which solves ????????????

Fun world state, though! can't deny that, lmfao

[komsomolka]

In 2010, the eastern Ukrainian and Russian-friendly Viktor Yanukovich won the presidential election. Shortly thereafter, Yanukovich enshrined Ukraine’s non-aligned status in law and thus putting an end to the NATO aspirations pursued by his predecessor. Framing Yanukovich as “pro-Russian” implies divisive bloc alignment when he in reality sought to cement Ukraine’s non-aligned status and was also negotiating an agreement with the EU without a zero-sum component. In November 2013, the EU offered the Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Area (DCFTA) to Ukraine and other former Soviet republics in what was a clear breach of the Common Spaces Agreement dedicated to harmonising integration initiatives to avoid new dividing lines. EU officials and representatives referred to the DCFTA to Ukraine as a “civilizational choice” between the West and Russia (Sherr, 2013: 2–3). [...]

The narrative presented to the media was that the EU’s Association Agreement was not a zero-sum initiative but a mere trade agreement. In reality, the agreement sought to redirect the Ukrainian economy from Russia to the West. Furthermore, the Association Agreement included military integration by committing Ukraine to “gradual convergence in the area of foreign and security policy, including the Common Security and Defence Policy” (European Union, 2013). This would disrupt Ukraine-Russian security cooperation and was likely a stepping stone towards NATO membership.

The EU’s civilizational choice imposed on Ukraine initially backfired as Kiev chose Russia as its closest and most important neighbour (Petro, 2013). The EU responded to Ukraine’s rejection of the Association Agreement by challenging the legitimacy of its government, which the media soon began to refer to as the “Yanukovich regime”.

European and American politicians encouraged the protests and riots, and blamed the instability on the government. Donald Tusk, the Polish Prime Minister who would later become the President of the European Council, called for the EU to channel 3 million Euros to “the development of citizens’ movements” to oppose President Yanukovich (Rettman, 2014). [...]

The US officially claimed it was working with all sides to reach a peaceful solution, although a leaked phone call between Victoria Nuland and Geoffrey Pyatt, the US Ambassador to Ukraine, revealed a plot to topple the Ukrainian government. The phone call, leaked two weeks before the coup, discussed making Arseny Yatsenyuk the Prime Minister and other details of the make-up of the future post-coup government. Nuland also outlined how the UN can be used to legitimise the process and “glue this thing together” (BBC, 2014a).

While Nuland handed out cookies to the protesters on Maidan, Senator John McCain also went to Kiev and expressed his full support to the anti-government protesters: “We are here to support your just cause… the destiny you seek lies in Europe”. McCain was uttering his solidarity as he stood next to the leader of the Svaboda party, Oleh Tyahnybok. Svaboda has previously been criticised by the European Parliament (2012) as “racist, anti-Semitic and xenophobic”, and the original name of the party was the Social National Party of Ukraine with a swastika as a logo. Tyahnybok has denounced “the Moscow-Jewish mafia ruling Ukraine” and “the Moskali, Germans, Kikes [Jews] and other scum who wanted to take away our Ukrainian state” (Whelan, 2013). Svaboda’s deputy chief, Ihor Miroshnychenko, similarly wrote about Mila Kunis: “Kunis is not Ukrainian, she is a Yid [Jew]. She is proud of it, so Star of David be with her” (Whelan, 2013). The fascists were nonetheless whitewashed as freedom fighters as they became a forceful ally against President Yanukovich and Russia. Furthermore, Russia’s concerns about the empowerment of fascist movements in Ukraine were repeatedly dismissed as Russian propaganda.

When protesters were shot on Maidan, the Western political-media establishment immediately and uncritically blamed the government and mounted pressure on Ukraine to pull back its security forces and for Yanukovich to step down from power. However, a leaked phone call between the EU foreign affairs chief Catherine Ashton and Estonian foreign minister Urmas Paet revealed that the EU leadership knew or suspected that the new leadership in Ukraine had ordered the shooting as a provocation. Paet stated that “there is a stronger and stronger understanding that behind snipers it was not Yanukovych, it was somebody from the new coalition” (MacAskill, 2014).

The Western media has largely ignored the investigations and trials of the Maidan massacre, which has resulted in findings that undermine the entire narrative of the government initiating the massacre. The majority of wounded protesters have testified that they were shot from the Maidan-controlled buildings, and the majority of killed protesters were also shot from the direction of Maidan-controlled areas. The trial also found that several protesters were shot before the special Berkut police unit was even deployed (Katchanovski, 2016, 2021) [...]

The coup was branded as a “democratic revolution” to bestow legitimacy and moral authority. However, President Yanukovich had been elected in a free and fair election according to the OSCE. In contrast, the Maidan protests did not enjoy democratic majority support from the Ukrainians and even less supported a coup (BBC, 2014). Furthermore, the coup in no uncertain terms breached the constitution of Ukraine. Although, British Foreign Minister, William Hague, deceived the British parliament by claiming that the overthrow of President Yanukovich had complied with the Ukrainian constitution (Morrison, 2014). [...]

The first decree by the new Parliament on 23 February 2014 was to call for repealing Russian as a regional language. At Kiev’s city council, there were large neo-nazi banners for white power, the American confederate flag, and the fascist Stepan Bandera (BBC, 2014). While the Party of Regions had been the largest political party from 2007 to 2014, it largely disappeared from the political map after Maidan. The Communist Party was similarly purged with accusations of treason for its benign posture towards Russia.

Russophobia: Propaganda in International Politics by Glenn Diesen.