#I did that without I reference might I add

[bora-panda]

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ Cozy Xiyao ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Drew this for mxtxtober day 14/15: modern and home

[emily-mooon]

Nancy Wheeler the shoujo manga protagonist you are what with your love triangle and everything about you my pookie <3

[mohnikei]

terrible lighting + bad quality photo but hey im back to drawing a bit thanks to puppy boy himself

[moonstruckme]

hi mae you mentioned new girl au asks and so i have arrived!

i've lived alone most of my adult life and while i'm content pretty much all of the time, there is a specific situation where i've wished i had roommates.

it's those days where i've fucked up at work or a friend is mad at me and I miss the bus and have to wait in the rain without an umbrella, and I get home to a completely empty and cold apartment and just start sobbing as soon as i get through the door. during those days i feel like the most pathetic girl in the world and really just wish i could text my roommates to make extra food or turn on a heated blanket or just like, offer a hug lol.

i would love to see how the marauders would react to their new roommate on a shitty day like that, if you feel like writing it <3

Thank you lovely <3

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s all you can do to make it inside. Your throat has been tight the entire last two blocks to your building; your eyes start to burn in the elevator, small puddles of rainwater forming beneath your shoes. By the time you’re fitting your key into the lock, you know you won’t make it to your room. You only hope that no one is home to witness your upset. 

Of course, with three flatmates who all have incredibly varying schedules, that is never the case. 

“Hey!” says James, not immediately visible but evidently having heard the door. “Do you wanna come say something to Mr. Palmer? We’re trying to make him believe in ghosts.” 

You look into his room as you pass by. James is lying stomach-down on his bed above a heating vent situated low in the wall. His smile is all mischievous anticipation. When he looks up at your approach, it falters. 

“You alright?” 

“Who’s Mr. Palmer?” you ask. 

“He’s…” James blinks, sitting up. “He lives below us. Hey, are you okay?” 

You shrug pathetically, pressing your lips together as your eyes burn even more furiously. You take a step back, retreating automatically to your room, but James frowns and opens his arms, beckoning you towards him. It’s too tempting an offer to pass up. 

“What happened?” he asks, rubbing your back. He hugs you like you’ve known each other for years, unreserved in his touching. “You’re soaked, babe.” 

You give a little laugh. “I know.” 

“Did you walk in the rain the whole way to your interview?” 

“I got kinda wet on the way there, then bombed it, then missed the bus coming home.” 

James makes a sympathetic noise. “Why didn’t you just get the tube? Or call one of us to come get you?” 

Your heart warms at the thought that one of your flatmates would have left the flat and taken their own public transportation just to bring you home. “My phone died.” 

“Oh.” James rubs your back again. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s tough luck.” 

You sniffle. You feel bad for crying into the shoulder of this boy who you really only met recently, but the hug actually is helping. You feel half as anxious as you had when you came in, though nothing really has changed. James must just give really good hugs. 

You look over your shoulder when you hear footsteps approaching. Like James, the impishness in Sirius’ expression dies when he sees you. “Good god.” He lowers the plastic recorder he’s carrying. “What happened to you? You’re soaked.” 

What is it with these boys and stating the obvious?

“I know,” you say, using the butt of your palm to wipe your face, “thanks.” 

“James, what’ve you done to her?”

“It wasn’t me!” James holds up his hands. “It was the weather. And the TfL.” 

“Well get the poor thing a towel!” Sirius tosses the recorder onto the bed, stalking from the room. “Christ, I have to do everything around here.” 

You eye the recorder. “Why did he bring…?” 

“We were trying to make Mr. Palmer think he’s hearing ghosts,” James explains. “Thought woodwinds might add to the effect. Do you want tea?” 

Tea, you’ve learned, is how your flatmates sometimes refer to dinner. Most of the time this sounds far preferable to you than the actual beverage. 

“I could eat,” you say. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t leave a trail of water from the door,” says Sirius, returning with a towel. “Here.” 

You take it, not keen on admitting how you wrung the moisture from the ends of your hair before entering the building. Too humiliating. 

You allow James to shepherd you into the kitchen, where Remus is busy with something on the stove. His brow creases with concern at the state of you. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“She missed the bus,” James explains succinctly. 

Remus frowns. “Oh, that’s shit. How did your interview go?” 

Your throat contracts all over again. You try to keep your mouth from wobbling. “Not very good,” you say quietly. 

“I’m sure it was better than you thought,” says James. 

Remus hums his agreement. “I’m making pasta. Would you like any?” 

“But I…” You clear your throat, trying not to seem too pathetic. “I didn’t pay for any of the groceries.” 

He tsks. “Don’t worry about that. Would you like some?” 

James nudges you towards a chair beside the one Sirius has already taken. “Um,” you hesitate, “sure, please. Thank you.” 

Sirius smirks. “And people say the English are overly polite.” 

You don’t speak much. You aren’t in a mood for talking, and Sirius and James do well enough to fill the silence anyways. They don’t seem to mind letting you mope, though after a while their chatter does lighten your mood some. They’re just so at home with each other, it’s difficult to be around them and not feel like you’re home too. 

“Thanks,” you murmur when Remus brings you a plate. 

He sets a hand on top of your head, a brief solace. “Don’t mention it.” 

The more familiar you become with English accents, the more distinct Remus’ sounds to you. You can hear it in his vowels sometimes, the way he says news or orange, the soft lilt when you try to help him in the kitchen and he tells you to sit down, love. You wonder if he’s from a different area than James and Sirius. You’ll have to ask him sometime. 

“Can I ask for something ridiculous?” you say. 

Sirius raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re always being some degree of ridiculous,” he drawls, in the sort of tone you’ve only recently learned to recognize as teasing, “so why stop now.” 

“Is it, like, treasonous to ask to have actual tea with your tea?” 

James looks delighted. “You want tea?” 

You squirm, oddly sheepish. “It sounds sort of comforting, I guess.” 

He hops up, kissing the top of your head enthusiastically as he goes for the kettle. “We’ll make a Brit out of you yet.” 

[twoshootsofvodka]

Where Roses Bloom, Love Shall Blossom

Nana x Male Reader

length: 18k words

tags: fluff, smut, creampie, little bit of ass-play, L-bomb

A/N: This is my first ever smut or even fanfic, and I know there is a lot of room to improve, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I may have used a few too many references/memes, so sorry in advance if it throws you off. It’s just kind of my style. I also self-inserted on occasion (like the whole premise of the story that came to me after watching this video), but I hope it’s not too disruptive. If you have any suggestions, critiques, or requests, my DMs and Asks are open. Other than that, happy birthday to Best Girl Nana, and thanks for reading or even sharing!

_______________________________________________________

[It's mid-April]

- We are all done, Sir! - Your makeup artist announces, after putting on the finishing touches.

- Thank you!

From the mirror in front, a more handsome version of you is staring back. He is the new favourite variety show host of the nation, who can make any of his guests laugh to tears, improvise in an instant when his partner slips up, and even outside set, is usually the heart of the party thanks to his easygoing and sensitive nature. He is the perfect media personality. So much so, that even you like to watch him from time to time.

But actually being him? It does get a bit overwhelming. The busy schedules, having to always be on your toes so you don't miss an opportunity to crack a joke, which is even harder, since you are still not completely fluent in Korean, and the constant smiling, even to guests you would rather not have. It's just a bit much. But obviously, you wouldn't change any of it. It’s a dream come true, really, getting to meet all these fantastic people in the industry.

- Is everything all right Sir?

The woman asks worriedly when she sees you lost in thought, fearing she messed something up.

- Of course! I'm just always surprised how you girls always manage to turn me actually handsome. I swear this isn't even a mirror, just a recording of me with filters on. You reply with a warm smile, waving her worries away.

- Hehe! Of course it's not Sir. And I didn't even add much makeup at all. Just a touch up really.

- In any way, you did a fantastic job. Thank you!

- Thank you Sir, and you're welcome.

You stand up, and read some news while you wait for further instructions. You haven't checked any of the previous episodes of this show, because you wanted to make your appearance authentic. You also wanted to figure out your partner during the chat, without narrowing the possibilities down.

The only prep you had to do was choosing a nickname (truly a gamer's worst nightmare), and getting a picture of yourself as a kid. It took mere hours to find a name that could lead your partner into guessing who you are without immediately giving it away, or even the fact that they are talking to a foreigner: The Little Prince.

After a bit, the director finally calls for you. As discussed, you put in the noise-cancelling earphones, queue up some of your latest favourite songs, and take a seat on the left side of the set. The playlist consists mostly of K-pop songs, since it's highly likely that your partner is an idol, and the songs might help you figure out their identity, if their song comes up at a good time.

They tell you to scan the QR code on the table in front of you, which opens the chat room. Your partner enters right after, and you read their name: Judy.

*First clue. They are most likely a girl. In which case, I should take the initiative.*

Having worked with over a hundred idols, you start to wonder whether you've met them already

Hello there!

ㅎㅎ Hello

*Second clue: probably doesn’t know prequel memes.*

Should we drop the honorifics?

Oh, so suddenly? Sure

*Third clue: presumably Korean.*

How are you?

I'm great! You?

Me too

*Maybe I should have prepared some questions at least. Not particularly in the mood to improvise.*

Thankfully you don't have to think much, as you see three little dots pop up, indicating that the person on the other end is typing.

I was wondering What's your favourite season?

You don't even need to think about this. Spring for sure Not even close

OMO Mine too The weather has been so nice lately

YES!!! And the colours And the smells And the bees And the birds I love it so much

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ I see I feel the same way I already think we will be good friends

I hope we will bee Sorry I had to sneak in at least one pun

Don't apologise for being funny!

Heh, thanks How about sunsets?

I love sunsets! Half my gallery is filled with pictures of sunsets

Saaame One day, I saw the sunset forty−four times! You know−− one loves the sunset, when one is so sad...

Oh But How?

Oh, that's just a quote From The Little Prince

Aaaah Your name! Have you read it many times?

Once every year for the past few years I like to see how much more I understand every time I read it With that I know how much I've changed since last year

Hmm Very sentimental Maybe But back to spring and sunsets I have a great place I visit in late spring It's a bit far out from the city, but the flowers and sunsets are more than worth it I can show you one time, if you're down

Sounds great! I also have a place I visit when I'm free I can take you there in return

Nice

*Should I also reveal my birthday? Eh, why the hell not.*

Maybe you can take me there for my birthday It's coming next month

I can But only if you take me to your place on my birthday

Sure When is that?

This month

I see Another spring child No wonder we're on the same wavelength

That's what I was about to say!

The conversation dies off for a bit, but before you have come up with a new topic, the tablet in front of you comes to the rescue.

"Send each other your screenshot of your homepage"

You first check your screen to make sure there isn't anything on it that's scandalous, or would give you away. After not finding anything needing to be removed, you send 'Judy' the picture. Hers arrives shortly after that. At first glance, it's nothing special. Solid black background, neatly ordered folders with english names that all end with a blue heart emoji.

*Maybe she likes blue?*

You have similar folders, all in English too, but there are some extras. Notably meditation and gaming. The background is different though, as it's a picture of your beloved furry companion.

I see you have Netflix downloaded What have you been watching lately?

Ah, yes Mostly American teen movies so I can improve my English Nice

*Yeah, def Korean.*

But I also watch a lot of animations and YouTube

Like what?

Mukbang, and Jangbbijju Also this (네가 빠진 세계 - fall for you)

She sends you the thumbnail of an unfamiliar show

Never seen this Maybe I will watch it later You should! The fantasy genre is interesting And the heroine is really pretty

*Judy is a girl, all right*

Yeah, Nana is really pretty

Right? You know her?

I do But I know every idol I've never met her though Have you?

No, but I'd love to She seems fun

Right, she does

There is short of silence before Judy sends a message

Is that your dog in the background? It's really cute

Yes he is! He's my best friend He's turning 10 this year

Oh, he's getting quite old

Yeah, but he's just as youthful as a puppy

Awww Good to hear And I see you meditate?

Yes My days can get pretty hectic It helps me stay relaxed and focused

Maybe I should try it

You should It’s pretty easy I can teach you the basics if you want

Thanks ^^ Are you an idol? Is that why you do it?

Noooo I can't dance at all And I sound like an untuned violin played by a 4 year old

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ There are some prodigies who can play well at that age

Sure, but not this one

And the gaming folder? You got games on your phone? 👀

ㅋㅋㅋㅋ I have a few to pass the time I mostly game on PC But certainly not as much as I used to

And what do you play?

Some League and Overwatch with friends I also picked up the new Zelda game recently

I love Nintendo games!

Yeah, they rarely miss The company's shit though Super greedy

*That's gonna get cut from the video*

O.O Are they?

Uhh yeah But let's not get into that What music have you been listening to?

She sends you a picture of her Spotify queue

Interesting Much less Korean than I thought And I only know a few of them

Send me yours

One sex *sec!!! I meant sec!

*Good grief...*

Hmmm I don't know any of these

Yeah I thought you wouldn't Not the genre a 'Judy' would listen to

*hmph* I'll let you know, my music taste is very diverse I bet not even the viewers know these songs

I'll take that bet What do I win?

A kiss

HUH?

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Just kidding I'm not sure yet

Okay... How about you buy me some tteokbokki if I win?

Deal And if I win, you'll get me dakbal!

Deal Let's shake on it

Okay But don't look!

Fine, I wont

You get up from your armchair, head to the edge of the wall, and put your hand past the corner. After waiting for a few seconds, you don't feel anything, and moving your hand around a bit doesn’t yield any success either. Then it hits, that your partner is probably Korean and female, so she is likely much shorter than you. Carefully lowering your hand, it finally finds hers. The hand jolts a little at the first contact, but grabs your hand quickly after.

It feels delicate: Small and smooth with fingers you can only describe as elegant. It's not just their shape and how they feel in your comparably larger hands, but also the amount of rings decorating them. On top of that, you bet her manicure matches the lavishness. The handshake barely lasts a second or two, then you get back to your seats.

Okay I know exactly who you are

How?

You're a princess!

Won't lie I feel quite fancy right now

Knew it! Extremely generous of you to let me touch your hand Your Highness

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Do our 'dates' still stand, Princess? Can you set aside time from your schedule to meet a lowly peasant like myself?

Aahhh, well Princesses need to relax too And your proposition seems suitable So yes, we shall go on these 'dates'

You honour me Princess

Okay, okay that's enough But do you really know who I am?

I have some guesses You're def a female idol And I'm pretty sure we haven't met yet Which I can't say about too many people Do you have any guesses about me?

If you didn't lie about not being an idol Then I have a few But I don't know which one of them have met a lot of idols So I'm not sure at all

Well, I never lie Just keep thinking You might not eve know me But that's fine

Whit that last message sent, the screen on the table lights up once again

“Send your childhood picture to your partner”

*Oh, right. The picture. If she knows me, this will help her a lot.*

This should help you a bit

Aaaah, cute Wait Are you a foreigner? Here's mine

Maybe... Awww That's really cute too

The screen instructs you again: “Draw each other in one minute”

*One minute? Not like it matters. I can't draw for shit.*

The 60 seconds go by like a minute in Africa, and your masterpiece is done. Kind of.

Sorry, I tried my best.

It's good! Much better than mine, that's for sure

You look at the picture for a bit, and download it before the connection is severed and you're kicked from the chat room. That signals the end of this section, so now all that’s left is to stand up, and meet this ‘Judy’.

*Okay, who is it?*

You stop the music, take out your earphones, and wait for the director's signal. When it arrives, you slowly, but confidently walk towards your partner's part of the studio. Once past the corner, you dramatically turn a 90 degree angle, and find yourself face to face with an angel. Or maybe it's a fairy? Or a nymph? Whatever she may be, it is not exactly human.

Her flawless fair skin is glistening in the studio's brilliant light, creating a picturesque contrast with her silky dark hair. It's neatly styled in a typical way: behind her ears, running down on her back one side, and on the other, resting on her front, bumping over her modest breasts. Your gaze moves further down, checking out her fuzzy two part dress, coloured in white and blue.

*Yep, blue is her favourite colour.*

The top stops just high enough over her pencil skirt, so that you can make out the tiniest bit of her midriff. You follow along her smooth legs, all the way to her feet, then quickly look back up. Her eyes meet yours, but not before catching a slightly mischievous smile form on her glossy lips.

*I guess she figured out who I was*

This all goes down in a mere second. It does have some benefits to have your brain running at FTL speed. After finishing the survey, you take a theatrical bow.

- Princess Nana.

She cracks up. Her laugh is just as magical as her whole being. You have heard it a handful times before, but never in person.

And boy, does it hit like a baseball bat live. You have had countless groups come to your variety show, but you can only gather up a single other idol with such a delightful laugh (Miss Song Yuqi).

*Man, I could listen to both of them for the rest of my life.*

You straighten back up, and take a step closer, at the same time as Nana. Your assumption of her height during the handshake was correct: she barely reaches up to your chin, but it plays to her advantage; makes her look even more adorable.

Her smile never faded, and now that she is right in front of you, you can see a glint of happiness and recognition in the vast, dark ocean of her eyes.

- It's you!

- It sure is.

- I knew it the moment I saw your baby picture.

- Ah yes, that was a dead giveaway.

- But I thought of you beforehand too.

- Oh, really?

- Yeah! I watched every episode of your show, and you did seem like we had a lot in common. Our conversation proves that.

- Yes, and thank you. - Feeling her boundless energy, and seeing her cute, perky personality, you can't help but smile along with her. - I can't believe this is the first time we meet in person.

- Right? I guess our schedules never aligned. But I'm really happy to meet you!

- As am I. - you cross your hands suddenly - But you lied to me!

- Huh? When?

- You said you've never met Nana.

She scratches the back of her head with an embarrassed chuckle. - Oh, right. Well I could argue that it's not a lie in a literal sense.

- Hmmm. I'll let it slide this time. But I have to warn you, I don't invite liars onto my show.

She gasps in a fake shock, and bows as she apologises. - I promise not to lie anymore! Please invite us to your show!

You laugh at her playfulness. - How could I say no to a princess? I'll make sure to have an episode set aside for you during your next comeback.

- Yay, thank you!

Her cuteness is almost overwhelming. The way she looks at you with those doe eyes, like you are her favourite person on this planet (which in reverse, might be true at this point). Her radiant smile, that emits such precious laughter, the sound of is more wondrous than Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Or the way she seems to cling onto your every word, as if you were Jesus preaching on the Mount of Beatitudes, and how she parrots your thoughts, just coated in that honeyed voice.

The director cuts into the meeting, and asks Nana to give them an interview about your chat. Yours will follow after. When you're both done, they tell you to take a selfie for the show. You oblige, but ask Nana to take it. The height difference doesn't even seem to be a problem. Rather she turns it into an advantage, and snaps a few nice pics. As the shooting comes to an end, you thank each other and the crew for everything, and before Nana could disappear into her room, you call out for her.

- Sorry, I don't intend to hold you up for long, I'm sure you have better things to do.

- Oh no, it's fine. What do you want?

- I just thought we could exchange numbers. Not for my show, that'll be done through our managers, but for our bet. Not sure how serious you were about it, but either way, I wouldn't mind taking you out for dinner. And I still need to take you to that spot on your birthday.

- Absolutely! And I'm completely serious about the bet. I don't just shake hands for nothing. My schedule is going to be hectic in March, but I'm sure I will be able to create some free time.

- Oh, if it's bothersome, we can go later too. Or earlier. Whatever works for you. I can get busy myself, but I always ask the groups to clear their schedules for the day before and after, so we all have some room if anything comes up.

- That's smart. Maybe I'll live with the opportunity.

- You totally should. 

She hands you her phone, and you dial yours. She saves your contact as 'The Little Prince', while you save her as 'Princess Nana'.

- I guess that's all. Again, it was really nice to finally meet you. Hope to see you soon.

- You too! Can't wait for my free chicken feet!

You chuckle, and bow to say goodbye, which she politely returns. Before she could get out of sight, you decide to look behind your back to catch one final peek of this angel. She walks with such grace, but you can still see that playful attitude hidden beneath. Maybe it's the way she sways her hips. Or that cute little butt.

*I wonder if it's more like a soft pillow, or firm and fit from all the workout.*

You slap yourself softly, and turn your head back around.

*Idiot…*

Unbeknownst to you, just after you do this, Nana also looks above her shoulders, searching for you. She barely catches the last moment of your little act, but she knows. She knows, but she is doing the same, so she can't really judge you for it.

Your heart still pounds noticeably faster than usual after you've changed back into your comfy clothes. The little cramp in your stomach is not letting its presence be forgotten either.

*Fuckin’ hell. What am I, fourteen? *

You take a deep breath, drink a cup of water, and focus. Within a few minutes, your body finally listens to the brain, and settles down. You sigh in relief.

- That's better. … - But I need a drink.

You take your stuff, and head outside. On the street, you catch Nana one last time. You wave and smile at each other as her manager helps her get in their car. Yours is already waiting for you on the passenger side, tapping away on his phone, since you almost always drive yourself. You shove your things in the trunk, then hop into the driver seat.

- Took you long enough. - your manager blurts out without looking up.

- Yeah, sorry. Upset stomach.

He acknowledges your excuse with a grunt.

- Back to your place?

- Yeah. But I wanna stop at a convenience store for some alcohol.

- Huh? Was it that bad? You seemed to be having fun. - He finally looks up at you, with the smallest hint of concern on his face.

- Yeah, I may have enjoyed it a little too much.

- Hmm. I see. So that upset stomach?

He doesn't even need to say it, you both know what he means.

- Yerp. Fucking butterflies.

Again, he just scoffs. Your manager is the best you could ask for. Professionally. But as much as he helps you in your work, he helps as little with personal stuff. You know it's better that way. You're not paying him to be your therapist, but you would like him to lend you an ear from time to time.

- Whatever. I'll get drunk tonight, and lose some ranks in League with the boys.

- Hmm. Just don't get too drunk.

You fasten your seatbelt, start up the car, and zoom through the city to your first destination. You grab a few (more than a few) bottles of different flavoured soju, and some instant ramen. The cashier is a young dude, probably a uni student working part-time. He realises who you are, so you chat for a bit. When he finally scans your items, you pay by cash, and leave him a hefty bonus, which he thanks profusely. You get back in the car, and drive to your manager's place to drop him off. From there, it’s only a few-minute drive to home.

_______________________________________________________

You struggle with the lock long enough that you hear your dog making a fuss inside.

- One second bud. I’m an alcoholic.

As soon as you open the door, he starts jumping up and down in excitement.

- Hello, you little rascal! - you greet him in a high pitched voice. - Have you been a good boy? - A rhetorical question to which the answer is (almost) always yes. You scratch behind his ears, and give him a treat, which he gobbles up in the blink of an eye.

- You will never guess who I've met today. - You start as you take off your shoes, and walk towards the kitchen to put the purchased beverages into the fridge. - It was my future wife! - you announce, posing with the exaggerated swagger of a black teen.

Bingley tilts his head in confusion.

- Yeah, I know. I’m cringe. But! I haven't felt like this since high school. And that was a whiiiile ago.

You step into the living room and settle on the sofa. Bingley waits for the signal of invitation before he joins you, and licks your hand to ask for pats which you happily provide.

- Honestly, I don't know how I should go about it. We hit it off well, and she seemed interested too. I mean she agreed to meet two more times. Plus once for my show, but that's different… For the first one, I will take her to our favourite place.

As you mention that, your companion perks up.

- Oh, sorry. I think you're going to have to stay behind. I want it to be just her and me.

Bingley’s head falls on your lap in defeat with a sad whine.

- Don't worry, I will take you there next week.

You take out your phone, and send tonight's plan to your friends. To pass the time, you decide to put on that new (well it was new like 3 months ago) Netflix show you haven't started yet for whatever reason. That, along with some takeout, is engaging enough to keep your mind off of today's events, all the way 'til the alarm rings in reminder for the games.

You gulp down a whole bottle of soju during your first game, and the next ones follow quickly after. The alcohol kicks in right as you're queueing up for the third game of the night. Senses dulled, reflexes slowed, vision blurry. Palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. Your teammates have been keeping up the pace with various types of spirits, turning every game from here on out into a clown fiesta. Muscle memory at least keeps them somewhat competitive, but no one really cares about winning. It's all about forgetting about the everyday struggles. The shitty bosses, the annoying exes, an unlucky puncture on the way to work, your baby puking on your favourite shirt, burnt food, the seemingly never ending house chores– falling head over heels for a girl you've only talked to for half an hour, of which only a few minutes were in person. Whatever. Everyone has their reasons. Meditating can only do so much. And it's nowhere near as fun as this.

The hours fly by, and it's regrettably time already to end the therapy session. Not all your pals have such flexible schedules as you, so they have to call it before midnight. Barely being able to walk straight, you conclude brushing your teeth and pouring a glass of water for tomorrow morning is more than enough exercise before bed.

Waking up is obviously the biggest disadvantage of these endeavours, but you take a pill with the prepared water, then a cup of coffee, and the headache is soon gone. You don't have the stomach for a proper breakfast, but you still force down a slice of toast. You let Bingley out, and sit on the porch, soaking in the morning sun, listening to the sound of nature, and enjoying the smell of the blooming tulips and violets in your garden. - Spring is fucking awesome…

_______________________________________________________

The next few weeks go by without much happening. The blind chat episode drops on YouTube, and surprisingly, dozens upon dozens of people comment, shipping the two of you. It’s endearing, really; a nice reassurance that what you felt during and after the show, was not exclusively in your head, as others seem to have noticed the connection and matching vibes (hopefully not just the parasocial delulu fans, who name themselves after funny videos, and would go on to write fanfictions about it).

You exchange a few texts with Nana during these days, but she seems busier than expected. It could be because of an upcoming comeback, but they came back with Rollercoaster only a few months ago. So you try not to give it too much meaning, but in the back of your head, a devilish voice insists “she doesn’t like you bro”. Your worries are lifted when they announce ‘Queendom Puzzle’, and all its participants in the following days. Hey! I see you’ll be on Queendom Puzzle, congrats! I’m sure you will crush it! Hiya! Thanks I hope so I have been practicing a lot for this

Yeah, I figured The competition seems strong But I would bet on you making it into the group I’m a bit worried But your confidence in me means a lot😊 An ace like you should have nothing to fear! You’re right 😸 If the crowd sees the effort I have been putting into my craft They will have to vote for me …right?

Of course! You were meant to be on top

*of me, hehe*

Yeah! I’m gonna be a star! That’s the spirit A few seconds go by with Nana seemingly typing out an essay. I wanted to ask you for something

Your pulse quickens, and you sit up straight on your couch. With dilated eyes, and gently shaking fingers, you type back. I’m all ears

I hope it’s not too much of a bother But could you take me to that place you talked about?

Of course! That was always the plan, no?

Yeah but I mean like This weekend

You have to check your schedule to make sure you’re free, not that cancelling every plan and recording would be a tall order, or a big price to pay to spend time with her. Sure, I can make it Great! I just know I won’t have much time until Queendom ends And if I do end up on the team It will take even longer before I can take a break

There is no ‘if’! But I get your point Both days work for me, so you choose I checked the weather, and Saturday will be warmer So we could watch the sunset too if you wanna

*How the fuck would I not?* Sounds perfect

Nice How about we meet up at 4? You could show me around the place And we could have a picnic

Even more perfect I’ll be there Great And thank you 😊

My pleasure

The chat dies off, but it doesn’t bother you. The high of finally meeting Nana lingers for the rest of the night, giving you one of the best sleeps since you moved to Korea.

_______________________________________________________

As the planned outing approaches, you remember something from your first encounter: her birthday is in spring. Even after remembering it was in March, you still decide to get her something. Surfing the internet for half an hour, you find a few decent ideas, but none of them strike you as THE perfect gift.

*Maybe I should read about her, see what she likes.*

As you press search, the first few results are about another celebrity, who shares her stage name: Im Jinah.

You quickly add ‘wooah’ to the query to get the desired outcome. Reading through her wiki, an uneasy feeling slowly creeps up on you.

- Well, this is just weird. I feel like I'm stalking her.

Even though you have done this for every idol who has appeared on your show, it's just not the same. You're not gathering information to create the best possible games and scenarios for entertainment, but to wow her. With that thought, you close the tab, and start to think.

- Okay, let's just not. I can work with what I know already. She likes Nintendo games, the colour blue, animation, and spring. And dakbal! She most likely has a Switch already, and there is no way of knowing what games she has or wants without snooping around. I could take a gamble with the animation, and get her a plushie, a shirt, or something of Doraemon. He's blue too, so that's nice. But that is lacking in the ‘personal’ department. So spring, huh? What can I do with that?

You spend the whole day deciding on what to buy, and instead of one big present, you end up with a few smaller ones. You pick all of them up in the coming days, and get the groceries for the picnic on the day before.

The 'date' is set two days after the recording with Cravity, who made their comeback with Groovy last week. You feared that the upcoming meeting with Nana might get in your head, and ruin the show's quality, but it all worked out perfectly. You spend most of the following day going on a big hike with Bingley, and continuing the Netflix show you started. After that it’s time for bed, as tomorrow's going to be busy. The trek tired you out, yet sleep doesn’t come easily. You lay awake until it actually gets annoying, and opt for a sleeping pill. The drug does its magic, and you wander off to dreamland in no time.

_______________________________________________________

The alarm rings at 7 AM sharp, and you blindly search for the phone to shut it up.

- Mmmm… Just five more minutes…

But as soon as you pull the blanket over your head to block the rising sun, the reason for the alarm registers. Your eyes pop open, and the drowsiness is gone in an instant. After hurriedly finishing the usual morning routine, including your obligations to Bingley, it’s time to go through the checklist for today's tasks.

First on the agenda is preparing the food, 'cause if you mess it up, you will have time to try again. Thankfully, apart from a wasted egg, some spilled milk, and a fierce battle with the sizzling oil, everything goes fine. Second is wrapping the gifts. Usually a bag would do, but not today. Not for Nana. Or rather, Princess Nana. You waste a lot of time and wrapping paper figuring out what's the best way to go about it, but the end result is more than acceptable. Third is packing up - food in the basket, gifts hidden in a bag, and a blanket to sit on. Next up is lunch. You don't have neither the time nor the willingness to cook more right now, so some takeout will have to do. Then it’s time to take out the dog. For a walk, Jimmy... That's number five, check. The last thing to be done is texting Nana the rendezvous point, which you do while you eat the ordered pizza.

Although you'll only have to leave in an hour, you decide to dress up now in today's carefully picked outfit: a floral linen shirt, dark blue shorts, and a few accessories. Nothing too fancy. A few (hundred) TikToks help pass the remaining time, before you pack everything in the trunk of the KIA. After making sure for the third time that everything is in order, you lock the house and get in the car. The V6 engine of the K8 eagerly purrs to life, as if it felt and shared your anticipation for today’s events. You type the destination into the GPS - not that it was needed; you have been there countably infinite times already, and could drive there with a blindfold on. But as they say: better safe than sorry.

Some music and sunshine keeps you company during the fortunately eventless half hour drive. Once you arrive and park in the shade of a huge oak tree, a notification pops up from Nana: “I'll be there in a few!” Not even 5 minutes later, another KIA pulls into the parking lot. The passenger-side door swings open, and the angel you have been waiting for steps out with the same gorgeous smile on her face she last said goodbye with.

You take a few steps closer, and bow. - Hello! I hope it wasn't too hard to find the place.

- Oh, not at all. - She bows, and says hello too, then looks around to admire the greenery, and the sunshine seeping through the leaves, illuminating everything in sight. It arguably does a worse job than her smile, but the Sun does give you that vitamin D, whereas Nana only gives your D vitamin. And your soul with the cute outfit she is sporting: it’s a red, floral patterned sleeveless top tucked into a tight blue skirt with a very similar motif. As the colour scheme would suggest, it’s downright magnetic. You find yourself unable to look away from her, until a light breeze, paired with the rattling of leaves knocks you out of your daze. When you look up and lock eyes with Nana, you notice her cheeks have copied the colour of her shirt. *I may have stared for too long. *

- Almost didn’t notice you there with the camouflage. - you jest, trying to play it off.

Nana giggles, and spins around to give you a full view. In any other circumstance, your eyes would have probably shifted downwards, but her hair steals away your attention, dancing in the air graciously like she does on stage.

- Looks cute, doesn’t it? - I think we all know what he thinks about it. - her manager speaks up from behind. She hands Nana a bag, most likely filled with food for the picnic. Before turning away, she gives you a stern look. - Call me when you are done, Nana, and I’ll come back for you as discussed.

She drives off, leaving the two of you alone in a serene, only slightly awkward silence. You grab your stuff from the car, and lead Nana up the path, towards the field. On the short walk there, she keeps looking around in awe, amazed by the scenery. Gotta give it to her, it looks like it was taken from a painting. Birds singing from the blooming trees, butterflies chasing one-another above the lazily swaying, lush grass, and bees hauling their fat fluffy butts from flower to flower.

- It’s perfect! - she squeals with joy as she bends down to touch the silky grass.

- I knew you would like it.

- I love it!

You walk past Nana, who seems completely mesmerized by the clearing, and a pair of Barn Swallows, as they scurry across the sky, most likely hunting for food. She smiles at them, then catches up with you and helps with the picnic blanket, for which you have already found the perfect spot. It’s on a slightly more elevated piece of ground, from where you can see above the city, and across the green sea. While you unpack, Nana goes on about how glad she is to be out here in the sun, with you, how pretty the place is, and how excited she is for Queendom Puzzle.

- It’s an interesting changeup, isn’t it? - she asks with sparkling eyes.

- For sure! Definitely interesting for the fans, and even more so for the contestants.

- I know! I can’t wait to meet all of them. I haven’t even talked to some of them before.

- Well, you could call them now, because we might have overdone it with the food.

You share a laugh, then take a look at the feast you two whipped up. Even without plating the desserts, it’s still enough for at least one other pair of lovebirds. Your schnitzel sandwiches look ‘rustic’ at best next to Nana’s three different types of home-made kimbaps, but you wanted to bring something that you would bring at home too. 

- The one with the omelette strips has a pinch of honey in it. I thought it would be your style. - she explains with a never fading smile.

You take a slice, and push the whole thing into your mouth. Sure enough, she hit it right on the nail. The basic, but undefeated blend of omelette, avocado and tuna is freshened up by the pickled radish, and brought together by the subtle, yet lingering sweetness of the honey. You let out a satisfied hum, and swallow before praising her.

- You are right on the money with this one. It’s phenomenal!

She giggles triumphantly, and takes a roll too.

- Mmmmh, it’s so good! I never thought about adding honey to a kimbap before. But when I was getting the ingredients, I thought about you, and the bees, and I knew I had to do it.

- It’s for sure the best kimbap I have eaten so far. Good job! - you raise your hand for a high-five, which she happily accepts.

- Thanks! Now, let’s see what you cooked up.

- Well, I know it doesn’t look as fancy as yours, but I promise it tastes great. - you hand her a sandwich, and take one for yourself too. - It’s kind of a timeless classic in my country. Whenever we go to a beach, on a road trip, or a hike, it’s the go-to snack. It’s just fried chicken breast, some veggies, and your choice of sauce in a bun, but that’s the point. It’s simple, but effective. You can never go wrong with these ingredients, and it never disappoints.

She takes a bite, after you downplayed and hyped up the sandwich at the same time. She munches on it for a few seconds, nodding understandingly.

- I see what you mean. It’s just really nice. I could see how it would be sort of a comfort food.

- Right? - you light up from her words of appreciation, and take a bite of home. - I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.

An endearing smile paints Nana’s face, which you don’t even notice at first, too caught up in the nostalgic dish.

Being the first proper one-on-one talk between you two, the conversation starts off with the usual topics: work, hobbies, friends, family, pets, etc. Still, with how engaged and honestly curious she is, it doesn’t feel like the typical, going-through-the-motions, getting-the-mandatory-stuff-out-of-the-way kind of chat. And unsurprisingly, her enthusiasm rubs off on you. You find yourself nodding or laughing along with all her stories, aww-ing at pictures from her childhood or of her family dog, and taking mental notes of every little titbit she shares about her life. It’s all so easy, so natural. Sure, you are still cracking some jokes, but it’s not the same as if you were in front of the cameras. There is no preparation, no script, just chemistry. When you reach into your basket for a second bottle of soda, you grab onto something else by accident. It’s one of Nana’s presents. You have completely forgotten about it, too engaged in the chatter. You take the two small boxes out, and hide them behind your back while your partner is pouring herself a drink.

- Nana?

- Hmm? - she doesn’t look up just yet, preoccupied with choosing the next kimbap to devour.

- I know your birthday was like- two months ago.

- Yeah? - now she lifts her gaze, and notices the jewellery box in your hand, coated in deep blue velvet. - Oh, Y/N! - her voice is laced with surprise and appreciation, which also reflects on her face. - You really didn’t have to.

- Of course I did!

- Now I feel bad, because I didn’t bring you anything. - she pouts, but her frown is immediately turned upside down when she flips the top open. - Wait, is this..?

She holds onto the medallion with one hand, letting the golden chain dangle freely in the warm wind.

- Yeah. A Triforce necklace.

- It’s so pretty! Quick, help me put this on.

Nana turns around and sits closer to you, so you can secure the clasp on the back of her neck. She stays like that, admiring the metallic trinket, until she leans back against you. Your mind freezes for a second, but your body reacts to her, and your arms wrap around her waist.

- Thank you…

Her words jump-start your mind, and you squeeze her tighter.

- Don’t thank me just yet. - you untangle one arm, and reach backwards for another smaller container, neatly wrapped in pink paper. She handles it with care after feeling the weight of it.

- Another one?

She rips off the wrapping, and gasps when she recognises the baby pink coloured box.

- You know, I almost bought this when I last went shopping.

She removes the plastic, then takes out the rose-scented perfume to try it out. She sighs in satisfaction when the smell envelopes the air around you, dulling out the flowers nearby.

- Mmmm~ This bottle won’t last long, I can tell you that much!

Your chuckle is cut short by her lips on your cheeks, a smile, and her nuzzling into your embrace again.

- Thank you Y/N~

- You are very much welcome Nana.

She stays in your arms, letting the minutes pass by, until the dryness in your throat becomes annoying, and you have to let go of her for a drink. She gives you a playful pout before standing up to stretch, as you have been sitting on the ground for quite some time now. That’s when a familiar, raspy voice calls out to you from close by.

- Y/N? I thought you would come here today. And with a girl, to boot! You turn around with a curious look, and stand up to greet the elderly woman and her husband.

- Of course I’m here! Would have been a crime to stay inside in this weather.

- Ain’t that the truth. - the man concurs with a subtle nod, then turns to Nana. - And who is this pretty lass you brought along? Won’t you introduce your girlfriend to us? - Oh, we’re not… - you try to deny in such a hurry, that even catches Nana off guard. You look at her in hopes of reassuring her, and her beaming smile greets you, though you notice there is something sombre about it compared to usual. - We are just… colleagues, kind of. It’s only the second time we’ve met.

The pair looks at each other with a suspicious, knowing look. You can almost hear a whole conversation play out between their gazes. It’s just one of those things that come with years, or in their case, decades of love and partnership.

- I see. - the woman says without much conviction once she looks back at you. - So it’s not a date? We heard you two laughing from a mile away. Her question throws you for a loop, and while you try to figure out how to word it so you don’t possibly hurt Nana more, she answers before you could come up with the proper phrasing.

- No, it is a date. - she states with unshaken confidence, which pleases the couple. - I’m Nana by the way.

They bow with a sincere smile, and introduce themselves as Mr and Mrs Kim.

- I see you weren’t dropped on your head, missy! - the man titters.

You want to look back at Nana, but she is already by your side, hooking her arm into yours and pressing herself closer. At first, it feels a bit strange to call it that, but it only makes sense when you give it another thought. It’s just a word that you have given too much meaning over the lonely years, and it messes with your head.

- I’m sure he wasn’t either. - she jokes, and bumps your side.

- You will soon learn of that, sweetheart. - the lady pipes up. - He is as sweet as honey, but denser than concrete at times.

They all laugh at that, and you join in after letting go of your now seemingly dumb worries.

- All right, young'uns. We will leave you to it. Gotta get back home before my back gives in.

- Just a second, Mr Kim. - you speak up, and excuse yourself from Nana. You take a few pieces of the layered cake, and stack them in a box. - Please take this. I baked it, but it’s not poisonous. I think.

The couple smiles warmly at you, and takes the box.

- See? Sweet as honey. - The madam echoes her own words with a sly wink aimed at your date.

After that, Nana gifts them some kimbap too, which they thank profusely, then go on their way.

- Oh my god, they were so nice! - Nana asserts as she sits back down.

- They are, yes. I meet them every time I’m here. They visit this place almost every day in the warmer seasons.

…

- So it’s a date, huh? 

- Of course. What else would you call an afternoon like this? A one-on-one picnic in one of the most magical places in this city, with someone you like and want to get to know better. Wouldn’t be fair to label it as ‘hanging out’, or something simple like that.

- True…

This time it’s you, who smiles first, but you are not alone for long. Your hand reaches out for hers as you scoot closer on the soft blanket, and she readily accepts the contact, placing her palm on top of yours. It’s not the ‘electric touch that sends a jolt of shiver down your spine’, it’s just what it is: a touch. Warm and slick, but at the end of the day, nothing out of the ordinary. It’s the circumstances, and the owner of the other hand, that’s really special about it. The half-spoken admission of your feelings, a silent promise of more to come, and the most wonderful girl on this planet you share these with. The silence remains even while you eat the muffins, bar Nana’s compliment for the chocolatey sweetness, and the birds singing in the background. You imagine they are watching this romantic scene unfold in front of them, witnessing love blossom on the field they call home. The little angel stays in your arms, although she feels more like a kitty right now as her warm and petite body lays against you soothingly. You can feel her breathing as her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, and you realize your pulse is matching hers when you hold her hand tighter.

It’s probably a super corny display from the outside, when the Sun starts to near its resting place, painting the skies in the colour of the flowers in the surrounding field. And if not for a certain girl in your arms, it would have been the prettiest sight of the day. The other thing that the sunset loses in, is the warmth. The temperature drops surprisingly quickly on this cloudless night, and no matter how hot the woman is beside you (in all senses of the word), the chilling winds become a bit too harsh to ignore. So you pack up, dividing the leftovers equally while Nana speaks with her manager on the phone. Hand-in-hand, you walk back the path towards the parking place with Nana lighting the way with her phone. Her manager said she will arrive in 10 minutes, so you sit in the K8 to stay warm until that. Nana sits in the passenger seat, and sees something in the backseat that catches her eye.

- Aww! What a cute flower.

- Oh, right! - you reach back for the pot. - It’s your last gift.

- Another one? For real? - she takes it from you, and admires the flowerless green plant.

- Of course! It’s a Clitoria Ternatea, aka Butterfly Pea. It will bloom with gorgeous little blue flowers in the summer, and as the name suggests, you can even make tea out of it.

She looks at you with a playful squint and a smirk, the somewhat lewd Latin name of the flower not escaping her attention. You laugh it off, and she leans in for a hug to thank you. It lingers for long seconds, until she gets a text from her manager, stating she is almost there. You both sigh. It’s a mixture of sadness and contentment. It was probably the best afternoon either of you have spent in a long time, and now that it’s come to an end…

That’s not even the worst part. It’s the fact that there is no way of knowing when there will be a chance to do this again. But if all goes well for Nana in Queendom Puzzle, it’s most likely months. She places her hand on top of yours, and looks you in the eye.

- Thank you for this day, Y/N. You can’t even fathom how much it all meant to me. And I don’t just mean the gifts, and the picnic. I’m talking about spending time with you, laughing, talking, hugging… And I really want to do it more. To get to know you better, and see where this goes.

- I would love that. - you clutch onto her hand, and give it a small squeeze -  Because I think–  I think this connection is something very special.

- I think so too.

Her grip on your hand tightens, and she moves her body closer. It’s barely noticeable, but you see it. You see it, because you are doing the same. You see her lips parting, her eyes nervously glancing at yours, and it makes your heart pound out of your chest. And though Nana may seem timid from the outside, she pushes forward with zero hesitation. Unrelenting, unwavering. She wants this badly, and so do you. So even when her manager pulls up, you don’t pull away. The headlights of her car shine right at you when your lips meet. And oh, what delicious, soft lips they are. It makes you forget to breathe, and doubles your heart rate, like a dose of a new designer drug that gets you addicted the moment you use it.

Neither of you break the kiss, and when you shift in your seat so your spine doesn’t twist out of its place and move away from her slightly, she chases after you. She even reaches for your shirt with her free hand, so you don’t pull away again until she has had her fill. It doesn’t take too long, because the uninvited audience does start to make Nana somewhat self conscious now. When your lips separate, you let out the air you have been holding in for these past twenty-something seconds. It’s hard to tell whether it’s this, or the power of the kiss that leaves you lightheaded, but one thing is for sure: you have fallen deeper than you thought, and so has Nana. She chuckles when she notices your reddened ears, breaking the tension.

- That was… - you start, but find it hard to say the right words. - Surreal but, um… but nice.

- Yeah. It was.

She gives one last gorgeous smile, and a sorrowed but reassuring goodbye before she leaves you on your own. The kiss replays in your mind repeatedly, and it makes you ache for more: more kisses, but also more than just kisses.

- “Surreal but nice”? What was I thinking?

_______________________________________________________ The following few weeks after the start of Queendom Puzzle are just as sweet as that goodbye kiss. The late night chats with Nana, her random selfies from practice, during meals, or after recording, and occasional video calls. Naturally, you text her after every episode, praising her performance. She responds in kind, applauding your MC skills, and rambling about her experiences with the other participants. The relationship stays this vibrant and strong for a while, and the energy you get from it shows in your variety show, propelling its popularity into new heights. Which, sadly, means more interviews, ads, and what have you. All of that, paired with Nana having to practice more for the final few episodes, meant a little less time spent talking every day. It never dried out at least, but you wished you could actually see each other in person at times, and hoped she felt the same.

Then it finally arrives. It’s the 15th of August, and the airing of the final episode of “Queendom Puzzle”. Nana (obviously) made it into the last 14 with flying colours, raking up MVPs, and a solid spot in the rankings. Still, there was a chance, however slim, that she could falter at the last hurdle. You knew she wasn’t the type to fall into a false sense of safety, but it still felt appropriate to give her the extra motivation she might have needed. So you asked her manager in secret for the place and time of the shooting. Without much reluctance, she hooked you up, but advised caution.

Getting past the security was a bit tricky, but still possible. With an iced americano in one hand, and a box of spicy chicken feet in the other, you make your way through the maze of corridors, full of purpose. Room 8 was your goal, and, as Murphy's law dictates, it was at the very back of the corridor. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that actually does, is to meet Nana, and put a smile on her face. That ever radiant, healing smile. One can never get enough of it. To make sure that the surprise works, you arrive a solid 20 minutes before she does, so it’s time to catch up with the latest gossip. Nana’s manager - now also your wingwoman - texts you as they get past security. Your heart skips a beat, and you jump from the chair you have been sitting on ‘til now. After quickly hiding her presents, you fix your attire, and wait patiently. At least that’s what you hope it looks like, but even a blind man could tell how eager you are. Your quickening pulse, fidgeting fingers, and deep, long breaths are a dead giveaway of your true feelings.

You can hear as Nana nears the room, her voice echoing down the hallway as she practices her lines for the show. The door handle pivots, and the awaited angel finally steps into the room. She stops dead in her tracks the moment she sees you. Her eyes widen, and her jaw hangs agape for a moment, but then… The change in her expression is like a slow motion study for AI training: her slightly open mouth shifts into a wide smile, showing off her pearly whites. Her eyes sparkle with an adoring glint, as if she just saw the cutest thing in the world. And, as usual of her when she gets this excited, she pushes her tongue out slightly, and bites down on it gently.

- Hello, princess. - you greet her with a bow. Nana loses it right then, and rushes up to you with a loud squeal. You plant a little kiss on her cheek, and hug her close. Or at least try to, but she starts to jump up and down giddily, making it hard to properly hold onto her. Before she pulls away, she returns the kiss. Holding hands, you stand there, mere inches separating you, just staring at each other for a few seconds. Your adoration reflects in her brown eyes, glistening like morning dew on the petals of a Chocolate Cosmos. The laughs and shouting of some other contestants from down the hallway kick you both out of your trance.

- Oh, right! - you spin around, and grab the iced americano. - I got you this.

Her eyes light up instantly.

- Oh my god! You are a lifesaver!

She pounces on you like a panther, and snatches the cold beverage before you could say ‘meow’. You watch with an adoring, cheeky smile as she swallows gulp after gulp, a bit of coffee even missing its mark, dripping down on her chin in the big hurry.

- Whew… I needed that. Would you believe that my manager - she points theatrically at the woman - forgot to buy me coffee? Today of all days?! - Uh… That’s on me. - you admit, scratching your head with unease. - I kind of asked her to… Nana crosses her arm, and squints at you suspiciously. She walks up to you with playfully angry stomps, which end up making her look adorable, rather than threatening, like a kid who didn’t get the toy they wanted.

- You don’t mess with a girl’s coffee! - she lashes out, reinforcing her point by tapping your chest with her index finger. Her faux outrage melts away after she sees how taken aback you are. She smiles at you sweetly then, and kisses your embarrassedly flushed cheek. - No need to plan stuff like this so you can swoop in like a saviour. - she stops mid-thought to take another sip. - I already like you, dummy.

You hear a scoff from her manager, and catch her rolling her eyes. You just smirk to yourself, knowing how cheesy it must seem from her POV.

- Sorry Nana! - you turn your back to her, snap up the bag with the dakbal, and offer it to her. A due prise for her winning the bet from the video, but it's also for motivation. - I hope this makes up for it somewhat.

With one eyebrow raised, she nabs the chicken feet tentatively. Or rather the box of chicken feet. Or rather the box of chicken feet inside a box. Or rather the box of chicken feet inside a box of chicken feet. Or rather the box of chicken feet inside a box of chicken feet inside a bag. Regardless, her face lights up for the third time today the moment she takes a whiff of her favourite delicacy. And that’s the point of it all. Not just seeing that contagious smile, but also the knowledge that you made her day just a little better. The way she dashes to you again, screeching joyfully as if she just won the lottery, and hugs you so tight that she squeezes the air out of your lungs, tells you that it may have made it more than just a little better.

- You are already forgiven!

She breaks away in a hurry, scattering to the chair to indulge in her precious dakbal. She hums in satisfaction as the flavours fill her mouth, which elicits an even wider grin from you. From the corner of your eyes you catch as Nana’s manager nods approvingly. Still, she has to be the responsible one when you are together: - Just don’t eat too much. You still have to perform.

- Mhm! - Nana acknowledges half-heartedly, gorging down on one chicken foot after the other. Her manager shakes her head disapprovingly, but can’t hold back a low chuckle.

- Whew… That should give me enough energy for a while. - she wipes her hand and mouth, and thanks you again with a kiss on your cheek. - Gotta go now though. Need to change and get my makeup done. Will you watch from here? - she asks with a hopeful tone.

- Of course! Will be cheering for you from here all the way ‘til the end. And I will keep your manager company too. Whether she likes it or not. - you add with a wink aimed at said lady.

- Could be worse, I guess… - she shoots back with a barely visible smirk.

Nana gives her manager a hug too, and they exchange a few words in secret. 

- Good luck, princess. Not that you need it.

The idol hugs you one last time, grabs her coffee, and waves the two of you goodbye before sauntering out the room.

- She is gonna kill it. - you break the few seconds of silence - You can just tell.

- Yeah. Especially with you here now. - the manager concurs, and nudges you in the side.

You watch the show with her, laughing, cheering, or crying along. After every performance is concluded, they invite the girls back on stage; it’s time to reveal the winners. Taeyeon calls them out from third place to sixth, and Nana is not amongst them. Of course, she was second during the previous vote, so it doesn’t phase you. Too much. Then the anxiety starts to eat at you when Hwiseo takes first place. Still, not too surprising, considering she finished there during the last episode as well.

Then finally, she is announced as the sixth member to join EL7Z UP, placing second overall in the votes. By that time you chew down every single nail on your fingers despite being sure she would make it. The other idols still on stage gather around her, cheering her on while also calming her down. When she takes the mic, it seems like she isn’t even crying anymore, but as soon as she tries to speak, her voice cracks in the cutest way possible, and it’s followed by an even cuter whimper. She gives her speech with a trembling voice, thanking everyone she can think of, and finally joins the other 5 girls on the pedestal. Her rightful place. You sob during it all, chuckling shakily during her most adorable moments. Even Nana’s cool calm and collected manager wipes a tear from her eyes. - Never once doubted her. - you break the melancholically cheerful silence - But damn it feels good to see her win.

- No kidding…

After Yeeun is revealed as the final winner, and EL7Z UP’s line-up is complete, they celebrate on stage for a while. You chat with the manager about the ups and downs of the show, weighing in about the winners, the performances, and how amazing Taeyeon is. After a good half an hour, Nana finally returns, jumping into your arms. She lets out her remaining tension, soaking your shirt with her tears. You caress her back lovingly, whispering sweet little nothings to soothe her. The clock ticks by relentlessly, and Nana has to go again. She lets go of you with a long sigh, and wipes her face with a handkerchief her manager hands her. - I wish I could stay for longer. But I have to change, fix my makeup, talk to the girls– - It’s fine, princess. - you cut in - I will see you later, yeah? - Yes! How about this Friday? - she perks up - I know it’s soon, but I won’t have much free time before our debut. And I want to show you my favourite place before it starts to get cold. - Sure. I will make time for you. Whatever it takes. - you agree without hesitation. - Great! - she plants a quick kiss on your cheek, and skips out of the room.

You breathe out slowly. It’s finally over. Well, kind of. The stress of the survival show may be gone, but now comes the debut. The stakes might not be as high, but Nana will surely give her best, meaning you really won’t see her for the next few months. Again.

Why did I have to fall for an idol? - you ask yourself, but realise it’s no use to dwell on it. Such a fantastic girl is more than worth waiting for. It’s not like you are not busy yourself, and she won’t be active all year long. Still, it feels like the whole industry is against you, hell-bent on preventing this relationship. And it’s not completely false. Her agency would most likely not allow for it: Nana was already their best asset, and now she became even more valuable. Who cares? As long as her manager is chill with it - which she most definitely is now - and you two are careful, it should be fine. Should be. Has to be.

_______________________________________________________

Her sanctuary, as she calls it, is a smaller penthouse on the outskirts of Seoul. It’s a simple, cosy flat that feels perfect to come home to after a long day of work. It has everything you need, nothing less, nothing more. one bedroom with  a queen size bed, a decently equipped kitchen, a bathroom with a freestanding tub, and a cutesy living room. It’s just far away from the centre, so that the noises of the city can be faintly heard from inside, and just barely more from the balcony. And what a balcony it is. It’s the part that really screams ‘Nana’. Full of flowers and greenery, two blue lounge chairs with a glass table between them, and on it, a sight that melts your heart: the butterfly peas you bought her for her birthday. - Did you try making tea out of it? - you ask as you trace your fingers along the vibrant blue petals.

- No, not yet. I have barely been here since Queendom Puzzle started. I did have someone to water the plants though! They even cared for the plastic ones. - she adds with a melodic giggle.

- Wanna try now?

- Sure! Although… I would hate to pluck it when it’s still so beautiful…

Nana admires the plant with a sombre look before you speak up.

- Well, they are about to lose the flowers soon anyways. The days are getting colder and shorter.

She lets out a long sigh before agreeing to it. She takes a handful of pictures before you pluck the flower heads ever so carefully and rinse them. While you boil the water, the 1 girl grabs 2 cups and a jar of honey to prepare them. You wait 5-10 minutes until the hot water brings out the flavours and colours of the petals, then you indulge yourselves in the heart-warming delicacy.

- Mmmmh~ That’s nice. - Nana remarks as she slowly sips on the blue tea.

- Tastes like spring, doesn’t it?

Nana quickly nods in agreement.

- Now watch this. - you grab a wedge of lemon, and squeeze some of its juices into your cup. The liquid changes its deep blue hue to a glamorous purple within seconds as the acidic drops dissolve.

- Wow… That’s gorgeous! But I like mine blue.

- I’m not surprised.

Compared to the first date, this feels even less tense. No preparations, no stakes, no nerves. Nana and you are already more than close friends, so there is no need to win her over. Now it’s really all about enjoying each other’s company and talking about anything and everything. She tells all about her pre-debut activities, her school years, and the shenanigans she got up to as a child. You in turn recount anecdotes from the same times of your life, sprinkled in with the first few months after coming to Korea, and starting your own variety show as a foreigner. The tea is followed by a few bottles of soju, along with some takeout. “Some”. It’s kind of a feast (again), but it all disappears eventually as the conversation goes on and on, delving more into your past adventures, your present passions, and your hopes and dreams for the future. The alcohol does its work in the meanwhile, smoothing out the already relaxed nerves even more, and colouring Nana’s porcelain skin in that Asian flush, giving her an ethereal look as the Sun starts to dip below the horizon. Your hand finds hers, and the two of you sit in a tranquil silence, watching the sky and clouds dance in the colours of the setting star.

- You know… - Nana cuts into the quiet, giving you a warm, pensive look. - One can love the sunset, when one is happy, too.

It takes you a few seconds before it clicks, then your face lights up with a tender smile.

- You remembered?

- Of course! I haven’t found time yet to read it, but I will.

- Because of that one line? - No. Because it’s important to you. Such a simple statement, yet so powerful. If anyone ever wondered how someone can confess their feelings without saying it outright, they would have found it right here. Just as the last rays of sunlight dim, you bring her hand to your lips, and plant a compassionate kiss on the back of her palm. After that, looking into her eyes, you both understand the depth and strength of this connection within a moment’s notice.

- And you are so much more important, princess.

The equally corny and touching response earns you Nana’s signature smile, though it seems different from the usual: more sincere and less practiced. Something that merely a couple people have seen if you had to guess. And as many times before, your heart turns into mush, a sweet concoction of affection and adoration, with a pinch of lust.

While the night claims its domain, coating the skies above in pitch black, you clean up the remains of the feast, and grab two blankets. You stay out stargazing for a long while, searching for constellations, and admiring the waning Moon before you move back inside the apartment. Just as Nana is about to dive into her next story, a long yawn interrupts her. It’s not that late yet, but the day was long. For her the whole summer was long.

- I guess it’s time I head home. You should rest while you can. - No! - she objects instantly, then sinks into the couch with a sheepish smile. - Would you stay for the night? Please? You chuckle faintly, and sit down right next to her.

- If that’s what the princess wants…

She leans her head on your shoulder with a tired giggle. Your hand reaches around her, rubbing her side ever so slowly. The little incubus at the back of your head is screaming to lunge at her, but you kill the voice, knowing it’s not the time. Not yet. Maybe you won’t see her until her promotions end, but if you cross this bridge now, it might be even harder on the both of you, having to go without intimacy for months after a most likely wonderful night together. So you bide your time. It will be worth it in the end, even if holding back at the moment feels awful.

While Nana takes a shower and washes her face, you drive home for your pyjamas and a toothbrush. Once you are back, she is already lying on the bed, mindlessly scrolling on her phone. She flashes you a weak smile, though you barely catch it, as the view of her bare legs distract you. You grit your teeth, and head to the bathroom to change and wash up, cursing your luck. It should have been obvious that she would be wearing shorts to bed in the summer, but your mind was elsewhere when you agreed to sleep over.

You step back into the room, and join Nana under the covers. You decide it’s best not to poke the bear in your boxers, and stay on your side of the bed, but Nana has other plans. “She needs cuddles” - she says. “It helps her sleep better, and she missed it so bad.” - she explains. You can’t say no to her pouting lips and puppy eyes, but what comes after is the true challenge. She nestles into you, not leaving any space between your bodies, not even in the most intimate places. Her round and firm backside assumes its position against your pelvis, pressing into you as if she didn’t know it was one of the most seductive things a girl could do in this situation. You have to call upon every god in the sky, on Olympus, in Asgard, on Mount Meru, and in Takamagahara, to help you out in this seemingly unwinnable battle. Their combined might is indeed enough to suppress your desires, and you relax with her, hugging her close like a plushie. - Good night princess. - your voice is groggy as you place a kiss on the back of her head. - Good night Little Prince. - she is already fading away into sleep, but she holds onto your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours before she drifts off. You follow suit, her soft whimpers lulling you to rest in no time.

_______________________________________________________

One of the drawbacks of living on the top floor, is that the Sun disturbs the idyllic early mornings, totally unasked for. With eyes wide shut, you turn away from the celestial intruder, meeting face to back with an angel. Instead of wings, her chestnut locks spread out on the mattress before you. It obviously wouldn’t be courteous to wake her, but it’s also a crime not to cosy up to a sleeping beauty in a moment like this. So you scoot closer, and ever so cautiously wrap an arm around her petite body. If it wasn’t for the deities who helped you yesterday, you would be in an awkward situation again, but your little buddy decided not to give Nana a rude awakening.

- Hmmm~ I could get used to waking like this. - she mumbles as she finally wakes, and wiggles deeper into your embrace, snuggling up to your warmth like a cat.

- And I could get used to sleeping like this.

She lets out an amused sigh, and starts to run her fingers along your forearm, carefully scraping it with her nails.

- Too bad we can’t stay here all day, huh?

- Yeah… too bad. Maybe if you weren’t such a great performer, you wouldn’t have made it into EL7Z UP, and you wouldn’t have to go to practice and meetings today. - you tease her.

- Maybe… But sorry, I am not throwing that away for you.

- I would rather have you throw me out if I actually asked something so ridiculous of you.

- Good. Now shut up and kiss me! - she demands out of nowhere, and flips around in a flash.

You don’t even have time to protest - as if you wanted to - before her lips press hungrily against yours. Your stale morning breaths take nothing away from the enjoyment and the beauty of the act. The chirps of birds and the early commotion of the waking city fade into the distance, replaced by Nana’s barely audible moans, your heavy breaths, and the smacks of your lips. The make-out is just as sweet as it is urgent, but you refrain from using your tongues for the sake of keeping it PG - you know you wouldn’t be able to hold back if she let you venture further. She is not so restrained though: her fingers run through your hair as she pulls you in deeper, and her soft little breasts squish against your chest, drawing blood to your nether region. But before things could get out of control, your rumbling stomach comes to the rescue. “If only it didn’t need to.” - you curse silently in your head. With flushed cheeks and short, shallow breaths, Nana pulls away.

- Breakfast?

- Breakfast… Do you have eggs and bacon?

- I should, yeah. Want me to make some?

- No thanks. I can do it. Do you want some too?

- Uhmm… Sure! I would like a proper breakfast while I can. But I wanna help!

- You’re the boss, boss.

She steals one last cheeky kiss before jumping out of bed, and chassés out of the room. You follow her (butt) with your eyes, then join her in the kitchen.

- Can you grab the things please? - Nana asks as she turns on the stove, and pours the oil into a large pan.

- Sure thing.

Despite you telling her beforehand that you would do the cooking for both of you, she doesn’t give you a chance. Wanting to be a good host, or so she says. You are not one to complain about a lack of work in the morning, so you at least have to pay her back somehow, right? And what better way than a playful bump of your hips against hers, an affectionate hug from behind, or a few delicate kisses on her neck and shoulders. Nana doesn’t reject her payment, and you can feel her skin heat up under your touch. It could be from the fire of the stove, but her crimson ears let you know it’s your doing. When she is almost done, you set the table, and pour out two glasses of orange juice.

You eat in mostly quiet, watching the Sun climb higher on the cloudless sky, only occasionally speaking up. Exactly like on the first date though, it’s not an awkward silences, it’s just… comfortable. You will have many more times in the not so near future to discuss any hot topic, or whatever’s on your minds, but this serene morning needs none of that. It only needs the two of you, stolen glances, exchanged smiles, and some cold oj to flush down the tasty food.

She offers you coffee after you’re done; an offer you can’t refuse, but state one condition in return: “I’m doing the dishes then.” She brings the soul warming beverage to the sofa, where the two of you cuddle up, watching some dumb morning show for entertainment. Your hand roams along her body dutifully through it all, earning you hums of delight. Sadly, the good times come to an end sooner than expected when Nana gets a call from her manager, informing her about a crucial, and certainly critical conference in the coming hour.

- I’ll let you get ready, then. - you tell her, slightly dejected, but not at all surprised.

- Yeah, thanks… You first do the dishes as promised, then head to the bathroom to dress up while she does the same in her bedroom. After a long kiss, you say your goodbyes.

- I’ll see you… whenever, I guess. - you say with a bitter smile.

- I’ll try to make time for you, but I can’t promise anything. - her eyes cast down on the floor, trying not to face the inevitable.

You grab her chin, and bring her eyes up to meet yours briefly, before you give her one more peck on her lips. For the first time you have known her, they were slanting down, but you pour every bit of reassurance into the kiss, and though she doesn’t exactly smile after you pull away, she at least looks less gloomy.

- You just focus on this group first, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard, because I will wait for you, however long it takes.

She darts at you with a tight hug, not letting go of you until she has committed your scent and feel to memory.

- Thank you. I will do my best for you.

- I don’t doubt that for a second. But do it for yourself.

_______________________________________________________

You knew what you signed up for, but that still doesn’t console you. Working, and meeting up with your friends can’t replace Nana’s absence in your life. She puts most of her energy into preparing for her debut, understandably so, and the two of you barely even chat during her promotions. Meetings are almost completely out of the question, bar a few coffees, and a short walk with your dog here and there. The only positive thing about all of this is watching Nana shine on stage more than ever. Even during the rendezvous, she goes on about how much fun it is with the new members, how talented and kind they are, and how much she loves the songs, dances, and concepts. She can’t hide her fatigue though, tainting the sweet times with a somewhat bitter undertone. They even travelled to Japan two times, once to France, and once to Saudi Arabia, and no matter how much you wanted to follow her, there was no way it was ever feasible or logical.

And of course, once the promotions for their first EP 7+UP ends, they almost immediately announce their next comeback in early 2024, threatening even more packed schedules for her, and even less dates for you. Fortunately or not, that somehow fizzles out, but of course, Nana’s agency jumps on the opportunity, riding her newfound fame, striking while the iron is hot: they announce WOOAH’s single releasing in April. Between all this chaos and dickering, only one thing is for certain: you have to meet. You have both waited enough, sacrificed enough, now it’s time to reap in your rewards.

While her bosses deal with legal stuff between WOOAH an EL7Z UP, and set up for the release of BLUSH, you have a few weeks of freedom, and you use it to the fullest. You drink and dine out, go to karaoke and bowling with friends, and during all this, your love for Nana only grows. Finally being with her again, fully, and this frequently, reminds you why you fell for her in the first place: her carefree but never careless attitude, her kind words, her playful teasing, her precious smile and even more precious laughter, her perfect body in your arms, and those soft lips that taunt you to kiss her every time your gaze lands on them, even if there are people watching.

And naturally, it doesn’t take long to give in to the desires you both have held back for God knows how long. After the first few dates, it’s time you cross this bridge. It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you met up in the afternoon in early February for a BBQ with her friends, but it was always in the cards. Valentine’s day was just around the corner, and you could have waited to make it the most special day of all, but something about today just felt right. Maybe it was how she fed you while you cooked for the group, how she kept looking at you with those curious, adoring eyes, how she snuggled close whenever she could, how she leaned her head on your shoulder, how she clung onto your hand during your walk home, or most likely all of the above.

In any case, it led you here, to this exact moment. You are lying on your bed, and for the first time in many months, it’s not your dog you share it with. Nana is on top of you, her tongue pushing against your lips as you make out, impatiently searching for a way in, which you hastily surrender to her. You have never seen her this zealous, this hungry for you. “I guess she has had enough too.” Sensing her intentions, your hands creep down from her back, and land on her perky ass. It’s time you shed the pretences, and go for what she is offering. What’s yours for the night, and most likely for the foreseeable future, but hopefully forever. You fondle the supple flesh and spread her cheeks apart as much as her jeans allow. She rewards you with moans you can only describe as lewd. Especially for such a gracious girl as her.

Her hands are holding either side of your neck, pulling you impossibly close, deepening the kiss, like she feared you would get away if she let go of you for a second. Her fingers then snake down on your chest, her fingertips tracing teasing circles around your nipple before feeling up your pecs and abs. She moans into the kiss again, but it’s this time more out of appreciation for your fit physique than from the heat that’s building inside her. In the meantime, you reach under her top to rub along the smooth skin of her lower back. The feeling presumably ignites something within her, because she starts to grind against your growing bulge, eliciting a hushed groan from you this time.

It’s a risky limbo of long suppressed lust and never-ending affection. One side of you simply wants to pin her down, and fuck her brains out until she is addicted to you, to your cock, but the more sentimental side yearns for her gentle touches, her sweet kisses, and her soft whimpers of satisfaction, were you to slowly make love to this princess on top of you. The way she quickly reaches for your groin, but stops at the edge of your pants in hesitation, lets you know she is battling with the same demons. And being the sensible man you are, you won’t force her into something she is not hundred percent comfortable with. Nevertheless, you lift your hips, seeking her touch, while also giving her the green light she might have needed.

She doesn’t bite just yet though - except for your lower lips at times. Instead she matches the movement of your hands, and her digits sneak under your shirt to explore your tensing muscles. The arousal is literally palpable, even your clothes start to feel too hot now. As the restrictions start to crumble, Nana takes the first real step: in the blink of an eye she breaks the kiss, sits up, and pulls off her shirt in one move. You barely have a second to admire her athletic upper body, because as soon as she throws her top away, her lips are pressing against yours again. It doesn’t take long for her to reach for your top after that; her fingers hook into the fabric, and you lift from the bed to help her remove it. This time she takes a few seconds to drink in your sight; that lets you enjoy her tantalizing fitness in return.

- Fuck… You are so-

You can’t even finish the sentence, because with a wide grin, she lunges at you, continuing her oral assault where she left off. The sloppy sound of your make-out fills the room, along with heavy breaths and muffled whimpers of arousal. Her fair skin is like velvet under your fingertips as you brush them across her back with unrestrained need. The back of her bra gets in the way of the exploration, but she gives you a quick approval for you to unclasp it. She wiggles out of the pesky piece of fabric, and again, she gives you a mere glimpse of her pert tits before pressing them against your chest to resume with the smooches. Her lips slowly leave yours, and make their way down your jawline, across your neck, and onto your chest. A move you would have rather done to her yourself, but certainly aren’t against to be on the receiving end of. Persistently, she moves further south, only stopping when she reaches your abdomen. She looks up at your flustered face, and with a sly grin, she unbuttons your pants, and unzips your fly. With the lowered resistance, your erection bursts forward, tenting your boxers, the last barrier between you and heaven. Nana tugs at your pants; doesn’t even wait for you to raise your hips, she just yanks it off, but in doing so, your underwear comes off with them. Your cock springs free, and stands at attention proudly, twitching in anticipation. As your princess marvels at your manhood, you get to gawk at her modest, perky breasts. You swear you can see her pink nipples harden, and you give yourself all the credit, since the air in your room is more than warm at this point.

Nana’s mouth hangs agape as she cautiously drops to her knees. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look of her reaching for your pole. Her delicate fingers wrap around your girth tentatively, mapping your pulsing veins. Her clutched palm moves along your shaft in a measured fashion, her eyes locked onto her prize. - Such a nice cock… You look at her curiously, somewhat caught off guard by her statement, but before you could give it much thought, her lips are already hovering your leaking tip. She looks up at you with those innocent cocoa-hued eyes, though you can’t find any trace of modesty in her gaze. It’s filled with lust and hunger as she opens wide to take you inside. You hiss at first, when her hot breath hits your meat, then you let out the air in a shaky breath when she envelopes you in the slick and soppy embrace of her mouth. Your head cocks back for a second, but you regain composure, just so you can look into her eyes. She never breaks eye contact as she dutifully takes more and more of your length into her greedy mouth. She pushes her tongue out with practiced ease, making sure your main vein slides nicely alongside the rougher surface.

Your glans reach her uvula, but she doesn’t gag, merely pauses for a second. Even that’s just for show, because she grins (as much as you dick inside her mouth lets her), and in a heartbeat, she has swallowed you whole, leaving you dazed, reeling, about to break, but above all, impressed and extremely horny. Her eyes start to tear up after a few seconds, and only then she starts to remove your member in a leisurely manner. Her drool covers you from head to balls as she slowly jerks your cock, still looking into your widened eyes, spittle dripping down from her chin.

- Holy shit, Nana.

She flashes you a cheeky, victorious smile. - Not gonna lie, I didn’t think I could take it all. I haven’t been with a guy in quite some time, and none of them were packing like you. Her smirk fades, replaced by a sulking pout as she sees your confused expression. - Did you not like it?

You shake your head.

- No, I did! It felt fucking amazing. It’s just unexpected, is all. I never imagined you to had this side.

- It’s kind of new to me too, to be honest. But I’m sooo horny right now. Have been for a long while, to be honest. You were just so nice today. To me, to my friends, even to the cashier at the shop. You always have been, and you don’t even know what that's doing to me. I have never felt this attraction to anyone, and I… I can’t help it. I want you. So fucking bad.

You reach for her blushing cheeks to caress her, which she welcomes with a satisfied sigh. - I want you too, Nana. But I’m sure you know that.

You lean down, and bring her face to yours for a kiss. It’s sweet and sensual, unlike the ones a few minutes ago. Those few words along with this romantic smooch is all she needed for reassurance. She steps away with a wink, and stares at you as she finally takes her pants off. It’s slow and measured, challenging you to stand up and rip them off, but you are too focused on her slender legs, and the blue-striped panties to move even a muscle. When the jeans finally are off, she kicks them to the side, and with short, calculated steps, she makes her way back to you. With both hands on your shoulders, she pushes you onto your back so she can straddle your lap. The wetness of her core seeps through her underwear as she desperately grinds against your throbbing cock. When you reach for her ass again, you realize it’s not just any pair of panties: it’s a thong. When she sees your surprise, she just grins. - I need you in me right now.

To back up her words, she peels the thin, moist fabric to the side; she can’t be bothered to waste another second to actually take them off. She drags her soaking folds across your spit-coated rod a few times, giving it another layer of her slick juices. You hold your breath to listen to the barely audible wet noises, but her quickening squeals of delight suppress the noise. After a few seconds, when she deems you well lubed enough, she lifts herself, and brings your tip to her entrance. Again, you barely have a second or two to take in the glorious sight before she moves. A sharp inhale, then she sinks down on you. Not slowly. Not carefully. And despite her incredible tightness, she manages to take all of you in a single, reckless motion.

- What the- Jesus! - she screams as you bottom out.

- T-take your time, princess. - you suggest, but it’s for your own good too, because the snugness of her raw pussy is almost unbearable. You don’t even question the foregoing of condoms, you assume she knows best.

She doesn’t even seem to have heard your words, too lost in need, too impatient, after having to wait months for you. Without warning, or any easing into it, she rises up, until only your tip remains inside her silken warmth, then slams down onto you. The sharp slap of your skins echoes through the room, but not for long; this wasn’t a one time trick, or something to show off, just an appetizer. She repeats the motion again and again, harder and faster each time. Her legs can barely handle the brutal pace her body demands, so she fixes her position. With her feet planted firmly on either side of your hips, and her hands propped on your chest for support, she resumes pounding you. It might sound ironic, but there is no arguing about it: she is the one in control, she is the one doing all the work, practically using your pulsing heat as a living dildo to vent her pent up frustrations out with. - Fucking hell… Slow down! - you plead between short, ragged breaths as you hold onto her thighs for dear life, leaving red marks on her flawless skin. - I- I can’t… I need this… I need YOU, damnit! I have waited long enough…

She looks you in the eye, and in it, you can see it all. The glints of almost obsessive adoration fuelled by months of longing and affection. The guilt of hidden desires and the fire of hardly concealed lust. It’s all there, and you can’t believe it’s all for you. You can’t believe how lucky you are to have this angel turn into this insatiable succubus, drunk on your love, riding you into a world of pleasure that may have never been discovered by any other. And within those passion-darkened eyes, you see yourself: a perfect reflection of all her feelings. It’s not like she was the only one who has been fighting back their urges for days on end.

- You understand, right? - she asks, still smashing her ass against your pelvis with unwavering cadence.

- Of course… - you admit between groans. - Let me prove it. You clutch onto her legs with force to keep her in place. She cocks her head in confusion– then you thrust into her. She yelps. Her back arches. Her nails dig into your chest. And the erotic display is fuel to the fire, to your pistoning cock. The pace she has set before? You double it. That causes her voice to grow in volume two-fold too.

- Ah! Y/N! - she cries out, which spurs you on to fuck her even harder.

Now that you have taken the lead, and aren’t just along the ride - though what a ride it was - you have the chance to examine her petite body. You start from the top with her face, or at least want to, but her head is still thrown back, moaning your name between obscenities as pleasure takes over her mind. Her reddened neck looks primed to leave hickeys on, albeit that’s for another time. For an occasion when she doesn’t have to cover it up with makeup from prying eyes. Below that, her small, perky tits bounce with your every stab into her needy cunt. You reach for them with both arms, and grope her soft mounds. She bites her lips from that, but then her jaw slacks open with a guttural howl when you pinch her aroused pink nipples, and roll them between your fingers. The reaction is exactly what you hoped for, so your digits stay on her itty-bitties to continue their work. Your eyes continue their work in the meanwhile. They land on her tummy. Her abs flex constantly as she tries to keep herself steady on top of you. Her skin is patterned by little drops of sweat, some of which give in to gravity and roll down in the crevice of her toned midriff. And the more you fuck her, the more her body glows with sweat. Not too far underneath her cute belly button, the sight of her completely shaved pussy greets you. It’s arguably the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, even in its current state. Or maybe that’s exactly what makes it so enticing. It’s swollen and flushed, her folds already covered in grool, yet your pounding draws even more of the precious nectar out.

*What a shame I couldn’t taste it. Yet. * - you think to yourself.

Nana finally gets a hold of herself, at least enough to look at you. The craving in her eyes is softened with an infatuation that makes you blush. She leans forward with a weak smile, her fingers brush along your cheekbones in a soothing way, raising goosebumps on your arms. The stark contrast between the gentle touch and the obscene slapping of flesh against flesh throws you off, but your hips are moving on their own at this point, unbothered by the sudden show of affection. Not that she intended for you to slow down anyways, just wanted to look at you, adore you, one last time before she comes undone.

Because after holding back for months, this first orgasm comes fast and hits hard, like a bullet train of pleasure. Her eyes are still on yours, but glassy and unfocused now. She bites down on her tongue, trying to hold back a moan, as if she was suddenly self-conscious about making so much noise (little does she know, there aren’t any neighbours around to worry about). You give her taut ass a sharp whack, and that’s enough to get her to scream and arch her back.

- Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!!!

You don’t just let her savour the orgasm though. No. You fuck her through it. Overwhelming her senses to a degree she can’t contain. You press your thumb onto her clit– a few circles around her pearl is all it takes to turn her into a quivering mess. Her legs give out, and she drops onto your lap, practically impaling herself on your dick, preventing you from pounding her further. Her mouth is open, and you wait for a moan, a curse, a cry, but none of it ever comes. Nana doesn’t even breathe. The only sign of life you get is her walls squeezing around you periodically, clamping down on your rock solid pole.

It’s sort of a miracle you don’t lose it right there. But you hold back because you want more. More of her moans. More of her tight, silky heat. More of her pretty face distorted with pleasure. More of her jiggling breasts. More of her firm ass. More of Nana.

- Holy fuck! - she finally speaks up amidst shallow breaths - That was incredible… I never… I never came so hard in my life.

- Yeah, that felt unreal. - you agree, lacing your fingers through hers. - You are fucking perfect.

- But… But you didn’t finish yet. - she notes, slightly disappointed, but not discouraged, evident by her playful smirk. - Maybe a good look at my butt would help.

With your cock still inside her drenched slit, she spins around, and nestles into your lap. She tries to go fast right away, but her still sensitive pussy forces her to take a moment before she could properly ride you. At first, you grab onto the sheets, just watching as ripples tear through her glistening ass. But you can’t go on like that for long. Not when such perfection is right in front of you, taunting you, begging to be played with. And so you reach out, take both her taut cheeks in your palms, and give them a nice squeeze.

- Mmmh~ I knew you would like it.

- I fuckin’ LOVE it. - you correct her. When she looks back at you over her shoulders, her hair cascades down on her back, sticking to her sweaty skin. Her lust-filled gaze finds yours, stuck to her cute little bottom, and to the puckered hole in its centre. A knowing smile tugs at her lips as she turns forward again, and she rides you even faster. You spread her cheeks to get a better look at her rear entrance; it twitches, daring you to make a move. And you don’t need to be asked twice. After licking your thumb to lube it up, you inch closer and closer to her backdoor, and since Nana doesn’t protest, you press forward. To your surprise, it gives way to you without much resistance, as if she was prepared for it, wishing for it even. And judging by her loud, almost deafening moan, that’s exactly the case.

The added sensation makes her already tight cunt clench your dick even harder. She gasps, shuddering, but she doesn’t stop. She can’t. She wants to push you to your peak and past that. She wants you to cum for her, to show her how much you adore her, how much she turns you on, how good she feels. If only she knew.

- Come on Y/N… Cum for me! - she begs as she rolls her hips in a way only a practiced dancer like she can.

Your reply is a moan. A desperate, covetous wail, that gives away just how close you are to the edge. Teetering on the brink, facing the abyss… An abyss of pure bliss and overflowing emotions. Its pull is irresistible, as is Nana, and you feel the inferno in your abdomen building up, threatening to erupt at any time. And no matter how wet she is, how much she is leaking all over your lap and onto the bed sheets, it only feeds the fire more, along with your own unravelling. You are almost there, and Nana knows it too from the way your length twitches more and more inside her, and from your short, laboured breaths through gritted teeth.

- Please just fill me up already! Now that’s just cheating. One that probably works eleven out of ten times. Your body locks up as you drown in the pleasure. You try to hold her still against your pelvis as you start to unload inside her welcoming little hole, but she slaps your trembling hands away, and rides you even faster.

Did you really think she wouldn’t pay back for the ‘favour’ of you overstimulating her when she came? You should have known better.

She fucks you, until you’re a shaking mess under her– until her second orgasm hits. The way your combined moans fill the room (the whole house, really) along with the wet sounds of your mixing juices, as it sloshes around lewdly with Nana’s every movement, is completely obscene. It’s a beautifully filthy symphony, played by and for the two of you.

A/N: Your dog is in the garden, preoccupied with searching for a treat he buried a week ago, in case you’re wondering.

Nana rolls her hips slowly to ride out the last moments of her orgasm, while also milking your cock for every last drop of cum you have to offer. She purrs in delight as you fill her thirsty womb, then, once you have nothing left to give, she turns around and collapses on top of you– entirely spent, and thoroughly satisfied. Her hot breath tickles your neck as she lies on your chest, but you barely register it. Your brain is locked onto the receptors in your nether region. Still, with how out of it you are, you manage to command your body to do one thing: hug Nana close.

The two of you stay in that sticky embrace, your chests heaving against the other’s with each shallow breath while your spunk slowly drips out of her used slit. It takes a few minutes before either of you come down from the high, able to speak again.

- You are way too good at that. That had to be my biggest load yet.

- Thanks, handsome~ You are no slouch yourself. - she returns the flattery along with a small kiss, then looks at you. Her eyes sparkle with the afterglow of your ravenous lovemaking, but she has a slightly bashful expression on. - This- This was the first time anyone came inside me. I don’t know what came over me, I was just so turned on, so horny, and I really wanted to know what it felt like, and I wanted it to be you, because I didn’t know when we could do this again… And I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of girl, who just sleeps around for the heck of it, opening her legs for any-

You shut her yapper with a deep, passionate kiss, until she finally relaxes in your arms.

- You have nothing to explain, Nana. Not to me, not to yourself. - your fingers brush through her hair for further reassurance.

She stares back with adoration, then lays her head on your chest with a sigh. The stark contrast between the rough sex and the intimacy of this moment doesn’t elude you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s not like you went all out because there was not even a trace of emotion between you; it’s the exact opposite. You were both so starved for physical affection, so head over heels for the other, that this was the best and only way to release everything that’s been consuming you since your first kiss.

- I hate to be this responsible right now, - you disrupt the blissful peace - but I should take a piss. And I really need to hydrate.

- Sure… You go ahead and do that… I’ll just… wait for you here…

You steal a kiss before she rolls off of you, then you leave the room in your boxers. After you accomplish your mission and let Bingley inside, you return to Nana with two bottles of water.

- Here. You should drink too.

- Oh yeah, thanks.

- Want me to lend you a shirt for the night? - you ask after emptying half the bottle.

- Hmmm, no. I want to fall asleep cuddling like this.

- As you wish, princess.

You discard the soaked blankets for a clean one, take off your boxers, then lie behind Nana with your arms wrapped around her exhausted body. The strong scent of sex lingers in the room, only dampened by the sweetness of Nana’s shampoo. She settles deeper into your calming embrace, her bare skin still warm and damp with exertion, and it feels sooo nice against your body. Like she was always meant to be right there. Right here. With you. The only sound disturbing the tranquil silence is the nestling from her thighs as they absentmindedly rub together at the delicious soreness you left in her. Until you remember something.

- Oh! Just one more thing.

- Mmm? - she groans, barely awake.

- I love you.

- I know. - she leaves the words hanging for a few, very uncomfortable seconds - I love you too.

Her breaths become silent purrs, and her pulse slows to a soothing thrum against your palm on her stomach. She threads her fingers through yours, content, loved, comfy, pleased.

- Good night princess.

- Mmm~

You stay awake for a while, drawing little circles on the back of her hand, replaying the events of today in your head. Especially this last half an hour. Would she have been like this if you went all the way earlier? Who knows? Who cares? Was it worth the wait regardless? Absolutely. Because all that matters is her, lying in your arms, naked, after the best sex of your life. So far! Because with Nana, you know you will have all the fun in the world– in and out of bed. And doubtless, she will prove that in the morning when she wakes up by your side. By her beloved Y/N.

[deerspherestudios]

First of all, hello

What is Atom's love language?

I like the fingers referring to the characters' love language, It's very interesting.

(I apologize if something is not understood, English is not my native language)

Greetings from Mexico 🇲🇽, take care of yourself, eat and drink water in a healthy way please ^^

//RUBS HANDS THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME HERE IT IS 💜

This is about the most ✨self-indulgent✨ I can get with one of my characters because Atom is just about the BIGGEST simp there is among the cast. Here you go:

•┈••♡❤ Atom's Love Language(s) ❤♡••┈•

When you're on the receiving end; Mixed 🫴🎁💖

The thing with Atom is that it is entirely committed to returning the favor you did for them so long ago, like they said, "their kind answer action in spades."

And if that means providing every single whim your human heart desired, this could translate to offering both gifts and acts of service.

It is devoting it's entire being to that task (literally!) while you're staying on that ship.

I wish I could wax poetry here but it wants to be your vacuum cleaner, your Ford Cortina, your coffee pot, your leccy meter, your portable heater, your setting lotion. //lyr

You name it, Atom will become it!!

Nothing makes it happier than to pamper you like they strongly believe you should be for being their silver lining in darkness, their luna nova.

If Atom had the vocabulary to gush about you I would add words of affirmation here too. Alas, they only have themselves to give and hope you understand just how devoted they were to you for the rest of their life without saying it outright.

They just really really really love you, okay?

When it's on the receiving end; Physical Touch 🫂💕

Boy, where do I start! Touchstarved lads you're in for a treat.

It can't can't can't get the feeling of your gloves enclosing it so gently all those months ago out of its mindddd.

They wish to replicate that feeling by touching you anytime they can. Absolutely fascinated with your hands, in complete awe these were the ones that brought it to safety. They are nuzzling against your palms as we speak!

It's fully aware most humans get the ick when it comes to touching worms so while they wish they could touch you directly, most of the time it'll stay inside the suit.

It can sense touch from any part of the suit, so their helmet, gloves, boots, soles even, anywhere really.

They go bonkers for a headpat, go insane for a little peck on the glass of their helm. Hug them and they might implode.

If you're touch-averse, it'll try to respect it but they're gonna be vibrating from restrained effort the entire time sorry.

To the point if they're desperate, they'll just end up with tunnel vision on your presence at all times since they can feel through the ship, hyperfixating on the weight of your boots against the metal grating if they have to, literally worshipping you at your feet.

Overall their favorite activity is cuddling for sure and if you reciprocate, you'll find that they are very compact and huggable, 10/10.

In my deranged moments I've always wondered what it's like to hug the Michelin man and I think hugging Atom will feel similar.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Bellara (and also the Veil Jumpers, and other random Elven things) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Bellara

Family and past:

Bellara’s mother is a woodworker who sells furniture in Orlais, and her father is an herbalist. He taught her about deadly plants (for her own safety)

Bellara didn’t tell her parents about Cyrian’s (second) death

Bellara once broke both of her arms while racing an Aravel 

Bellara learnt magic from her Keeper and later the Veil Jumpers, but she also studied a lot on her own by reading books and just trying things out

When she was little, Bellara wondered what it’s like to settle down instead of moving all the time (just like Davrin did) 

General:

Bellara can better focus on writing when she has background noise (like Rook talking)

Bellara likes tea (but can also drink coffee after she pulls an all-nighter, which seems to happen pretty often)

Bellara liked Lucanis’s grilled fish

Bellara didn’t know any Qunari recipes before joining the Veilguard

Bellara wouldn’t want to be an assassin, but she would be interested in taking lessons from Crows about assassination techniques

Bellara thinks that most people in Tevinter are condescending, even the nice ones 

Magic and life with the Veil Jumpers: 

Bellara once found an artifact that was basically an ancient elven mechanical toothbrush 

Bellara is a Veil Jumper because Arlathan is her home, and she can’t stand by and do nothing. Also, because of the artefacts

Part of the reason why Irelin and Bellara broke up is that Bellara became too consumed by studying/fixing artefacts 

Bellara and Davrin agree that the Veil Jumpers’ odds are even worse than the Wardens’

Bellara thinks that the ancient Elven magic feels cold

Bellara didn’t find anything on the Devouring Storm in the libraries or Circles. Vorgoth and Myrna never heard of it either 

Life at the Lighthouse: 

Bellara owns a bronze candleholder shaped like a fennec

Bellara thinks that the Fade in the Lighthouse is almost too calm compared to Arlathan

Bellara likes her space in the Lighthouse and feels like “it's been waiting for her”

The Archive sometimes stares at people who come by

Bellara eventually suggests that she and Lucanis completely take over the cooking. Everybody except for Harding dreaded any meal not cooked by them anyway and gleefully agreed

Antoine let Bellara borrow his compound for flaming arrows to see how it reacts in the Fade (she doesn’t speak about the results, but she used at least one compound for testing without incidents and later wants to borrow more) 

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara offers Davrin to listen about his findings regarding the Gloom Howler as he searches for the missing griffons, saying she's a good listener

Bellara asks Neve if she can become a Shadow Dragon and is very excited when she hears “Yes”

However, when Emmrich offers her to join the Mourn Watch, she turns him down saying that the Veil Jumpers need her. 

A writing inconsistency. Probably. 

Neve once saw Bellara poking around Assan, trying to figure out if he was real or some clever mechanical contraption 

Bellara wants to make pillows out of Assan’s molted feathers (but Davrin refuses because he finds it weird)

Bellara made dog biscuits for Assan (that Davrin accidentally ate the first time). The next time she brought a batch, she left them in a box labelled “Assan biscuits inside, do not eat.” Assan liked them!

Bellara once covered Assan in olive oil thinking it could improve his wind resistance and let him fly faster. Didn’t work. 

Bellara offers Emmrich to co-author a paper about ancient elves after they find out elves came from spirits

Bellara asks Emmrich about vampires multiple times. According to him, when a Hunger Demon possesses a corpse, the resulting abomination can seek out blood, sort of resembling a vampire. They can't turn into bats though

According to Neve, some magisters in Minrathous have tried bonding with Hunger Demons which resulted in them having immense power but also a craving for blood 

Bellara and Harding swap books for reading

Bellara gets into lifting using Harding's rocks

Bellara doesn’t think she needs to threaten Lucanis when she finds out he and Neve are dating because Neve could wipe the floor with him herself if she wanted (Lucanis agrees) 

Bellara is fine with Lucanis taking on Ghilan’nain’s contract (“Whatever we were worshipping, it wasn’t her") and cheered him on at Weisshaupt

Bellara asks Neve to beta-read her story

(If Neve and Rook are in romance) Bellara thinks that solving cases together is romantic

(If Neve leaves after Rook chooses to save Treviso) Bellara kept notes of everything that happened while Neve was away to help her adjust after she’s back

About the Veil Jumpers:

Bellara mentioned that a certain elf camped in some ruins, and one day woke up stuck in the clouds. The Veil Jumpers haven’t figured out a way to get them down, so they just send them food and water

Veil Jumpers use some of the artefacts they have recovered as weapons. However, they don’t use them often, since most of them need to be charged after one use, and nobody really knows how to do that 

Veil Jumpers eat whatever Arlathan Forest provides

Though Bellara also mentions she doesn’t forage in the forest anymore. Strife does, however, he always finds something edible

It’s hard to say how many Veil Jumpers are out there because people die/go missing/leave too often to keep a proper count

The Veil Jumpers once found an artefact that caused whoever activated it to get sucked into the Fade. One guy got trapped inside because he used it even if the others told him not to. Bellara is weirdly nonchalant about that whole thing

The Veil Jumpers once found something like an entrance to the Deep Roads on the Southern Edge of Arlathan Forest. The group that found it sealed themselves inside and destroyed the entrance, leaving a note telling the others not to enter. Davrin hypothesises it could be one of the pools similar to the one we saw in the Horrors of Hormak

Ritsivas from the Veil Jupmers is non-binary (mentioned by Harding in a conversation with Taash)  

Misc:

The power crystals are called “June'suledin'bellanaris'ena'ghilan'lasa'shiral”. You may infer the reasons everybody just calls them 'power crystals'

Not all traps in Elven ruins were originally meant to be traps, but their magic is old, so it doesn’t recognise modern people and can backfire. And sometimes magic just degrades over time and accidentally rips the Veil, summoning demons

Andruil’s Gauntlet is an ancient site meant to test hunters who want to wield the mightiest weapons. It’s filled with traps, and no one has made through it in ages. It was made by Andruil’s priests to test the warriors of Elvhenan 

Clans Nuvenis and Sabrae live in Ferelden. Harding’s village traded with the Sabrae in the past

[moon-ttokki-x]

Helloo

I'm here to ask something like a little too sad? I really like those scenarios. Like members reaction to 9th member's attempt to suicide? But like one of them(Minho or Jeongin) accidentally come to bathroom and see her? It's a little sad but I like those ones. Maybe even add a relationship between her and Chan?

hi~ i love sad requests . . . the sad ones are some of my favourites too, and hopefully this will help someone feel better <3

butterfly - (ot8!skz x 9th member fem!reader)

pairing: ot8!skz (mainly lee know) x 9th member fem!reader

summary: butterflies; the symbols of hope, growth, and recovery.

genre: idol! au, 9th member!au, fem!reader, su*cide attempt, graphic descriptions of self-h@rm, mentions of blood, cvtting, bandages, depression, alienation, mentions of blades, razors, sharp items, mentions of eating and drinking, mentions of fainting, passing out, blood loss, lee know referred to as 'minho' in this fic, bf!chan, please proceed with caution, and remember that you're not alone <3

a/n: this hit a little close to my heart, so i'm hoping this might help some of you who are struggling . in no way am i romanticising any of the heavy and triggering topics in this fic, so please skip if you are uncomfortable . my dms are always open if you'd like to talk . be safe, my loves <3

skz masterlist

The world is grey.

Greyer than you remembered; you thought you'd been getting better. You thought you'd learnt to feel the sunshine warming your skin again, remembered the way you found your mouth curving into a smile randomly. Embraced that familiar feeling of a happy buoyant bubble in your stomach.

Apparently not.

You're not sure how you feel right now. Distracted, angry, dull? Nothing seems to light you up, not even the deepest rage or the best news. Everything simply hit your crumbling shield and absorbed. Like pouring water on a sheet.

The patch simply darkened and sunk, drying but becoming more saturated with sadness every single time. And it felt heavy, heavier than you ever thought it would feel.

You can't taste the food on your plate; the noise of the members laughing and bickering around you seems to fade into the background, the soundwaves passing through as if you were simply a ghost.

A numb ghost sitting at the dinner table with a fork in one heavy hand, rather than a valued member of Stray Kids having dinner with the rest of her group. The atmosphere of the familiar dorm is foreign, unusual.

Like a hotel room rather than your home.

You scrunch your hands and rub your fingertips over your thighs, feeling the raised tissue of old scars bump in smooth, small dunes under the pads of your fingers. You feel the denim of your jeans rustle with the movement, the fabric rough and once-comforting. Now it just feels itchy.

Jisung shouts right in your ear then as he argues with Changbin across the table, and you don't even flinch. It simply passes over your head. Even if you wanted to, you can't find it in yourself to be annoyed at him. At least he's happy.

Is this normal? Am I overreacting?

Surely it can't be fake if you feel like this. But-

Your eyes lift themselves slowly and land on Chan. Previously, you couldn't look at him without a blush tinging your cheeks and the familiar view of a red rose in your mind's eye. The memory of his confession was always one that made you giggle, sometimes at inappropriate times.

Like when JYP fell over on stage and you were laughing because you remembered Chan doing the same thing, falling, and the image of his lovely face accompanied by his cheesy pick-up lines and warm hands came to mind.

But you don't feel like smiling now. Not like you did then.

You're both in the settling-in stage of your relationship; as always Chan has proven to be the best partner anyone could ever ask for. He's never let you down, carried you through the tough times, held your hand and wiped your tears. He knows how you've been feeling, but after a while, out of worry, you began to keep it secret.

And you felt bad. You did. Really.

Because he deserves to know. Deserves to know so that he can help you, kiss it better like he always has. Because that's just how he is, and how he's always been.

But he also deserves to be kept in the dark. Deserves to be able to continue with his life, be a leader and a producer and everything else without worrying that one day your feelings will take over and you'll disappear.

Because right now, that seems like the best option. Surely things will be easier for him, for all of them, if you took yourself out of the equation.

What would it feel like, you think. To drown, to accidentally slip and fall, to walk into the road without looking, to feel the chair leave the soles of your feet, to cut too deep on accident, it would all be an accident, Chan, it was an accident, I'm okay, I promise you'll be okay, everything is okay, I promise-

The fork clatters out of your hand. Nobody notices, the din of the members covering it up. Chan is almost on his feet opposite you, giggling and laughing and trying and failing to quiet the group. He doesn't notice when you begin to stand, then hesitantly sit back down.

None of them do.

It's not a secret that sometimes you need to be alone; the guys understand that you need time to yourself every now and then, when your head gets too loud or the members yell too much. All you have to do is stand up and leave, and go and lie down, tell them that's what you need right now.

Of course, that isn't always the case. Sometimes you just want to be alone, and not because they're being too loud or rowdy. You want to be alone because being around these happy people puts you in a state of disconnect so brutal and numbing that you can't stand to look any of them in the eye.

That's not what's happening right now. A mad impulse rises, a dangerous little thought pops into your head, and begins to simmer in a rather sinister manner in the back of your mind.

You swallow thickly. Your throat is dry. The now-flat soda you were previously sipping did nothing to quell the dryness. Your windpipe feels scratchy and your stomach bubbles in apprehensiveness, but you ignore it and steel yourself.

You turn your head to the left, feeling your neck creak; you've been still for so long- and look at Minho. He's grinning past you, watching as Changbin almost flies at Jisung over the table, clearly unaware of the hollowness rooted in your stomach, no, your whole being.

In every fibre of you-

"Minho," you say, hardly a whisper. His gaze meets yours, and even though he's still smiling and his gaze is not intense, joy dimmed faintly as he takes in your ghostly pallor- you still feel yourself shrink under it. Like an underwatered flower in the hot, baking sun.

"Yes?" He says. You feel Chan turn his head slightly in your direction, and your heart lurches unpleasantly. He's listening in, clearly in concern, but it makes you irritated. Unreasonably so.

"I'm gonna go lie down," you say, not acknowledging Chan as he fully turns to face both you and Minho, the chaos in the background forgotten.

Minho's eyes meet Chan, and his eyes gaze back, asking a silent question.

Is she okay?

Minho nods faintly and smiles at you, placing a warm hand over yours. You fight the urge to wince at the contact; it feels wrong, and all you want to do is shake it off. You exhale slightly as he removes his hand.

"Sure," Minho says gently. "Go ahead. I know we're being noisy."

You nod and force a weak smile before pushing your chair back. No one looks at you, save Chan stealing a glance as you stand up, but it feels like getting up in front of a crowd. You almost throw up over the table.

Excusing yourself from the group, you turn and leave the room. You trail a hand along the wall of the corridor, your knees strangely aching as you take the stairs upwards. Guilt and a mad sort of happiness take over your being and you move faster, almost driven by the manic feeling. Your body feels foreign and alien, possessed almost.

Entering your room, you shut the door as carefully as you can, and swear. No lock. You forgot about that.

Well, there's the bathroom... But it's bright in there, and you won't be able to see what you're doing in the dark either.

You gaze thoughtfully around the room, your brain going faster than it has in weeks. Your LED lights are on; the ones Hyunjin gifted you for your birthday are set to a gentle purple glow, casting soft violet hues over the bed and shelves. His smiling face appears in your mind and you push it away before you can get distracted.

The bedroom will do.

You avoid looking in the mirror as you pass it by, opening the door to the bathroom and rummaging in the drawers, not bothering to turn the light on. You know this routine well enough.

You pull out a pack of tissues, crumpling it in your hand, and reach under the top of the drawer above it. You move your fingers side to side until they catch on a piece of metal, hidden under a strip of tape, and pull it out. The tape dangles and you carelessly push the drawer shut.

Reentering the bedroom, you sit down at the foot of the bed. Shimmying off your jeans, and then taking off your shirt too, you set them aside to avoid any stains. Not that it matters anymore. They'll find you here with the razor blade still in your hand. You tug at the strap of your bra, trying to relieve the sudden tension stuck between them.

You're really doing this.

Because it doesn't matter, right?

Right?

No, you shake your head firmly, tears building in your eyes, stubborn and despondent. This is for the best.

Your eyes scan your thighs. Looking for the unscarred skin, the parts of you that are still smooth, still clean, not too-far-gone, not rough around the edges, not crumbling, not breaking, not you-

It stings a little the first time. Your breathing becomes shallow as you watch the skin. Nothing wells up, and you can't see the first slicing impact of it, the lighting too low to be able to see anything much. Nothing happens, so you do it again.

And again. And again.

The mad impulse takes over.

You draw your hand in messy, deep, harsh lines across your thighs, quick and brutal, and when you look down, your fingertips are stained in blood. So is the blade, and both thighs are a mess. It aches, but it feels so, so good.

Like greeting an old friend, like embracing someone you thought you'd seen left behind. It burns and the wetness of tacky blood sliding down your legs feels... nice, almost. Familiar, definitely.

Your breathing becomes even more shallow, coming in quick, short gasps, your eyes scanning the skin, moving to your arms, drawing long, deep slashes, welling with blood, spilling like the tears in your eyes, tacky and slippery and iron-smelling, black under the light.

The air smells like blood. It's cloying and you breathe yourself in, gruesome in the best way.

Your hands are sticky and drying with the faint sheen and splotches of scarlet, and when your eyes meet your wrist, you pause.

Just for a second.

And then you raise your hand, the blade sticky and red, smeared and slippery between your shaking fingers. A salute, the colour of finality staining your fingertips, wet, raw, real.

You smile as the tears slip down, soaking your cheeks. Squeezing your eyes shut, taking a last breath, and bring your hand down.

Down...

You feel the deep bite of the blade, hear the slight scrape of it, push it deeper, and rip sideways. As hard as you can.

Gritting your teeth, your eyes squeeze even tighter closed and you lift your hand and rip into the soft skin again and again, determined to draw every drop of blackened scarlet out of you, stain your body, stain the floor.

Then a rustle, a flash of light, a tackle to your curled figure.

You smell faded cologne and the world tips sharply sideways. The blade goes flying and your head hits the wall, dull, not enough to knock you out but enough to stun you.

You blink as a warm weight settles over you, emerging from a dazed stupor, frantic and shaking and gasping, and your eyes meet Minho's, welling with violet tears under the artificial light.

"No," he gasps, crying. A sob rips from his throat. "No, Y/n, why- Y/n, oh, fuck-"

You don't say anything, heart pounding, watching as Minho lifts a hand, stained in scarlet, shaking, distressed, cradling your arm. You think you're wearing a sleeve over your arm before you realise the sleeve is wet, and it's not a sleeve of fabric at all, rather a stream of wet, tacky blood.

Dark and deep. White peeks at the edges of the cut, stinging under the coolness of the movement of air around you.

You don't move, but Minho does. He pulls you upright, into his chest, gasping and gulping for air like he's the one bleeding out.

His scream for Chan chills your heart, chills you to the bone.

"Chan-hyung," he shouts, voice breaking, almost a scream. He screams it over and over again. He sounds like a child more than anything else.

You can't see anything, face buried in Minho's shirt, but you feel the back of your head being cradled, eyes drooping, and Minho's tears begin to drip onto your face as he leans over you, holding you like a precious item, fragile, breakable. He looks terrified, but you feel calm, strangely so.

He's shaking, and the sound of thumping footsteps and shouts of concern, not just one set of them, but multiple, thunder towards you, assaulting your ears like a shower of dull bullets.

Light floods the room, blank and yellow and foreign from a lamp in the corner, and Chan's hands are on you, and when you look across, Jeongin is on his knees at the doorway, wailing, Hyunjin and Seungmin at his sides, the rest of the members a horrified, terrified cluster of bodies behind them. You hear a thud and see Felix fall, then more shouting, someone rushing into the bathroom, noise and crying and gasps and-

"Y/n," Chan gasps, phone to his ear, shaking, tears slipping down his cheeks. You can't feel his warmth, or maybe his hands have gone cold. "Y/n, you'll be okay. Stay with us. You're gonna be fine, baby, I promise..."

You let yourself relax in Minho's shaking arms, stare up at the ceiling. His sobs sound nothing like him. Having never heard him cry, it's strange to finally hear his misery. It sounds soft, breakable, almost unreal. It makes you smile.

The world screens out to black.

Minho's prominent sobs fade into the background.

.

It still hurts. Sometimes.

But only sometimes. Like a bruise that you forget you have, it only stings when you push too hard, knock it against something.

The wound is healing. So are your thighs.

But it still hurts. Just like the memory.

You'd woken in a dazed stupor in the hospital, doctors and nurses and the members and the staffs' faces all blurring together in white flashes, smelling faintly of iron and disinfectant.

Two weeks later, you were back home. The cut wasn't actually that bad. Just bled a lot, made a mess. But not enough to...

Anyway.

The memory, the stinging pain of the event floats faintly around your head like a cloud, filled with rain but unsure whether to pour it all out. You still feel dazed, numb, but not as much as before. Guilty, definitely, but never more loved.

You wonder what would have happened if you'd actually followed through with it. Because deep down, you know that you didn't really want to die. Leave everyone behind, escape entirely, hand your pain over with shaking hands to those you knew. But part of you is still reeling, shaking, frantic inside, when you remember how you felt.

Upstairs, alone, numb.

While your members, unknowingly laughed and bickered on the level below. You wonder what went through their heads when they heard Minho's screaming, saw you almost lifeless, a half-dead, scarlet mess in his arms, saw Chan's shaking hands and the dull light of his phone as he called the ambulance. Felix fainting, the thud of his knees hitting the cold hardwood. Jeongin's devastated wailing.

You hear the sounds of it all, expressionless, barely-alive, but so, so real.

The thin tip of a pen slowly pulls you back to the surface. Makes your skin tingle on the inside of your arm, the sensitive skin around your wrist that you somehow managed to avoid in your distress. That vital vein.

You look down.

Minho's hair brushes against your cheek as you peek at your arm; you can feel the soft tip of the black pen in his hand poking lightly at the skin.

"What are you drawing?" You say softly.

He doesn't reply, too focused on the black lines flowing out of the pen. They're a little shaky, and he's careful not to touch the bandage wrapping your wrist, but you can tell he's clearly invested in leaving the drawings over your arm. You can't see what it is yet.

Chan comes over then, sitting down quietly on the couch next to you. He sets a cup of tea on the table, and you feel the familiar, warm weight of his head on your shoulder, nestling in the crook of your neck. You both watch a tendril of steam rise from the cup, curling and fading into the air in soft, white wisps. The scent of heated chamomile fills the room, and you smile as Chan inhales deeply.

His hand finds yours, resting on your knee, warm and dry and calloused. You feel the steady, solid weight of it over your own, his fingertips brushing your knuckles as he glances at your left forearm.

"Whatcha doing, Min?" He murmurs.

Minho responds with a hum, a little squeak that makes you smile. He sounds like one of his cats. He pulls back, capping the black pen with a smile of satisfaction.

"Do you like it?" He says, clearly proud of himself. Chan chuckles, leaning in to get a closer look at his drawing.

You smile back. It's small, but it's real, genuine. So is the slightly-smudged butterfly on the soft skin of your inner forearm.

"Yes," you say, touching it gently. "I do."

a/n: okay well now i'm sad . div by @webc00re

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[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Part 12 CW: blood, past trauma and experimentation

Jason could almost go to sleep. He wouldn’t, not when he was the only Bat in the apartment, but it would be so easy to. Danny made a really good weighted blanket.

It seemed once the kid got over touching someone, he basically became a koala. Cass and Danny had spent the morning wrapped around each other on the couch. Cass was playing one of her weird clicking games and Danny, blue bear in his lap, was scrolling through articles on the tablet that Tim had brought him the other day.

Now, though, Cass was out on a snack run and Danny had slowly slumped over until he was laying across Jason. It wasn’t minded. Jason could admit he still had some trouble with touch himself, but it was easy to be there for Danny like this.

The problem was, Jason needed to get back to Crime Alley for at least a few nights. He was already past when Red Hood should have made an appearance. It he didn’t go back soon, rumors were going to start that he was dead. Again.

Jason waited for Danny to start searching for a new article to read to ask, “Are you alright with meeting someone soon?”

He didn’t expect Danny to tense like he did.

“Robin?”

“No, Dandelion,” Jason said, stroking Danny’s white hair. “N talked with Robin and he knows not to stop by like that without warning. We’ll have him over when you’re comfortable but not before.”

“Okay. Sorry. I don’t mean to…”

“None of that. He freaked you out,” Jason said. “I know he didn’t mean to, and from our guess it’s not his fault how he feels like to you, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. It’s okay to set boundaries.”

“He… doesn’t feel weird to you?”

Jason sighed. “No. I guess I don’t sense it. I didn’t know you had died until you told me.”

“Oh.” Danny’s voice was small and quiet.

“But I knew that I had died— the others know it’s too,” Jason was quick to add. “It’s alright that you died. No one will think differently of you.”

“They might. It’s… you’re different than me, I guess.”

“I don’t know, because I don’t know what happened to you, but I actually hope so. The way I came back wasn’t pleasant.” Jason had to take a breath before he continued. “I was murdered by a rogue in town called the Joker. I woke up… we’re still not sure when exactly, but somewhere about half a year later. I didn’t have any of my memories, but I still had most of my injuries.

“I was picked up by some people you might hear us refer to— the League of Assassins. They put me back together about a year after my death by tossing me in something called the Lazarus Pits. Those things come with a price though, one that I’m still paying. Coming back was… hard, in a lot of ways.”

“Oh,” Danny said. He clung a little to Jason’s shirt, like he wanted to make sure Jason was still there. It was a feeling Jason understood all too well. “I, um, don’t think I’ve ever stayed really dead for more than a minute or two. At least not like… not like you were.”

Jason rested his hand on Danny’s back, feeling him breath. Feeling him… feeling him not breathe.

“…Danny?”

Danny clung tighter to Jason’s shirt. “Go ahead, ask.”

“Are you… somewhat dead right now?”

“Yes.”

Just one word. A simple answer.

“Okay. That’s— okay. I’m glad there’s a reason that you’re not breathing,” Jason said and pressed a kiss to the top of Danny’s head as he tried to calm his own pounding heart.

“I think B.B. knows. I usually… it’s habit to breath but sometimes I forget and—”

“She’s good at noticing things.” Jason would have to talk with her. “But that goes to what I said, right? None of the others will thinking of you differently.”

“Even if…”

“Even if anything.”

Danny sat up and Jason resisted the urge to reach for him. It took him a moment longer to release Jason’s shirt. Jason sat up slowly and waited for Danny to get the words out he was obviously working on.

“Can I show you?”

“Course.” Jason braced himself for anything.

“It might be bright, close your eyes.”

The flash still shown through Jason’s eyelids.

“Oh.” Danny’s voice wavered horribly. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Danny?” Jason was reaching forward even as he opened his eyes.

It was good he did.

He had to catch Danny as he wavered dangerously. Danny’s who hair was black. Who’s eyes were blue. Who looked all the more like Bruce’s son. Who was bleeding red.

-

“Jesus and Mother Mary,” Dick cursed, resting his forehead against his wrist’s.

Cass came over and peeled the bloody gloves off for him. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Dick wheezed.

“Badly.”

Jason barked out a laugh at that. It was unstable in a way that reminded the room of worse days.

The door banged open and they all jolted, everyone but Cass, who was better than that, and Danny who was still out cold.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Tim rambled. “Is he stable?”

“Yes,” Cass answered. Her voice was calm, but but Duke could see the way that she fidgeted. For anyone else it wouldn’t be called fidgeting, but the way that she untied and retied and untied the trash bag in his visions told Dick otherwise.

Cass was as worried as the rest of them.

“Signal?” Tim asked. He came into the room, tablet already pulled up to record everything.

“Hard for me to say,” Duke said with a little shrug. He wished he could say, but he was still trying to understand what he was seeing. “The guy is… he’s like no one I’ve ever seen before. But I think he’s getting stronger.”

“That’s— holy fuck.” Tim paused as he finally got a look at Danny.

“Really looks like the old man like this, doesn’t he?” Jason asked. He was trying to hide how his hands were trembling by keeping his arms crossed. Everyone in the room let him pretend.

Duke sure wouldn’t have wanted to be the one Danny collapsed on like that. It was bad enough being the third one there as he swung over from his patrol. The cuts had still been appearing on Danny’s skin, ripping him apart like he was nothing.

He didn’t look much better all bandaged up.

“I think the cuts were ones he must have sustained before changing forms before he even met us,” Duke reasoned. “They… felt old.”

Dick rubbed at his face. “So the whole time they were there just waiting to bleed?”

Jason laughed again. “Waiting for him to be alive again.”

Slowly, Dick dropped his hands and looked up at Jason. “Jay?”

Okay, so they were at the point of forgetting cape-names now. That was a great sign.

Confusingly, Jason looked to Cass, who actually fidgeted.

“He doesn’t breathe. He does, not always. His heart beats, not always. It is like he…,” she twisted her hand as if trying to grab onto the right word. “Like he relaxes and forgets.”

Well that was weird. Dick nodded to the monitor that he had helped hook up. “He’s breathing right now and the monitor says his heartbeat is hella slow, but steady.”

“This is his alive form, I think. More alive form,” Jason said with a shrug. “His other form is his more dead form. He said he’s never stayed ‘really dead’ like I was. I think ‘really’ was the important word in that. He stressed it like it was… a technically or some shit.”

“Or a loophole,” Tim said. He was watching Danny with his head tilted just slightly to the right.

It was a pose that had Duke straightening up in attention. “What do you see that I can’t?”

Tim glanced at him and then back down at Danny. “The scars don’t match.”

“Ti—Red, please just say it,” Dick pleaded, exhaustion hanging on his words.

“Sorry, I was. I mean, the scars he has now don’t exactly match the scars he had in his— what are we calling it? Dead form?”

Jason flinched.

Dick’s eyes flicked from Jason to Tim. “Let’s go with… ghost. Undead, you know?”

Tim continued on valiantly. “His scars don’t match with what he had in his ghost form. There are a few like around his neck that I think are one-to-one and a lot of them are in the same place from what I can see and might be the same? I’d have to take photos and compare. But… he has more in this living form, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, right, so that’s a thing,” Jason said. He slid down the wall he was leaning against until he was squatting. He hung his head between his knee and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck.

Duke could see Jason passing out with enough probability that he slipped out of the room to grab some sour candy for Jason and an icepack for the back of his neck. Being honest with himself, Duke could use the moment out of the room. It was a lot to deal with.

Man, someone would have to do something about the bloody couch too… Dick sighed and took the time to send a message to Babs about it as well as an update. Knowing her she had a list of all the furniture in all the safe houses and could get a slipcover ordered on same day delivery. At least he hoped so. Everyone was taking this pretty hard and they didn’t need the reminder.

Duke figured the bad reaction was pretty fair though, they had thought that Danny was getting better and now his healing was going to be set back. Dick would be guilty because he hadn’t been here, Jason going through his issues about kids and violence and death, and Cass already counted Danny as family. She was never good when family was hurt. It was even worse that Danny should have been safe, he was under their watch.

Duke set the pack of candy and ice pack down next to Jason’s foot, close enough that he should be able to feel the cold, and backed up to his corner. It was best not to touch right then. He wasn’t afraid of Jason ever hurting him purposefully, but he was also very aware for Jason it might not always be purposeful.

Cass joined him, leaning against his side, and Duke wrapped an arm around her. Tim was tapping away on his tablet, mostly muttering to himself, but Dick had gotten up to peer over his shoulder.

Jason tore open the packet of candies and popped one in his mouth.

They’d be okay.

It would take work, but they were Bats. They were stubborn.

Dukes wrist buzzed. The tracking number for slipcover flashed across his hud. It would be there by 9 pm.

They’d be okay.

-

Everything hurt. Everything ached all the way down through his skin and muscled and bones. His breath caught in his chest, ragged and frayed like his lungs were full of shattered glass.

He tried not to make a noise.

He tried to stay quiet.

They would notice him if he made a noise. He couldn’t take any more attention. He didn’t think he’d survive more attention. God, that thought was almost enough to kill him. Once he would have done anything for his parents attention and now—

There was a hand in his hair. It was gentle.

Oh, he was crying.

“…going to be okay. We have you, Dandelion, and we’re not letting them touch you ever again. The two Reds will make sure it can never happen again. Once you’re better they’ll take a little road trip.”

That was… that wasn’t… a sob broke through Danny’s lips and he didn’t stop it. He didn’t even try.

He wasn’t there.

He could make noises.

He was safe.

“Danny? Hey, are you awake.”

Danny nodded as much as he could manage.

“Hey there,” Nightwing said, voice so kind that it just made Danny cry harder. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Danny shook his head.

“Okay, that’s okay, thank you for answering me Danny. How’s the pain? Um, squeeze my hand once if it’s okay, twice if it’s really bad.”

Danny squeezed it three times.

“Really, really bad, huh? Okay. Okay… we can give you some pain meds through your IV. We have you on a saline drip because you looked really bad. We didn’t want to give you any meds without your consent though. Are you alright with some pain medication? Once for yes, twice for no.”

One squeeze.

“Okay, let me go—”

Danny clung to Nightwing’s hand a tightly at he could. His breath stuttered around the glass.

“Not leaving, Dandelion. I’m going to text Red Robin, okay? He’s in the living room. Hood and B.B are out… running an errand. They’ll be back soon. I’ll text Red and he’ll bring the pain meds.”

Danny nodded. Nightwing shifted around, but didn’t let go of Danny’s hand. The breathing calmed, got easier. Danny let out a slow breath.

“Hey Danny,” a new voice said. “The medication will make you feel fuzzy and maybe disoriented. You’ll probably sleep a lot. We don’t want you to wake up panicked. Is there anything we can do to help you know you’re here with us and safe?”

“Bear,” Danny croaked. He wet his lips and tried to continue. “Smells that aren’t… Touch. Warmth.”

“Red will get your teddy bear as soon as the meds are hooked up and we’ll work on the other things. One of us will always be here with you,” Nightwing said.

Danny squeezed his hand again.

“Okay. We won’t leave you alone, Danny, we’ll keep you safe. You’ll be okay.”

Danny trusted that.

It was surprising.

He didn’t think he could trust anymore, but Danny trusted that, trusted them.

The warmth of that thought followed him back into the black.

---

AN: This all Danny's fault, not mine! He decided to reveal his form early and then... welp.....

...Stay delightful, darlings?

[lis-likes-fics]

Matters of Propriety

Pairings: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Laenor Velaryon (Platonic) Word Count: 6.4k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, constant use of metaphors, reference to homosexuality as an illness, fingering, oral (f!receiving), soft dom!Rhaenyra, consensual adultery, useless lesbians, kinktober... A/N: I love Rhaenyra. She's so scrumptious and I enjoyed writing this. I wish I could have done more bc I don't feel like I did her dominance justice, but, given the circumstance, it's actually not an issue. Anyway, enjoy and Happy Halloween!

Rhaenyra brings a hand to her tired eyes, working away at the warmth in her temple as she looks upon her husband. “Do you toil in anything but sea and sex, husband?”

Laenor is especially restless today, just in a more excited way. He's practically beaming from ear and ear as he shares the gossip he's learned with his wife. Although it's a pleasant thing to see him so full of life, Rhaenyra would humbly ask for some rest if she were not so busy today.

Laenor rolls his eyes more pleasantly than she. He turns his back to tidy the scrolls piled on a table. “This isn't sea or sex. It's gossip.” He glances over his shoulder mischievously. “And, yes, I do.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “What are the matters of a servant girl’s likes of sex to me?” Her brows furrow, a light sheen of humor in her voice as she tilts her head. “What are they to you? Might I remind you, Laenor, you prefer snake to oyster.”

Laenor laughs. “And even if she's meant to prefer the same, just as you do, she does not.” He lets out another giddy laugh, like he's thought of some witty banter to add on. “Anyone who feasts upon the wrong meal is my friend.” He turns and leans against the table, looking at her with a quirked brow. “She's your friend, too, Rhaenyra.”

The way he says it makes her squint. “And what is that meant to mean?”

He smirks. “She's one of your servants.”

“Who?”

“Your favorite.”

Now her interest is piqued. She tilts her toward him, almost scoffing as she considers this. “Truly?”

He comes over, leaning over a chair and shrugging. “What reason have I to lie?”

“Entertainment.”

He scoffs, plopping down in the seat opposite her. “I find entertainment in this without need for deceit.” He watches her, watches the way her face shifts as she thinks about what he's just told her. It's surely just rumor. But a rumor like this could be deadly—of course, he knows better than to spread something so dangerous. “Admit it. You're interested.”

She takes in a deep breath, standing to act like she's got better things to do. And she should…but at the moment, she's got nothing to occupy herself until the small council meeting.

“I have no need to be interested.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes in amusement. “You prefer snake.”

“I do.” She turns away. “Besides, what is there to like without the usefulness of an extra appendage?”

His smirk is diabolical. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

She tilts her chin up, humoring him for the sake of humoring him. “Perhaps I will.”

It's a wonder his smile grows. It had already been split so far that she wondered if someone had taken a knife to it.

“Excellent!”

~

Rhaenyra is settled in one of the rare moments where she has time to herself. Laenor is on one of his many ventures, she has no appointments, and no one has come to bother her yet. She's been busying herself with needlework (though she knows she has a terrible hand in it, it gives her something to do).

When someone knocks on the door, she glances up and mutters a distant, “Come.”

The door opens. “Princess.” She glances up at the voice, one she recognizes well. You bow gently, offering a smile as you hold out your tray. “I brought your tea, if it please you.”

Rhaenyra smiles, nodding and allowing you farther inside. “Thank you.”

You come and sit the tray down on the table, pouring her cup and adding her sugar. “Would you like me to bring anything, my princess?”

She shakes her head. “That won't be necessary. Thank you,” she says again.

You hum. Once her tea is prepared, you move to tidy her room. There's no real mess, but the longer you spend in here, the less time you have to spend doing other tedious and mind-numbing work. Besides, the princess has expressed to you how she doesn't mind your presence. You prefer to be here.

You start gathering empty cups and any forgotten dishes, wiping as you go. “If you don’t mind my asking, Princess, how fares your day?” You know she doesn’t mind, but you’ll never be able to shake your impulsion toward over-politeness. “It’s been quite lovely out.”

“That it has,” she says. Rhaenyra sets down her canvas, reaching for her cup to take a sip of the tea you’d so graciously brought her. “Meanwhile, I have been confined to the castle doing court duties and pretending the men are actually listening to me.”

A stray chuckle seeps from your nose. “One day, you shall be queen, my princess, and then they will have to listen to you.”

Rhaenyra’s chuckle is more rueful, but just as stray as yours. “That day can’t come soon enough, it seems.”

She likes the way you address her. Most of the people here call her princess with such emphasis, as if they were reminding her of her place as though it were eternal. She is the heir to the throne, yet they call her princess almost like they were saying “peasant”. When you say it, “my princess”, she almost thinks for a moment that she is already Queen.

Rhaenyra hums, glancing at you as you feather thin dust from shelves. Laenor’s words echo in her mind. She had almost forgotten the rumor she’d heard, almost let it slip her mind in the time between seeing the two of you. As she watches you, it’s glued in her mind, stuck like honey in her head.

She imagines it now. Your lips against a woman’s—a woman’s whose lips are suspiciously pale and whose nose is suspiciously distinct.

“Some gossip has come about me from my husband today,” she says without much thought. It slips out more than she means to say it. Even her tone has become shifty in the last moment. “It seems he’s as bored as to listen to the rumors of the servants in the Keep.”

You hum without turning, still stalling to avoid going back to work. “Is that so, Princess? What rumors, if I may ask?”

She chooses her words carefully, slowly. “Rumors of a servant girl with…queer customs.”

Your hesitance was almost indistinguishable. You could have gotten away with it, but she’s watching too closely. You continue almost without a hitch. “What sort of queer customs?”

Rhaenyra licks her bottom lip. “Ones that make her adverse to the taste of sailors…or sea-men, in other words.” She almost couldn’t believe herself. She’s turned to her husband’s humor.

There’s a long pause where you consider her words, wondering if they’re funny or thoroughly ridiculous. You suppose they’re both. “I do not know many who prefer the taste of…sea-men, as you say.” You don’t look at her. You keep your gaze solely on task. “Though a different story can be told of sailors.”

Rhaenyra shifts her whole body toward you, tilting her head and smirking lightly in a less-than-subtle investigation. “Do you like it?”

You purse your lips, considering your options.Your belly churns. “Would it be rude not to answer, my princess?”

She hums. “Well, it is generally frowned upon to disobey your masters.” She doesn’t want to pressure you, but she’s far too intrigued now to let it go. She doesn’t quite know why.

You sigh gently, thinking for a moment. She’s right. You try to find solace in the fact that you don’t think she’s the type to look down upon you and order your execution because of your…your perversions.

You’d hoped to keep it secret forever. You’ve even tried to fix yourself of your sickness, but you’ve found that it is something that cannot be done.

“Truthfully…” you mutter, your heart aching in a sad way, “No, Your Highness, I do not like…” you’re getting a bit exhausted of the metaphor but you would rather not change to practical terms when talking to the princess, “...sea-men.”

She looks away from you, and you’re grateful for it because you can pretend to busy yourself again. “I suppose that’s understandable enough. They can be quite salty in nature.”

Gods be good.

“Yes. Quite,” you mumble dismissively. You know you shouldn’t ask, but it’s eating away at you. You could be in danger… “If you don’t mind my asking, Princess, where did Ser Laenor hear such a rumor?”

She tries not to make a joke about his tastes. “Who knows where he finds his gossip?” You hum in agreement to dismiss it.

Rhaenyra’s curiosity is probably what got the better of her. She didn't fully intend to ask, but Laenor's words from below are stuck in her head. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

“I wonder what fun it could truly be.” She waves a hand, taking a sip from her near forgotten tea. “Seeing as it could only be used for fun in this instance; there's no duty without the injection.”

You swallow thickly. “I wouldn't say simply fun.” You shouldn't say anything at all. “Though it does remove transaction from the activity.” You sigh, faltering to keep up the ruse with your unnecessary feathering of clean shelves. You turn toward her, running your fingers through the slightly dusty feathers. “With something like this, there must be trust.”

Rhaenyra watches you closely, the way you speak of it. It's more blatant than you should be in this circumstance, but she's not really focused on that when she's too busy studying the crease between your brows or the softness of your lips.

“Without trust, there is no fun or intimacy in it. Without fun or intimacy, there is no pleasure. You must be willing to give up a part of yourself and accept a part of someone else.”

There's a silence where you watch each other. You're quick to realize your mistake as you physically take a step back, looking down at your feet and hiding your embarrassment. She doesn't say anything, she just watches you with this look you can't decipher.

“Forgive me, Princess.” You bow your head and drop your hands by your side. You turn quickly, unsure what else to do. “In truth, I simply worry for the girl. She could be in quite a lot of danger if she were to be exposed. I shall pray to the Mother for her safety.”

You should leave. You've likely overstayed your welcome.

Rhaenyra breaks away from her thoughts, trying to organize them as she sits a little straighter. She sets her cup down on the table before her. She hums, trying to be light-hearted again but failing with the way her head is so full of your words. “‘Tis a shame, really,” she clears her throat, “that such a thing is of such offense.” She takes a breath and stands, just to give her something to do as she circles the sofa and leans against it.

“Pleasure is pleasure. Who should care where a man chooses to stick it? Or, perhaps, where a woman…” she falters. “Well, we don't have anything to stick, do we?” She should forget about it. “I simply wonder how…the deed is done without the…tool.” She decides she just likes to hear you speak.

“Well…” you still don't watch her, though you hesitate in the middle of your task, “I would not believe it to be as difficult as it would seem.” You take up a light blanket to fold.

She raises a brow. “Is that so?” She strokes the back of the couch with a ring-clad hand. “Tell me, how do you suppose it's done?”

“Princess?”

She shrugs in faux innocence. “I'm simply curious. Of course, if you have other duties to tend to.”

What she's proposing has no shortage of lack of propriety. It would be even worse if you responded. But…

Your gaze drifts down to her hand, a stray thought in your mind imagining the fabric was your flesh. When she squeezes lightly, you hate that you imagine her hands wrapping around your thigh…just to feel.

It is generally frowned upon to disobey your masters.

You swallow a lump in your throat, that you assume is nerves over want. It cannot be want.

“Well…if I had to guess, I would assume she could use,” you hesitate, “her hands.”

Rhaenyra doesn't have the thought to raise a curious brow. Her face doesn't change much as she stares at you, strangely hooded as you pass it on for confusion instead of what you recognize it to be.

“Just the same as a man could…” your words become a little quieter, “...or rather, as a man chooses not to, in my experience.”

Rhaenyra inches closer. It doesn't register. “How would she use them?” How could her voice be so smooth? It's like a layer of velvet on your skin, and you don't know how to manage that.

“Any way she saw fit.” You hadn't expected your voice to dip as it had, a richer tone influenced by the way she watches you. You hadn't realized the way your finger dipped between the fold of the blanket you've been holding for the last couple minutes. “You could just feel, massage, you could.. You could use them in place of a man's tool. Of course, they would not eject.”

Her chuckle is so shallow, with no real intent to emphasize humor. Her thoughts are confusing.

“No, I suppose not,” she mutters. She steps even closer, tilting her head. “Would her hands be all she would use?”

It's a strange thing, knowing more than the princess—informing the princess on what you know. She listens with such curiosity, such interest. You have to stifle the pull in your chest. It isn't proper. You shouldn't be telling her about any of this—it isn't proper.

But you carry on because you can't help it. Not when she looks at you like that.

You lick your bottom lip absently. “Well, if they were, my princess, what would be the point of the taste for sailors? Rather than simply the touch of them? Women often prefer a sailor’s salty taste. Some men have an indulgence for, not just the bee, but the honey, too.”

You hadn't realized you'd both gotten so close. She's only a few feet from you now, staring at you with eyes that should not be regarding you in such a way. “And if you had a taste for honey? How would you indulge?”

“Frequently.” Rhaenyra had not meant to gasp the way she did. It's soft and barely audible, but you catch it. It's hard to miss anything when she's so close, staring you in the eyes, running her fingers together with gentle brushes of skin.

You break the heavy eye contact with a glance down. “But I assume that would pose a challenge, as not many bees prefer their honey to be tasted by other bees, especially if not by a man.” You shake your head, looking back at her with a new kind of certainty. “No, many bees prefer the sailor and their sea.”

You hate the gods for making you as they did, but sometimes you hate them for making everyone else as they are instead. If you had to come out so wrong, why could no one else join you?

Rhaenyra can see this in your eyes. It's just a little glint, but she recognizes the same look in her husband from time to time. The difference is that he's allowed his indulgences in secret. You must have more trouble. Women always have more trouble…

Her breath is light when she breathes. “And what if one was willing to try?”

You look at her quickly, eyes wide and a little skeptical. “To try, Princess?”

“The indulging.” The step she takes is long. She stands right before you now, hardly a foot away. “Or even allowing one a taste of it? Say this…servant girl, perhaps?”

You squeeze your thighs together, though you don't mean to. She's a very intimidating person, and it makes you falter in your reasoning for why all of this is a terrible idea.

“I'd say…maybe she'd agree.” She's so close. If you took a step, leaned in just a bit…

“But there are many things to consider.” You step around her, ridding yourself of the closeness to put space between you. This is dangerous, she is dangerous. The way she looks at you, the way she makes you feel. It's not fair, and it's not right.

She spins around, dizzy from the sudden break in tension. “What sort of things?”

You drop the blanket on a chair and run your hands down your apron, an attempt to center yourself. “Things like…like whether or not this woman, potentially even a princess so interested in tasting, has a husband? A royal one, at that?” You shake your head. “This servant could be killed.”

Rhaenyra sighs, waving a hand as she looks upon your back. “If a person was killed every time they tried other indulgences, we would have very few people left in the world.”

You turn toward her, but make no move to come closer. “Even still.”

“What if this princess,” she closes the distance again, this time scooping your hands into her own. Her hands are very warm, much warmer than your own. They are only contrasted by the chill of golden rings. It's inviting as you try not to lean into her touch. You can't look at her. You're already breaking so many rules by letting her touch you. You're breaking rules by talking of such things with her.

“What if she were to tell the servant that her royal husband has his own tastes to favor? Not in bees, but in sailors?”

Royal husbands are a much different standard than lowly servants. But the only thing in your mind with such a proposal is, “And what if the princess dislikes the servant's work?”

You shudder when her warm palm envelopes your cheek. Your eyes flutter, and you look into her eyes. What a temptress she is, to look at you like that. To look so deeply into your eyes that you falter every time you come from a blink.

This is one of the only times when you're grateful for your sickness. If you had not been the way you were, her beauty would be so ordinary to you. She is anything but.

“Then she shall decide for herself.”

Your voice is so soft now, afraid to rupture this feeling between you. You feel manipulated, but you can't bring yourself to mind. If your roles had been reversed, you'd likely do the same.

“What if something happens?” You raise a hand to cover the back of hers. “If someone sees? There are many things to be considered.”

Her hand slips down from your cheek to grasp your chin between her forefinger and thumb. “If you wish not to continue, then you may yo. But it's as you said…” she's so close, you can feel her shallow breath on your lips, “this requires trust.”

Your eyes dart between her own, taking in every feature of her face. Gods, how beautiful is she?

She leans in, tilting her head in such a way that you become dizzy. “Will you put your trust in your princess?”

How could you refuse?

“Yes.”

“Then who's to say it's wrong?”

Your breaths mingle. She leans in quickly, and your breath hitches in anticipation of the kiss. Just as they barely brush, she pulls back again. It becomes this dance, a back-and-forth, push-and-pull. You know she's playing with you, and you invite her in full compliance. You would be her court jester if only she asked.

When she kisses you, it's maddening. Your thoughts are blurred in a swirling motion in your head. Your ears become fuzzy, your lungs already ache. You breathe her essence in through your nose and out through your mouth as she pulls you in by the back of your neck. She tastes of sweet wine, of grapes and blueberries.

Your hands grasp at her sides, pulling at the fabric wrapped securely around her body. “Princess,” you gasp against her lips.

You feel her lips curl against your own, her smirk fueling a fire between the both of you. “Shh,” she says between kisses. Her palms cup your face, her lidded eyes taking in the sight of you so close. “Just show me how you do it.”

You lean in to gather her lips again, your breaths heavy between you. You walk her back, pushing her up against the wall as your hands explore the length of her body. Your lips trail over her own, kissing the corner of her mouth and slipping down to her neck. Your teeth nip at her skin, your tongue laps, your lips suck. Her eyes flutter closed as she leans into it. Her hands grip your arms and beg you not to go.

You pull away from her then, your bodies still flush against one another as you take in the sight of her. Her eyes are of lavender, her skin is of ivory, her hair is of silkweed. She’s dripped in maroon and pearls. As you brush your knuckles down her cheek, smiling as you move to kiss her again.

There’s a soft smack of your lips as you pull away. Pinching her chin between your fingers as she had done yours, you whisper so closely to her lips that they brush with each word. “You are so beautiful, my princess.”

She stares at you. She had been called beautiful before. She has known intimacy and she has known passion, but there is something in the way that you speak to her that has her chest aching. A heavy breath puffs shallowly from her mouth.

Before she says anything, you kiss her again as your hand reaches down to collect fistfulls of fabric. You press a kiss to her collarbone, nipping lightly as her breath hitches. You slip to your knees, dipping your hands beneath her dress and pressing your hands to the thinly veiled skin of her legs. Her stockings stop just above her knee, tied neatly that morning while she was readying herself for the day.

She watches you, her eyes dark but so intently focused on you. You look up at her as you ride her dress, layer upon layer, up the length of her body. She reaches down and captures it, holding it in her hands and relieving you of the duty.

You’re holding your breath when you lean in to press a chaste kiss to the inside of her thigh. Her skin is so warm. If she had not been so soft, too, you would have wondered if she’d really been a dragon all along. You cup the back of her thigh in your hand, stroking up and down and enjoying the feeling of such smooth flesh.

You shift her leg over your shoulder, turning your head to kiss her thigh again. Her breath, although thick and shallow, is such a gentle thing. She never tears her gaze away. Her hips jerk lightly when your excitement manifests in little nips into her skin. There’s a pleasant feeling that stems from it.

“Must you tease?” Rhaenyra huffs, though not of any real offense. Her chest rises and falls like she’s ready to burst. A swell of pride blooms in your chest at the knowledge that she could be so aching for your touch.

“Apologies, Princess,” you smile, raising a tentative hand farther up the side of her thigh to bring her closer. You move so slowly as you inch toward her, this aching need which you have yet to see but can smell so dearly. “May I?” you whisper, so softly that you are almost unheard.

Her leg shifts to push her heel into your shoulder blade, not roughly but in a way to induce haste. She brings you just a bit closer, dipping her head. “You may.”

Just as soon as the permission leaves her throat, you attach yourself to her. You dip your tongue between her folds. You lick and suckle around her pearl. Arousal has already seeped from her need and is painting your tongue.

Rhaenyra’s hips cant forward, and there's a slight shudder. As one of her hands desperately grasps at her dress, the other reaches down to card through your hair.

You flick your tongue along the seam of her cunt. You really had chosen the right word—honey. She tastes sweet, a filling nectar you would die to feast upon.Rhaenyra is eager to feel it all, amazed by how wonderful you are at this, better than even Ser Criston Cole—who had always been very eager to taste her in her youth.

She supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising. You both have the same parts, it would only make sense that you knew how to use them. Your dull nails dig into her ass, bringing her forward as you both rock against one another. Her moan catches in her throat, and her hand reaches forcefully out to take hold of the table at her side. She grips it tight in order to keep herself up, looking down at you as her chest struggles to keep up with her lust.

“You are very eager to please,” her voice shakes.

You stroke your tongue along the length of her cunt, pressing a messy kiss into her pearl as you pull back just enough to speak. “That is not a difficult feat when you taste as good as you do.” A rough kind of whine slips when you suck around her pearl. “I was right about the honey.”

She smiles in the middle of the rock of her hips. “I might have to taste a sample myself. Just to check. Ah–!” Her hand flies out to take hold of your hair again, just to ground herself when you lap your tongue inside of her. “Right there,” she groans, her voice lower now with the coming of her relief. “Oh, gods, don’t stop.”

You focus on her pearl now, lapping and laving at it with all the strength you have left in your tongue. It’s a bit tired from the work, but it’s a good kind of feeling when you’re being rewarded so generously. The fat of her thigh is a welcomed weight on your shoulder, an even better weight in your hand as you stroke your hand up and down the length of it. You squeeze it in fervent desire.

You can feel her clenching against your tongue, her hips become more jerky with their movement. You hum into her, anticipating her release as much as she does. Her breath stalls in her chest as it builds and builds.

Right as she's at the cusp, you murmur against her pearl. “Breathe, Princess.”

Just as she takes a breath, a crashing wave rolls over her. She trembles against you, gasping as her head whirls with the weight of her release. You hold her steady, lapping up the precious taste of her cunt with a desperate need. She jerks forward when you suckle gently on her sensitive pearl.

When the rush dies down to something a little easier, her breaths become deeper as a drunken smile finds her lips. “I could certainly make this a habit.”

You press your mouth into her thigh, laying a sweet kiss upon her skin. “Tis likely to be a bad one.”

She shakes her head, moving her leg off your shoulder and lifting you to stand with a curled finger under your chin. “Nothing bad about it.” She leans in, her lips hovering.

You pull away by the slightest inch, watching her gentle eyes. “Did I do well, my princess?” You lift your hand to cautiously rest at her back, your fingers curling through silver locks. “Have I pleased you?”

There's something about you that makes her head spin. “Yes, darling,” she rasps. “You are magnificent.”

You smile like she's given you an incredible gift, accepting her kiss with a similar enthusiasm than you'd accepted the honey between her plush thighs. You're needy in gluing your lips to hers, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her against you by the small of her back.

She eases your mouth from hers, her breath short from the greatness of your desire. “You can call me Rhaenyra. I feel we've reached the point where such formalities are no longer necessary.”

You chuckle breathily. “Of course, Princess.”

She pinches your chin. “Go sit.” She lets go of you.

Just for the humor, you dip into a curtsy, looking up through your lashes as you do. “Yes, my princess.”

You turn and walk toward the sofa, sitting with your legs pressed together and your hands upon your lap. She watches you for a moment, doing nothing but watching. Your humor is dissipating as you look away, unable to take the heat of her gaze.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare, sweetling?” she asks gently.

You nod. “A bit, yes.”

She takes a step closer. “Do not be nervous. I won't hurt you.”

“I know.”

She moves toward you, and you peek up at her with eyes wide in anticipation. She comes to stand in front of you, standing tall in all her glory and regality. She's ethereal, especially with the way the golden light of the evening is peering in through the windows.

She bends down, her hands on either side of your head as she boxes you in. You lose your breath. You don't think you'll ever be able to stand her being this close to you.

She kisses you. “Spread your legs for me.” You're shy, but you do as she asks. Your thighs inch farther apart as you indulge in the taste of her lips. Her hand cups your throat. Your breath stalls, and then starts again to inhale more of her.

You feel her palm trail down the column of your neck, her fingers tickling your throat. She moves down your front before she's riding the skirt of your dress and apron up your legs. When her hand touches your bare thigh, your hips jerk slightly. She shushes against your lips, moving closer and closer until her hand is cupping the wet of your cunt.

“Gods, you're dripping.” You want to say something, but you can't. Her middle finger sinks between your lips, parting them to make way for her intrusion. You clamp down on her finger, your hips rolling against her hand already.

She strokes inside of you, curling her finger and coaxing you closer. When she adds the second, a slight hum slips from her throat. You reach out, grabbing a hold of her arm.

“A little deeper,” you guide gently, tilting your hips up. When she adjusts, your head spins. “Fuck, Princess, right there.”

She focuses there, hovering over you as she presses her lips to your forehead, to lips, the tip of your nose. “Do you like that?” she huffs.

You nod, holding her arm tighter. “Yes. Yes, my princess.”

She dips her head down to your neck, and you whimper when she nips at your flesh. “You'll have to guide me,” she whispers into your ear.

You're a bit confused as she removes her fingers from you. You stifle your whine, watching with bated breath as this princess, the heir to the Targaryen throne, kneels before you. Her handmaiden. A lowly servant who was meant to stay beneath her.

She eases your leg over your shoulder just as you had done before. She presses her mouth against your thigh, kissing it and licking her lips. She looks you in the eyes, smirking as she brings her fingers to her mouth. She dips them between her lips, and the sigh that parts your lips leaves you breathless. She hums deeply. “I can see why you called it honey.”

You chuckle lightly. When Rhaenyra’s lips wrap around your cunt, you whimper. You're careful in setting your hand at the side of her head, carding your fingers through her hair. You don't grasp her, you don't guide her. You just hold her as you watch her with hooded eyes and parted lips.

She sucks on your folds, flicking her hot tongue along the seam of your cunt and slipping it inside clumsily. Either way, it's nice. It's not often you get attention like this, and from a princess?

“Up a little more, princess.” Your voice is light and high with pleasure. When she does as you say, your sigh is tinted with a whine. “Good. Right there.”

She suckles lightly at your pearl, licking and tasting with a curious intent. Her fingers prod at your pussy again, and you arch your back when she presses two inside.

Rhaenyra is a quick learner. Her pace is steady as she curls her fingers, coaxing them in and out of you with an eagerness that you had displayed before. Her lips and tongue work at your pearl, licking and sucking and making you feel like you'll burst any second.

“Please, don't stop,” you gasp. “You're amazing.”

There's a certain power in having someone desire you, blubbering with pleasure and begging for more. It goes straight to her head. She thrusts her fingers into you as though she wielded her own cock, she laps at your slick like she's been deprived of water for far too long. She huffs and groans, drunk on the taste of you, on the pleasure.

You've never met a woman so eager to please another. When they're not shy about indulging in something so forbidden, they're too used to professionalism to initiate intimacy. Having this kind of desire is hard and it's depriving. If Rhaenyra keeps this up, you'll make the mistake of falling utterly in love with her.

You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet to keep from alerting the knight at the door. The walls are thick, no one should hear you.

“I'm so close,” you whisper, rolling your hips in your haste to come. “Please, my princess, don't stop.”

When she hums, it comes with a desperate sort of sound. Your thighs tremble around her head, trying not to close her in. You become dizzy, your head spins with the weight of her pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut and–

“Princess,” you bring a hand to your mouth, breathing heavily into your palm. Your hips roll and your mind whirls with the sensations of her lips sucking on your pulsing pearl, spurring you on and on. Her finger curls against a deep spot within you that has you seeing stars behind your eyes. “Fuck, Rhaenyra,” you curse, whimpering under your breath and losing composure.

Her hand slips out of you just to grasp your backside, pulling you in and devouring you as you continue to become slick with arousal. Her nose presses into your pearl when her tongue is too busy at your folds. Her warm breath fans over your skin in such a delicious way.

When your trembling has subsided, she eases away from you with a huff. She's got a drunken smile on her lips, her pupils blown wide and your eyes dark with pleasure. “I see why you enjoy that so much.”

You smile, catching your breath as she breaks away from you to crowd your space once more. Your tongue is heavy, and your words are sticky. You look at her like you'll be shattered if you don't hear what you want to hear. “Did I do well, my princess?”

She smiles, raising a hand to stroke your cheek with gentle knuckles. “You are perfect.” The look on your face is devastating. There's a bursting joy in your eyes, a kind of joy that only comes when it's been met with a considerable amount of sorrow.

She tilts your chin up, embracing you in a different kind of kiss. This one is all for you. She kisses you like she wants you to know something that she doesn't know how to say aloud, like she's telling you a secret that only you could ever understand.

She pulls away, still cupping your cheek. You swallow thickly, watching her and taking in every little feature of her face before you're forced to keep your head down once more.

“Will you regret it?” Your voice is so small that she almost misses it. If her nose had not still been brushing yours, she would have. “When I leave, and you've had the night to contemplate… will you regret letting me touch you? Will you regret…touching me?”

She wonders briefly who hurt you. You are such a good woman. You are loyal and eager to please. Not to mention, you are utterly beautiful.

She doesn't know quite how to navigate this. So instead, she sighs as she looks upon your face. Worry and doubt creases every little feature that lies there. She presses a kiss to your forehead, over the crease between your brows.

“No, sweet girl.”

You blink, taking her answer for what it is as you smile. “Okay,” you whisper.

She leans in to kiss you. There's a knock on the door.

Rhaenyra sighs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and straightening her back. “A moment.” She holds a hand for you, and you take it as she brings you to stand.

“Finish your work…” She pauses. “Will I see you again soon?”

You smile, nodding gently. “If my princess commands it.”

Her smirk soon follows. “She does.” She knows she's taking too long. “Goodbye, my darling.”

You nod. “Goodbye, my princess.”

You linger too long. You are wasting time. You break away from her, grabbing your tray of dishes, stacking her cold tea on top. When she's sure you're both decent, she sighs.

“Come.”

As the door opens, you give a curtsy. “Princess.”

She nods, but it's such a small movement that you'd question if she'd already forgotten you if you knew she wasn't doing it for appearances.

As you walk down the hall, you glance up when you see Ser Laenor walking toward you. You look up at him, pausing to curtsy.

He looks at you, giving you a smile that makes you nervous as he fully stops. You think you hear him sniff, and then his smile grows into something more mischievous. With a quiet chuckle, he wags his finger at you before turning on his heel to continue to—you assume to be—Rhaenyra’s chambers.

You continue walking, slowly this time as you try to figure out why he would react in such a way. You guide your nose toward your shoulder and almost freeze in place.

Gods be good… You smell like her.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa @rozendiors @seabasscevans @hc-geralt-23 Tag yourself here...

[sk3lliebones]

Sometimes I hate gays.

Genuinely though, there is soooo much hidden symbolism in this one! Comment what you find please :))

ALSO THOUGHTS BELOW THE CUT BECAUSE I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING!!!

Okok so I might be over speculating things but someone has to agree with me on this right?? And of course if this is the implication then call me TF OUT because media literacy is truly dead if I missed this.

If you've been following my page for a minute I assume you can remember the ADHD Kokichi headcanon post that I made last year (if not go check it out here 🙏) but REGARDLESS I have something new to add onto that. I wish I could do a video rant to something about this because I'm livid I didn't notice it before. But I believe that Kokichi's absolute worst fear is being boring.

Now hear me out for this. Of course, referencing my ADHD Kokichi hc, we all have a deficit of dopamine which is why it makes it hard to focus on things we find boring. I can BET YOU ALL that most people you approach that have ADHD can agree that they'd rather keel over than be bored (because me too), and the same applies to Kokichi. The reason why he bothers people is because he's bored, and that's frankly one of the worst feelings in the world for him. But if we reference basically all his interactions with the rest of the DRV3 cast, they can all be tied back to, in one way or another, with the fear of being boring. BECAUSE QUITE LITERALLY, ONE OF HIS LAST LINES OF THE GAME WAS "at least... I wasn't boring, right?"

Now why would he say that? If he was really that flamboyant for the sake of saving his classmates, and went out with a big final show, why would he say this in his very last moments when he was most vulnerable? In fact, aside from the fact that he bothers or annoys people for the sake of a dopamine chase, why does he bother to put on such a show? Because all of it is compulsive. His lying, his crocodile tears, his entire personality is literally compulsion in every sense of the word because he cannot stand the thought of being forgotten. Of being someone boring, who isn't worth remembering. In fact, I could even go as far as to say the reason why he crafted his plan like he did was BECAUSE he wanted to make a lasting impression so big that literally no one could forget him. Because he didn't have to go through making that huge of a show at the end when he was claiming to be the mastermind, which eventually led to his death. He could have absolutely kept quiet about his intentions until the very last second because he always intended to die. He was smart enough to have done it that way. So why big and boisterous?

"Well he was trying to draw attention to himself" you might say. EXACTLY. That was always in his benefit. He was smart enough to have revealed Tsumugi as the mastermind without all of the extra everything. It was his plan. His idea. His influence on Gonta, which ended up in both Miu and Gonta's deaths. His dying by his own terms. His effect that it had on the remaining cast. Even if his plan had to speed up in the end, he made an impression on everyone. Which was his compulsion all along.

I could literally go on and on about the implications of his actions throughout the entire game, but in the end I'll limit it to this. Please interact! Repost with your own ideas, comment, anything! I'd love to see what you all have to say about this idea.

[dollarbils]

did you break up with him? | b.eilish

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. you cheated on your boyfriend with billie, so she asks you to break up with him. when you see her at an event, she comes to see if you’ve fulfilled your promise.

warnings. smut kinda, fingering, harsh words/ degrading, mean billie.

part 1 masterlist

“there you are, pretty.” billies voice interrupted your conversation with your boyfriend. your cheeks burned up at the sound of her voice. you excused yourself from the conversation and he merely smiled and walked away, not a clue in the world.

“billie.” you said directly, no real point to the greeting.

“have you been avoiding me?” she came closer to you, resting an arm on the high table. her eyes doing the flirting for her.

“no? it’s not really socially acceptable to go up to your ex at an event your attending with your boyfriend.” she just smiled at your defence, invalidating it without having to speak.

“an ex your fucking, might i add.” she said this so openly that you scolded her, though her smile never faltered.

“ashamed?” she asked, the tone condescending.

“no.” her eyebrows lifted slightly at the response before the surprise left her face.

“good. at least one things changed.” she pulled you by the arm, forcing you to follow her wherever she was heading.

“billie.” the protest came out hushed, not wanting to catch attention or cause a stir.

“shut up.” she weaved her way through the tables, glaring at anyone who looked puzzled at your weak struggles.

“god would you stop moving.” you’d arrived in the girls bathroom and she’d pushed you into an empty stall, not checking to see if you were alone. she didn’t care.

“what the fuck billie?” you questioned her actions but she rolled her eyes before forcefully kissing you. she held the back of your head so that it wouldn’t press to hard against the wall while she basically sucked your lips off. there was nothing sweet about the kiss, nothing sweet about her grip on your hips. it was all rough and aggressive. out of either anger or frustration, you couldn’t exactly decipher it.

“you don’t learn, baby.” she shook her head softly, biting her lip while staring you down. your hair was already disheveled, and your lip gloss smudged. she spun you around and brought her body to yours, her firm grip on your head pushing your cheek into the wall.

“billie.” it was an empty cry, meant to achieve nothing.

“cry all you want, you’ll take what i give you.” her hand bunched up your dress so that it rested on your hips, exposing your underwear. her fingers traced circles around your covered entrance, but the fabric was so thin it drove you wild. you arched your back as her hands left your head, moving to your neck.

“so wet, baby.” she remarked as her fingers dipped past your underwear to find you practically dripping for her. she pinched your clit without warning, then moved her fingers to your entrance, circling it. you moaned louder than you’d wanted to and she squeezed your neck.

“be fucking quiet, you don’t want someone running over to your boyfriend. tell him who’s fucking you in the bathroom huh?” you were about to form words but her two fingers dove into you, stretching you out.

“such a slut, you should be ashamed.” her words were aggressive but it did nothing to lessen the growing knot in your stomach. one ready to come undone any minute.

her fingers took residence in your mouth, in attempt to quieten your whimpers. her body kept you flush against the wall of the bathroom stall, her fingers plunged deep into your wet cunt keeping you defenceless. drool started to pool out of your mouth but you couldn’t stop it, her fingers going deeper, brushing against the back of your throat making you gag.

“when you break up with him it’ll be my dick your gagging on and drooling for, baby.”

“did you break up with him?” she asked, referring to your boyfriend who she’d seen you with earlier tonight. it was an answer she obviously knew, but she wanted it to come from you. your muffled cries didn’t seem to provide an answer.

“hm? tell me.” her fingers were still deep in your mouth, contradicting her words. it took every ounce of strength in you to shake your head as she made a sound of disapproval. your walls were clenching around her fingers but she just kept curling them in all the right ways. you couldn’t think straight.

“didn’t think so.” her hand left your mouth and it took you a while to process what had happened, your mind in such a haze it couldn’t comprehend. but you weren’t bouncing on her fingers anymore. in fact, when you turned to look at billie, she was sucking your wetness off them, reminding you of your denied orgasm.

“billie, what the fuck?” you whined, you stared at you, her face void of emotion but her eyes dark and daunting. her fingers left her mouth with a pop as she poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

“hm?” her tone was innocent, as if unaware of the problem.

“you can’t leave me hanging!” you whined desperately while she silently revelled in it.

“you’re not my girl anymore, it’s not my problem. go ask your boyfriend to finish the job, i bet he can’t.” she shrugged her shoulders and unlocked the door to the bathroom stall. you were left utterly speechless.

“call me when you break up with him.”

part 3

[meguwumibear]

cant stop thinking about fake dating monoma....

"You're asking me out?" he laughs. Monoma laughs with his whole body. Mouth. Stomach. Hands. He uses them all as he insults you. "My how the mighty have fallen."

You roll your eyes with an exacerbated sigh. Motherfucker never did listen to much other than the sound of his own voice. Selective hearing. Shinsou tried to warn you. Monoma hears only what he wants to.

"I'm pretending to ask you out, dipshit," you clarify. "To boost our stats."

The plan seemed reasonable enough when you first hatched it. The public loves to stick their upturned noses into the private lives of heroes. The more a hero discloses, the higher their rank. Correlation and causation or whatever-the-fuck your PR team said. You need some press. You need to leak something juicy. Hence, fake dating Monoma. It's foolproof, isn't it? Now that you've actually pitched the thing to the smug bastard, you're not so sure.

"How's dating you gonna boost my stats exactly?" he asks.

"Well, for one I out rank you," you say, eager to throw that in his face. "Hanging around with someone in the top thirty is bound to increase your position. The top spots aren't determined solely by number of saves and take downs. It's a fucking popularity contest, and we're competing for a crown."

"Hmm, hmm, hmmmmm," Monoma hums as he theatrically taps his pointer finger against his chin in faux contemplation. God damn you picked the absolute worst person to fake date. Should've gone with the perverted grape guy instead. Little fucker probably would've jumped at the opportunity to call himself your boyfriend.

"I don't have all day, Monoma," you say. "You in or you out?"

He flashes you a disgustingly cheeky grin. The smile is all teeth and absent of any semblance of sincerity.

"Oh, I suppose I could be swayed," he relents. "If.......," a pregnant pause for dramatic effect. Typical, "the fake girlfriend package comes with real girlfriend privileges."

You raise an inquiring eyebrow at him. If the smarmy git wants sex he can ask for it like the grown ass man he is instead of alluding to it like some high school brat.

"I am of course referring to sexual intercourse," he oh-so helpfully clarifies. "Including, but not limited to-"

"Yeah, yeah," you say with a wave of your hand to shut him up. If you have to listen to the end of that sentence you might end up punting him off the roof. "Whatever you want."

Monoma's eyebrows disappear behind his poorly styled emo bangs that he never aged out of. "Whatever I want?" he parrots. "God, you're just as desperate as the rest of them without the numbers to back you up. Think the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight would result to such petty tricks?"

"Yes or no, Monoma," you huff, pressing at your temples to stem an impending tidal wave of a headache. "If you're above this maybe I'll ask the Great Explosion Murder God himself."

Monoma's eyes darken at that, despite the fact that he only has himself to blame for putting the idea in your head.

To his credit, Monoma collects himself quickly and shoves his phone in your hands.

"Number and addy," he says. "I'm staying with Kendo so my place is OOTQ for R-rated content. I'll swing by yours after my patrol tonight for a trial run. I'm guessing you can afford to live alone. based on your rank, number thirty."

"What fucking trial run?" you ask as you add your contact to his phone. You throw in a red heart emoji too, before replacing it with a peach, tongue, and water emoji instead. The pretend relationship needs to look real and there's no way in hell Monoma's the romantic type.

He smirks as he snatches his phone back from you.

"Figure I'm entitled to a seven day free trial before I actually subscribe. It's just good costumer service. Even that prick Bezo's knows it. Don't tell me the aspiring number one hero has less ethics than that capitalistic pig?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," you spit. "Fine. What the hell. Not like I want to be stuck fucking you if your dick game's mid. Swing by tonight. Bring your tiny cock and that bratty attitude of yours. Might be nice to fuck it out of you."

Monoma's grin is borderline predatory. His mouth is open wide enough to expose the sharp tips of his teeth again, and they look like they're just itching to bite. He leans over the table to whisper his next few words in your ear.

"My dick's not tiny," he says, before excusing himself. Then, as he turns to leave, "And I won't be the one getting the brat fucked out of them tonight. See you soon, love."

He disappears around the corner with one last wave of his hand, and you can't help but wonder what the actual fuck you've just gotten yourself into.

[moonstruckme]

hiiiii mae. I was re-reading thawing out and I'm curious if you've ever considered writing about Sirius & reader getting Remus back out on the ice again? I feel like it has real cute and fluffy potential. love all that you do! <3

Thank you for requesting! I've been looking forward to this milestone for them for so long :')

Read the Thawing Out series here

cw: modern au, chronic pain references, some anxiety caused by traumatic events

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It was your idea to do this outside of the rink. You notice things that Sirius doesn’t, and you’d noticed that as much as Remus feels at home with the boards and the bleachers and hum of the Zamboni, they intimidate him too. So, you’re taking advantage of a cold Saturday to utilize the outdoors. 

Sirius frowns, spinning an idle circle on his blade. “This ice is shit.” 

“You’re just spoiled,” you counter, still lacing up your skates with Remus. You’ve slowed your pace to match him, whereas Sirius had laced up quick as always and gone out into the small rink without a second thought. Another way you’re simply better than him. 

To his credit, Remus doesn’t seem to be stalling. He tried talking you both out of this on a couple of occasions, saying that it wasn’t worth your time, you were giving it more importance than it was due, etc., but now that he’s here he simply seems to be taking a methodical pace. Preparing himself. Sirius can grant him this, considering he hasn’t had skates on his feet since his injury nearly three years ago. 

“Would you call a swimmer picky for wanting a properly chlorinated pool?” 

“Yes.” 

Remus glances over at you, that particular smile he reserves for your obstinance gracing his lips. Sirius’ heart melts a little. 

“Then fine. I’m picky. Just be careful, both of you. I’m telling you, this ice is truly—” 

“I know how to skate on unsmoothed ice.” You cut him off with a look. There’s fondness buried beneath it, and Sirius narrows his eyes back playfully as you knot your laces and stand up. “So does Remus.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Remus jokes. He stands with you, though, letting you onto the ice first. 

Sirius can see the hesitance in your boyfriend now. That bit of nervousness Remus is trying to ignore. The awareness of it balls up tight and uncomfortable in his chest. 

“Awe,” Sirius croons with overdone patronage, skating to a stop a few feet away from the entrance, “are we not sure? We’ll do it like with the littles then, darling.” He bends and pats his knees, making a show of it. “Come on, come to me.” 

Remus snorts and sets one foot on the ice. “Piss off.” 

That one foot is all it takes. Remus pushes off with practiced ease, gliding into the rink. Sirius beams. 

You look equally as awestruck, your eyes so brimming with love and joy they almost hurt to look at. 

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius says, “he does know how to skate on shit ice. Give us a spin, handsome.” 

“I’m not your show pony,” Remus says, but spins nonetheless. It’s simple, and yet so incredibly graceful. So obviously second nature. 

“Remus.” You seem to have given up any hope of trying to play it cool, your voice shining with barely repressed glee. “That was so perfect.” 

Remus is doing a similarly poor job of repressing his own smile, though he only tsks. “If either of you did a spin like that, I’d make you redo it three times and then add a jump so you didn’t embarrass yourselves.” 

Sirius crosses his arms, nodding. “Go on, then.” 

It’s clear that Remus is happy to do it. He’s cautious for a while, testing his own limits as he adds complexities and small jumps and tries out different variations. Ordinarily Sirius might worry for his hip, but Remus has been especially diligent in his stretching in preparation for just this; and whenever he seemed inclined to skip it, you or Sirius were there to pester him (lovingly, of course).

Sirius’ heart swells to the point of bursting at how beautiful Remus looks. His posture shifts to accommodate the new range of movement, his arms coming out almost unconsciously, with a dancer’s grace. Sirius is well used to the symphony of skates on ice, but Remus’ have their own melody, their own beat and cadence. Even his face changes, the tension fading from his expression until it’s at once relaxed and utterly present. Remus was made for this. 

You and Sirius don’t do anything but watch, rapt. After a while, Remus seems to get sick of his audience, coming to a reluctant stop. His cheeks are pink from the cold and exertion—Sirius wants to cover them with both hands and kiss him dizzy—but Remus’ expression shifts when he looks at you. 

He lets out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Sweetheart…?” 

Sirius turns, and your lips are pressed together, your eyes bright. “Sorry,” you say, giving a wobbly smile, “you’re just—Remus, you’re so lovely.” 

“Oh, you sop.” Sirius curls an arm around you, kissing your head. “Stop that.” 

“I’m sorry.” You laugh at yourself. Swipe away a tear that manages to escape. 

Sirius tuts. “Look what you’ve done,” he says to Remus, who appears caught between shock and fondness, his mouth hanging slightly open. “She’s completely right, you know. You’re too lovely; it’s torment for us both.” 

“You…” Remus shakes his head. He’s delightfully flushed now, nearly to the tips of his ears. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my idea to do this, though.” 

“No, but you sure do seem to be enjoying yourself now, don’t you? Come here.” 

To his surprise, Remus actually comes. Sirius is elated; rarely does he get to be this demanding with such gratifying results. 

He lets you go to take both of Remus' pink, hot cheeks in his hands, and plants a firm kiss on his lips. 

“Thank you,” he says, grinning. “Now, stop our poor girl’s crying by skating with her, please.” 

It’s not done before several kisses, but soon you and Remus are in the center of the rink, twining around each other like snowflakes in the wind. You and Sirius take turns teaching Remus the sorts of lifts and jumps he wouldn’t have learned in his solo career. Sirius can’t decide which he likes best; the up-close view of Remus’ face as the world whirls around them and Remus’ hand folds warmly around his, or getting to admire the two of you from the edge of the rink. He thinks more practice will be necessary to determine this. Much, much more practice. 

Sirius’ nose is near frozen by the time you decide to call it a day. Remus teases Sirius for his pinkened cheeks as though he’s not exactly the same, and you insist on buying hot chocolates for all three of you on the way home as though they’re going to let you. You walk out of the park with breaths puffing cold in front of you, three skating bags hanging from your shoulders.

[writesvani]

coming down | 08

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): sexual tension, body image issues, self-consciousness, crude language, implied sexual content, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of past trauma, substance references, toilet humor, illness, physical discomfort, vomiting, food-related discomfort, anxiety, frustration, teasing, manipulation, objectification, inappropriate comments

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,5k // date: 2nd of May 2025

CHAPTER EIGHT — Wicked Games; proceed with caution...

AN: she’s baaaack, yuh yuh yuh. where are my coming down enthusiasts at? y/n, gojo, ren, and the whole chaotic side character crew are back, and i’m pretty sure i’ve missed them more than i’ve missed sleep. this chapter? one of my absolute faves. and oh, just WAIT until next chapter. it’s about to get wild in here, so buckle up.

i'm not doing a note goal for this one, mostly because i have no idea if anyone’s still around, honestly. i’ll just let this chapter set the tone for future note goals. if you liked it, PLEASE comment. i miss the hell out of you guys analyzing coming down. your asks keep me alive. this fic was my debut baby, and when it gets some love, i get all warm and fuzzy inside. help a girl out, please.

Gojo Satoru might be many things—insufferable, unreasonably pretty, allergic to boundaries—but one thing he isn’t is a liar.

And God, how you wish he was.

You wish he’d just been being his usual drama queen self when he dropped the bomb about your parents planning a cozy little family weekend getaway with his. But no. That would’ve been too easy.

Instead, here you are: imprisoned in the backseat of your parents’ car, Ren snoring against your shoulder like it’s his full-time job (drool included, of course), some truly offensive country song groaning through the speakers—not the Taylor Swift kind, the "my truck left me and so did Jesus" kind—and worst of all? No weed. Not even a crumb.

Three full days of pretending to be a model child while your parents pretend they didn’t once threaten to send you to military school.

Ren could’ve driven with his own parents, but with four younger siblings stuffed into their car like a clown show, he chose to suffer in silence beside you instead. His parents are trailing somewhere behind, probably already regretting accepting your parents offer to tag along to this trip.

And behind them? In a white suburban car so pristine it makes you want to commit arson, the Gojo family rides like some kind of godforsaken Hallmark commercial.

And in the backseat of that SUV? You know exactly who's there.

He’s probably reclined like he owns the world, earbuds in, looking like a Pinterest board made of sins and smugness, those glacier blue eyes already locked on the back of your parents’ car like he's psychically manifesting chaos.

You swear you can feel him smirking.

You are not going to think about that.

You have bigger things to worry about—like your dad giving you the side-eye every time you reach for another snack, as if carbs are a federal crime. Like surviving three whole days without a single hit of your precious joint, because your parents finding out about your “ways of life” would absolutely send them into cardiac arrest.

There’s also your mom’s Olympic-level passive aggression when you mention your grades dropped just a little, and of course, maintaining your sanity around Ren’s siblings—because even though you actually like kids, spending an entire weekend mediating tantrums isn’t exactly your idea of peace.

And Gojo Satoru? Yeah. He and his perfectly polite, terrifyingly well-dressed parents—mostly his mom—are just the cherry on top of this absolute disaster cake you're being forced to eat with a plastic spork.

At least you have Ren. Thank God for that.

When the cars finally pull up to the hotel, you're… surprisingly satisfied. It's a solid four-star place—not too fancy, not too run-down. Aesthetic enough to snap a few spicy Instagram pictures when your parents aren’t breathing down your neck. The exterior is minimalist, modern. The kind of place that screams we’re middle class, but we have rich taste.

You mentally give your mom her props—she always had the patience (and obsession) to hunt down places that are both budget-friendly and cute enough to make it seem like life doesn’t suck.

Five minutes later, the Gojo family glides in like they’re the finale of a fashion week runway. His dad steps out first, offering a polite nod and a quick, warm smile to everyone—including you.

You smile back. You've always liked his dad. He’s… real. Grounded. The type who doesn’t look at you like you’re broken glass someone else has to clean up. He never judged you. And that’s rare.

Even your own parents used to judge you. Maybe they still do. Probably.

But whatever. You're here now. You’ll have your room key soon. You have Ren. You can survive this.

Probably.

“I see everyone’s arrived,” Mr. Gojo finally says, voice warm as he leans down to high-five Ren’s little siblings. They giggle and swarm him like he’s Santa in a business-casual jacket. All except Mark, the only teen here, because he's too cool for that. Classic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mrs. Gojo chimes in next, her voice sugary sweet and her smile dazzlingly fake. You watch her eyes sweep the group like she’s mentally organizing everyone by usefulness. Then her gaze lands on you. It flutters for a moment—just long enough for you to notice—before it returns to its tight, polished place on her face.

“Mrs. Gojo,” you say, plastering on your own customer service grin, “long time no see.”

“Long time indeed, sweetheart,” she replies, the endearment curling around her teeth like poison in honey.

“Hello everyone,” Gojo says politely, too politely, and your eyes almost roll out of your skull. He even bows slightly. Who is this man? Certainly not the one who once lit a blunt with the candle on your birthday cake years ago.

His mom nods, positively glowing, pleased with her son's pristine little act—an act she doesn’t even realize is an act. You wonder how smug she’d look if she knew her beloved boy wasn’t a perfect Catholic child but a campus menace with a body count longer than the Bible she swears by.

You and the others exchange quick greetings before making your way into the hotel.

“Kids, don’t touch that!” Ren’s mom cries out, nearly tripping over a suitcase as she tries to wrangle her four hyperactive children. The chaos doesn’t let up until you're finally at the front desk, and the receptionist starts handing out keys.

You’re satisfied with your roommate for the weekend—Ren. His parents look way too pleased about that, flashing each other hopeful glances like they still think there’s a shot of you two ending up together. It’s sweet, in an oblivious kind of way. Ren’s not comfortable talking about his sexuality with them yet. He once told you he probably never will be. And that’s okay.

Still, you’re beyond relieved you don’t have to spend three days trapped in a room with your parents. So, Ren it is.

His parents and siblings are piling into one of those family-style suites—like the ones that look suspiciously like apartments, what’s the name for that again? Your brain short-circuits at pulling the right term, as usual.

Your parents are tucked away in their own room, of course. And the Gojos? Also in their own little suite. Naturally.

Gojo Satoru, golden boy deluxe, gets a room all to himself. Because apparently, sharing a room with you and Ren is beneath him. Or maybe that’s just his mom’s rule. Not like she’d ever let her precious son share space—let alone four walls—with the girl who once turned his life into something similar to a PR nightmare.

Not after everything.

You’re thankful for that, though. So, so thankful.

“Jesus, why do I feel like Gojo’s mother shot disapproval down our spines the second she spotted us?” Ren sighs, shutting the hotel room door behind him and dropping his suspiciously large suitcase with a loud thud.

You flop onto the bed, one brow raised. “Because she totally did. She hates us—well, mostly me. You’re just collateral damage.”

“True. I’m only hated by association. Otherwise, I’m just too damn perfect.”

“You are, bestie. Did you see Gojo’s little bow? I almost shit myself from how fake it was.”

“YEAH. But also—Gojo’s always been polite to elders. Not even surprised, honestly.”

“Hey. Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not defending him, I’m literally just stating facts.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude.” You wave him off. “Anyway, when’s dinner? I haven’t eaten since this morning. My mom said the food here is, like, divine or whatever."

“Seven. Sharp. My dad spammed me with messages about it—apparently I’m too likely to forget.”

“So, an hour?”

“Mhm.”

“Bro, I’m going to starve.”

“Suck it up, pretty. Food’s coming soon.”

You nod, dramatically collapsing onto the bed with a groan, arms spread wide like you’ve been through war.

Ren, ever the neat freak in disguise, is already unpacking both your suitcase and his, folding your clothes into perfect little rectangles.

“Why are you unpacking us for a two-day trip?” you mumble, watching him from the bed. “We can just dig through the suitcase like normal people.”

“Because,” he says, holding up a pair of your red lacey thongs, “Wait—why did you bring these to a trip with your parents?”

“You never know. Maybe I’ll meet a cutie and finally get laid.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

He sighs, still folding. “Anyway, I’m doing this because it calms me down. I’m nervous about the whole thing.”

“This thing?”

“This trip, bestie. I can already feel how awkward it’s going to be.”

“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know why Gojo’s parents even accepted the invite.”

“You mean his mom?”

“Obviously. She is the devil reincarnated.”

Ren chuckles, holding up one of your shirts. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me…”

“Oh? Spilling tea already?”

“You know how my mom gossips like it’s a full-time job, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, apparently your dad and Gojo’s dad started some kind of business thing together. They’ve been hanging out more.”

“I knew about that. Still doesn’t explain this cursed reunion.”

“Patience, drama queen.” He sighs, folding your thong with way too much care. “Word is, Mrs. Gojo was so against it.”

“Could’ve never guessed,” you deadpan.

“She even made a whole ass scene. Said he was mixing the firm with your ‘deranged’ family—just like her precious son got mixed up with you.”

You blink. Then smirk.

“Me. The deranged daughter. Honestly? Poetic.”

“Yeah, and your dad was pissed,” Ren says, tossing a hoodie into the drawer. “He almost backed out because of it. But Mr. Gojo? He needs your dad for this deal. So he ended up apologizing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Mr. Gojo apologized?”

“Yup. And then your dad went off about how you’ve changed, how you regret what happened, how it physically and mentally hurts him when someone bashes his daughter’s name.”

You blink. “Damn. Didn’t know my dad was dramatic like that.”

Ren smirks. “Yeah, you probably got it from him.”

“Rude.”

“So Mr. Gojo made his wife apologize to your dad.”

“Okay, but Ren—that still doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

“Stop interrupting me, then.” He folds another shirt, clearly enjoying the drama. “Anyway. Turns out this trip was already planned by your parents and mine. Like, a while ago. Some family bonding thing.”

You groan, flopping onto your stomach. “That sounds like something my mom would do.”

“But here’s the kicker,” Ren leans in like he’s about to drop nuclear gossip. “Mrs. Gojo accidentally let the whole fight with your dad slip to my mom during brunch. And you know my mom. She called yours instantly. So your mom spilled the rest of the tea.”

“I literally can’t even keep up anymore.”

“Honey,” Ren says, flopping beside you, “we’re trapped in a high-stakes episode of Real Housewives: Family Feud Edition.”

You snort. “With better outfits.”

“And worse intentions, anyway,” Ren continues, “your mom was still bitter about the whole thing. She told my mom to invite the Gojos and something like, ‘If she’s really sorry, she’ll accept the invite. Let her see for herself how much my daughter has changed.’ So, my mom invited the Gojos—and, well, the rest is history.”

You scoff. “There’s no way that woman is sorry.”

“Obviously not. She’s probably here just to witness your downfall.”

“Right? Like, I still can’t believe she called me and my whole family deranged. Okay, maybe I am—but my parents? Please. They’re all perfect smiles and pristine public image. 10 out of 10.”

“It’s just because they defended you back then. That’s what pissed her off.”

“Yeah, well, what’d she expect them to do? Side with her? Sure, I was fucking Satoru and snorting coke, but I was still their daughter.”

Ren chokes on air, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ—never thought I’d hear ‘daughter,’ ‘fucking,’ and ‘snorting’ in the same sentence.”

You grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Ren and you spend the rest of the hour just chilling—him folding clothes like it’s a religion, you sprawled out across the mattress, shoving your phone in his face every two minutes with some cursed TikTok. He complains you’re distracting him, but laughs every time. So, who’s the real clown?

Eventually, you both freshen up for dinner and head downstairs, stomachs rumbling. But the second you step into the hotel restaurant, the situation becomes very clear.

There’s a parents’ table—all polished smiles and subtle judgment—and then there’s your table. Or more accurately, the kids’ table. Gojo, that smug little fucker, is already there, looking completely at home. He’s sitting with Ren’s younger siblings like he belongs there, entertaining them with whatever golden garbage is coming out of his mouth.

Next to them: two empty seats. Perfectly positioned. Reserved for you and Ren, obviously.

You wave toward the grown-ups’ table, and they all wave back. Even Mrs. Gojo gives you one of those creepy royal family waves—wrist twist and all—that makes your skin crawl.

Ren slides into the seat beside Gojo with a resigned sigh. You follow, flopping down next to him.

“Hi, hi, hi!” Ren’s 10-year-old sister Ivy chirps, practically bouncing in her seat.

You immediately grin and squish her cheeks. “Hi, love. What are you eating?”

“Pizza! It’s so good. Wanna try?”

“Absolutely, hand it over.”

“Ivy, sweetheart,” Gojo cuts in, voice dripping with fake concern, “I’m not sure you want her lips on your food.”

You whip your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. Seriously? In front of children?

Ivy looks confused. “Why? I don’t mind sharing my food. What are you saying, Sato?”

Gojo leans back, fake-smiling like the menace he is. “Just saying you should be mindful about who you share with.”

“Well,” Ivy says with the confidence of a child raised by wolves and angels, “I’d rather share with Y/N than you. She’s way cooler. You act like a boomer.”

You nearly choke laughing. Ren full-on wheezes. Gojo’s smile twitches.

God, you love this kid.

“That’s so true,” Ren’s little brother, Mark, finally looks up from his phone, smirking like he’s about to drop some wisdom on everyone. He’s 13, at that age where he’s convinced he’s the smartest person in the room. “You’re literally one of those guys who refuses to download TikTok and just watches Instagram Reels.”

Gojo scoffs like he’s offended. “TikTok is a disease. You’ll see when you get older,” he says, attempting some kind of lecture.

Mark just flips him off, unbothered. You can practically hear Gojo’s ego deflating.

“Markie, Mom said that finger is bad,” Marie, one of the youngest ones pipes up from her seat, twin brother in tow.

Her brother, sensing an opportunity to team up, nods seriously, clearly siding with his sister. You watch with amusement as their little pact forms.

You lean over to Marie and whisper conspiratorially, “Middle finger’s only okay if you show it to Satoru, okay?”

Marie’s eyes light up like she’s just been handed the keys to the kingdom. Without missing a beat, she raises her hand, dramatically exaggerating the gesture like she’s in some kind of spy movie. Her twin brother quickly shields her from the parents’ table, then, with all the confidence in the world, Marie flips Gojo off.

You catch the corner of Gojo’s eye from your side, and he glares daggers in your direction. Oh, he looks pissed. Cute.

Ivy mutters under her breath, panic creeping into her voice, “Put it down, Mom will see you.”

But Marie, completely unfazed, smirks. “Damn, Marie, what the hell did I do to you?” Gojo’s voice is laced with disbelief.

“Nothing,” she says sweetly, eyes wide in mock innocence. “It’s just fun.”

You almost choke on your water, Ren laughing next to you. Honestly, you’re not sure which is more entertaining—the kids or the way Gojo’s about to combust.

“You’re such a bad influence,” Gojo mutters, aggressively shaking salt onto his fries. You lean back in your chair, casually taking a bite of your burger. Honestly, you love how your mom always orders for you when you're on vacation. It's like a mini vacation from decision-making. But, as always, in the back of your mind, old habits creep up—you can’t help but wonder how many calories are in this thing. It’s like a reflex you wish you could shake.

“Right, and your mom seems to agree,” you say, casually leaning back even more. You can practically hear the gears grinding in Gojo’s head. His expression shifts, his jaw tightening, and his grip on his sparkling water turns borderline aggressive.

“I’m not my mother.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed,” you smirk. “But you’re on track to become her one day.”

Ren, who has been silently shoveling fries into his mouth this whole time, glances back and forth between you two, clearly enjoying the show. Nobody else at the table is really paying attention to you and Gojo. Marie and Chris are too busy discussing the finer points of their 6-year-old drama. Ivy’s lost in a YouTube video, and Mark is texting his girlfriend like he’s in some secret love affair.

“You’re just trying to get under my skin, aren’t you?” Gojo mutters through gritted teeth.

“Am I succeeding?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“No, you’re just getting more ridiculous with every word.”

“Ah, classic defense mechanism. Takes one to know one.” You flash him a grin, leaning back even further as if you're lounging on a beach.

Gojo looks like he might explode. Ren's just trying to finish his meal in peace, but you can practically hear him snickering under his breath. At least one of you is enjoying this.

Gojo glares at you, but you can see the twitch in his jaw as he tries to keep his cool. You’ve got him just where you want him—irritated but unable to show it too much. It's almost too easy.

You smirk, taking another bite of your burger, but your thoughts stray for a moment to the old, familiar spiral about calories. You shake it off, chewing slowly, focusing on the conversation instead of your own head. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife, but it's a weird kind of comforting. You've known Gojo long enough that this playful banter has become the norm. Still, you can feel how different this interaction is compared to years ago, and not in the good way.

Ren, sensing the growing tension, clears his throat. “Maybe we should just let it go, yeah?” he says casually, but the amusement in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to resist whatever retort he wants to shoot your way. "You're just full of shit, aren't you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Says the guy who can’t stop talking."

“Touché,” Gojo mutters, but there's a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Ren snorts quietly, clearly trying to keep his composure. “At least it’s entertaining.”

You look over at the kids, who are still blissfully unaware of the subtle war happening between you and Satoru.

You lean back further, making sure Gojo knows you’re not backing down from this. "I’m just speaking the truth. You’ll become your mom whether you like it or not. It’s in your blood."

Gojo’s eyes narrow, but he can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

"Means," you pause dramatically, "that you’re a little too much like her already. Pretentious, overly controlling, and maybe—just maybe— a little lonely."

Ren coughs awkwardly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalates. "Alright, alright. Can we just eat in peace, please?"

Gojo turns his glare on Ren, but it’s not as fiery as before. “You’re one to talk,” he says, eyes flicking back to you. “You’re both just as bad as each other.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You’re welcome for the entertainment.”

At that, Gojo just sighs, letting the conversation fall silent. You, on the other hand, can’t help but feel a little smug. Sometimes you don’t need to win an argument to win, you just need to get under his skin. And it looks like you did just that.

You don’t expect what comes after dinner.

The original plan was simple: after a long day of forced family interaction, you and Ren would crash early. No more chit-chat, no more smiling politely. Just sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But then you overheard your parents gushing about the hotel amenities—a jacuzzi, a sauna, a whole pool area “designed for relaxation.” And like the menaces you are, the plan shifted. Operation: Late-Night Spa was born.

Except fate had other plans.

“Ren?” you call out, knocking gently on the bathroom door, where he’s been holed up for the past twenty minutes.

“I’m dying,” his voice comes out muffled and despairing. “I can’t stop shitting. It’s like a crime scene in here.”

You blink. “Okay. First of all—why the hell would you describe it like that?”

“Because you asked how I was doing!” he yells, voice strained. “You don’t get to complain when I answer honestly.”

You sit outside the bathroom like an abandoned child, knees pulled to your chest, dramatically sighing. “This is not how I imagined our spa night.”

“Neither did I!” Ren cries. “Every time I travel and eat hotel food—every goddamn time. My intestines turn against me. They betray me like an ex who suddenly discovers therapy and self-worth.”

“I mean… maybe it’s food poisoning?”

“If it was, you’d be on this toilet, too. This is personal. This is targeted.”

You wince as the sound of a flush echoes through the room, followed by the telltale rustle of clothes. You brace yourself—and you were right to do so. The bathroom door creaks open, and with it, a scent of death wafts into the room.

“Close it!” you yell, scrambling to your feet like your life depends on it.

Ren groans and slams the door shut again. When he finally emerges—for real this time—he looks like a shell of a man. His skin is pale, hair damp with sweat, steps uneven as he stumbles toward the bed like he’s survived a war.

“Babe,” he croaks, collapsing onto the mattress, “why does this happen to me?”

“I don’t know,” you say gently, flopping down beside him. “Maybe it’s psychological. Like... a gut-level rebellion.”

“It’s very much physical too,” he grunts. “I’m literally hollow.”

You snort. “Well, at least you’re emotionally consistent.”

He throws an arm over his eyes. “This vacation sucks.”

“Give it one night. You’ll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever happened, and I’ll be dragging you out of the sauna before you melt into the floor.”

Ren lets out a pitiful whimper. “Tell my future husband I loved him.”

“Sure. Do you want me to deliver that message before or after I pour bleach on that bathroom floor?”

He weakly flips you off, and despite everything, you both laugh.

“Wait,” Ren croaks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why aren’t you getting ready for the spa?”

You glance over at him, sprawled across the bed like a Victorian maiden struck down by consumption. “Because you’re sick. I’m not going if you’re not going.”

Ren jerks up with a sudden burst of energy, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’re skipping a free spa night because I have diarrhea? Do you hear how absurd that sounds?”

You frown, folding your arms. “What am I supposed to do there without you? Soak in lavender-scented loneliness?”

“Exactly! You'll relax. Channel your inner peace. Get into your Zen or whatever it is normal people do when they aren’t shitting their souls out.”

“But I can’t just leave you alone here like this.”

“I’m not sick sick,” he insists, waving his hand dismissively. “Think of it like… a mild allergic reaction to overpriced hotel food.”

“If this is mild, I’d hate to see what severe looks like.”

“You don’t want to know,” he says with a haunted look. “Once, in Spain, I—”

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.”

He chuckles weakly, eyes closing again as his head flops back onto the pillow. “Look. You staying won’t magically cure me. No offense, babe, but your presence isn’t made of Imodium.”

You blink at him. “So you’re just… throwing me out?”

“No,” he groans. “I’m lovingly shoving you toward a steamy, eucalyptus-scented escape while I suffer in peace. There’s a difference.”

“Ugh.”

“Please,” he whines, dramatically. “Don’t make my diarrhea worse by staying here and making me feel guilty.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But if I drown in that jacuzzi from sheer sadness, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he mutters, already half-asleep. “Just don’t haunt me.”

You hover for a second longer, chewing your lip, guilt gnawing at your insides. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not about the spa at all. Maybe it’s about not wanting to be alone right now. Not after dinner.

But you don’t say that. You just grab your stuff and head for the door.

“Oh, and if you see any hotties,” Ren calls out, “text me. I need to be emotionally prepared for tomorrow.”

You turn, arching a brow. “Ren, babe, you quite literally can’t stop shitting.”

“That just means I’ll be sparkling clean and ready for action if the universe decides to bless me,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously under his blanket cocoon.

“You’re the only person I know who can connect explosive diarrhea to sex.”

“It’s because I’m gifted. A prophet, even.” He fans himself dramatically. “Now go. Shoo. Get your ass in that spa. Stop prolonging your inevitable rebirth in a sauna.”

You hesitate in the doorway, watching him nest deeper into the pillows, color slowly returning to his cheeks. “You sure?”

Ren’s voice softens just a bit. “Yeah. I’m fine. Go live your best life. Just don’t come back with stories unless they involve hot people and bad decisions.”

You smile faintly, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll bring you gossip. Maybe even a name or two.”

“Godspeed, my love!” he yells after you, already pulling the covers over his head. “And don’t let anyone ugly flirt with you—I refuse to live vicariously through bad taste.”

The spa cabins are stunning, admittedly. Too clean. Too perfect. The kind of place that makes you feel like you’re already failing at relaxation the moment you step in. The walls are pearly white, soft lilac vines curling at the corners like some fairytale you don’t believe in. The hotel name is etched on the door in cursive, trying a little too hard to be elegant.

You peel off your clothes and slip into your most flattering bikini—the one that says I tried without looking like you did. Family friendly, just in case. You toss your clothes into the locker and twist the key into your backpack. The lock clicks, even though you know no one’s desperate enough to steal anything here. No one’s hungry. Everyone’s too full of money, wine, or disappointment to want anything you have.

The pool is the first stop. It’s massive, quiet, glowing faintly under soft lights. Pale blue tiles, water warm enough to trick you into thinking you’re safe. It’s almost romantic. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You dive in.

At first, it’s a release. Your limbs stretch out, your body finally feels like it belongs somewhere. You do a few laps, chest rising and falling, muscles burning with that old, aching nostalgia. You remember what it felt like to be strong. To not think twice before diving. To breathe deep and stay under water just for the thrill of it.

But your lungs don’t agree anymore. Years of not training. Years of cigarettes and weed.

Years of saying I’ll quit soon.

Now you can’t even hold your breath long enough to stay under. Your strokes lose strength halfway through. Your body floats, but not from peace. From weakness.

The tension leaves your muscles—but frustration takes its place.

Heavy, bitter frustration.

You don’t want to feel weak here.

Not in this pretty place.

Not tonight.

You wipe the water from your eyes, jaw clenched. No more swimming. No more pretending.

Jacuzzi it is.

You walk toward it, dripping and quiet. Because what else are you supposed to do—keep swimming in the disappointment?

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe never again.

The jacuzzi is hidden from the pool by a wall, the kind that doesn’t quite touch the floor, leaving a gap where you know someone could easily peer through. Not that you would ever do that. The two spaces are separated enough that the pool’s quiet hum doesn’t invade the jacuzzi’s warm embrace. There’s a barrier, but it’s a shallow one. A suggestion of privacy.

You didn’t expect to see him here. Of all the places, of all the times.

Gojo Satoru is reclining in the jacuzzi, arms draped lazily over the sides, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he’s a god surveying his kingdom. His eyes, a pale blue that matches the water swirling around him, seem to glow against the soft lighting of the room. You’re not sure if it’s the water illuminating his eyes or the other way around. Either way, it’s mesmerizing. Unsettling.

He’s too perfect. Too effortless. Too him.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze in the doorway. For a moment, you think about retreating, slipping back into the pool. It’d be safer, less there, less him. But the thought of him winning that little battle is enough to make your chest tighten.

So you do what you always do when faced with him: you power through.

You step in and sit at the opposite end of the jacuzzi, a little too loudly, plopping down like you didn’t just have a mini existential crisis about sitting in a hot tub. The water is hot, soothing, and the bubbles feel good against your back. You lean your head back, trying to ignore the fact that he’s right there—smug, annoying, and totally at ease.

“Well, well…” He says, voice dripping with that teasing edge that always gets under your skin. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Same goes for you,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the water, pretending to focus on the swirl of bubbles around you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his tone light and amused, “You’re here because you knew I’d be here.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see. “You’re delusional.”

“Let me guess,” he leans back further, eyes gleaming with mischief, “Maybe you were too bored at the sauna. Nah, you wouldn’t go to the sauna alone. The massage finally over? Nah, you’d look more relaxed if you had a massage. Or, or, or… maaaaaybe you realized you can’t swim as well as you used to.”

You snap, the last thread of your patience wearing thin. “Can you shut the fuck up for once? I literally didn’t ask you anything.”

Gojo’s grin widens, that infuriating smirk curling up at the corners of his lips. “So that’s a yes, baby. Knew it.”

“If you knew it, baby, you didn’t have to speak,” you shoot back, your voice dripping with the kind of sass you only reserve for him.

But he’s not fazed. Of course he isn’t.

“You used to like me all mouthy like that,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, teasing but with a hint of something else. A pull you can’t quite place.

“Key word: used to,” you respond quickly, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, there’s silence. The water hums around you, the air heavy with something unsaid. Gojo’s gaze drifts over to you, but you don’t meet his eyes. You can’t. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s slipping, and you’re both trying so hard to pretend nothing ever happened between you two.

But Gojo’s never been one to let things stay quiet for long. And you’re both too far gone to ever turn back.

“Nice tits,” he says with a smirk, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. “That bikini suits you.”

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes, surprised by his boldness.

“I’m just saying, it looks great on you. You got your tits done or something?” He raises an eyebrow playfully.

“First of all, no. Second of all, maybe you should keep your compliments to yourself,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

He chuckles. “I’m not trying to offend you. Just think you look good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “You could’ve kept that to yourself.”

He leans back, not missing a beat. “Where’s the fun in that? I think it’s nice to tell people when they or their assets look good.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

He grins like he’s won some silent game between you two. “I bet you’re feeling all flushed now. It’s probably the heat of the water.”

You give him a look, trying to dismiss his words. “Not even close.”

He leans closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I could think of a few ways to make this moment even more... interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, resisting the urge to laugh. “Yeah? Well, I’m not sure you could pull that off.”

He smiles, a little too smug. “Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” you say, a challenge in your tone.

He leans back with a devilish grin, clearly enjoying himself. “Game on, then.”

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[sizeofyoursoul]

After the publication of The Queen of the Damned, I requested of my editor that she not give me anymore comments. I resolved to hand in the manuscripts when they were finished. And asked that she accept them as they were. She was very reluctant, feeling that her input had value, but she agreed to my wishes. I asked this due to my highly critical relationship with my work and my intense evolutionary work on every sentence in the work, my feeling for the rhythm of the phrase and the unfolding of the plot and the character development. I felt that I could not bring to perfection what I saw unless I did it alone. In other words, what I had to offer had to be offered in isolation. So all novels published after The Queen of the Damned were written by me in this pure fashion, my editor thereafter functioning as my mentor and guardian.

Edit 9-14-17 -- I fear this gives the wrong impression of my relationship with my editor; her detailed responses to my novels are very important to me, very constructive, and always right on. And there are still times, indeed, often, when she speaks up on a certain line, or a certain character, or a certain moment, asking pertinent questions, asking for more to illuminate, etc. I respect her insights mightily. I respect her responses mightily. ---- And over the years, I've been less threatened my detailed criticism. --- I still believe in the solo voice with all my soul, and when a reader tells me that she loves a certain paragraph or a certain chapter, I must know that I am indeed the sole author of that paragraph, that chapter. But I have become more secure, more able to handle my editor's insights and requests. --- What I have always rebelled against is the popular presumption that all fiction books have to be edited, --- the idea that fiction authors really are eternal adolescents, and, unlike painters or poets, they can't bring their work to perfection without a parental figure at a publishing house going over the work with a blue pencil. I've heard people actually voice this view, that fiction must be subjected to editing by some one else in order to reach its full potential. I have always questioned this. And always will. The publishing house does always have the option to reject a book if they feel it isn't good enough. (

EDIT - Feb. 18, 2019. I came back here this morning because I stumbled on a blog post where some one referred to this post and said it went "viral" in 2018. I was not aware of that. --- Allow me to add this: discussions of editing are confusing because the words involved simply are not precise. Every book published by my publisher, or any New York publisher, is thoroughly copy edited before it goes to the printer. No exceptions. And the copy editor is the final proof reader who catches a multitude of inconsistencies large and small, words that don't mean what the author might think they mean, unintentional repetitions, mistakes in chronology, plain goofs like a blond suddenly described as having black hair, possible dropped words, or sentences that for some reason don't make sense, inconsistent use of capital letters, and a lot of other things I can't now recall. None of my remarks on editors have ever referred to the almighty copy editor. I repeat: every book is copy edited. No exceptions. When I get the copy edited manuscript back, I not only go over ever single correction or query made by the copy editor, I read every single word of the book myself to catch the small mistakes which only I can catch. ---- When I speak of editors, as I have above, I'm speaking of creative editors --- In my case, this means the editor who accepted my first novel for the publishing house, and who has been my mentor, guardian angel, and friend ever since. And she does always respond to my novels with profoundly insightful comments. And she will indeed speak up if she thinks a character or a scene doesn't work as it should. -- My editor and I have one of the longest editor-author relationships in publishing today. We've been together over 40 years. --- I think we're a perfect match. But each such relationship is unique because each author is unique. I found exactly what I needed in my editor. And I count myself as blessed. I hope every aspiring author has good luck in this regard, and I firmly believe that getting to know the editor, becoming relaxed with the editor, and being able to explain one's feelings to the editor are all for the good. Thank you, guys, for all your marvelous comments below.

Anne Rice's thoughts on editors, twice revised for clarity, from her Facebook page.