#Lotus Notes Management

[lotus-legacy]

Lotus: okay, before i get into this story... first, im fine! you can hardly see the scratches anymore, so please dont worry! but there is a little bit of blood, so be prepared, okay?

MIU: I'm still sorry I wasn't fast enough to help you...

Lotus: aw love, you did great! did better than me, anyways... can we try to stick to under the trees from now on, though?

MIU: Of course we can. I'm ready to go whenever you are.

[marzennya]

Red clouds tower in the west,

The sun is sinking on the plain.

A sparrow chirps on the wicker gate,

I return from a thousand li away.

My wife and children are shocked to see me,

Then calm themselves and wipe their tears.

I floated through this disordered life,

By chance I have managed to return alive.

The neighbours all lean over the wall,

And they as well are sighing and sobbing.

Late at night we bring out candles,

And face each other as in a dream.

-

Qiang Village, Three Poems: Part 1, by Du Fu (Tang Dynasty)

Anyway hmmmm Bingqiu reunion scene!! I loved experimenting with color and a more realistic style for this one. Also, a Binghe design!!! My man my baby my husband wife!!

Also, it's been sooo long since I did a mini-comic. Forgot I love doing those lol.

Now, for the notes:

- Shen Yuan is in his grieving widow phase, so the low-ponytail with minimal jewelry keeps on staying. It's all very warring kingdoms inspired.

- Binghe is plain out fantasy. It's how airplane would've liked it.

- There is a lotus flower in Shen Yuan's hair!! Wink wink

- Binghe is freaking the fuck out inside don't think he isn't. He wants to ravage his teacher sooooo bad it makes him look stupid.

Hope you all like it!

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Need a ride?

Pairing: Valentin x reader (female)

Authors note: this was not planed, but that scene with Valentin on the bike was just too hot to process. You can officially blame my cat who woke me at 3 am today if this totally sucks.

Warnings: plot? never heard of it. Pure SMUT. Sex in public, Valentin giving quite some Dom vibes, fingering, oral, p in v

Word Count: 3,1 K

Summary: your tire is mysteriously gotten flat and you have no other choice as to accept the offer of a ride home from Valentin - the insanely sexy health mentor you've been eyeing from the moment you started working at The White Lotus luxury resort

“Need a ride?” a familiar, soft voice rich with that insanely sexy accent reaches you over the hum of the idling bike as it comes to a stop beside you. 

For a moment your confused gaze remains glued on the completely flat tire of your moped, as if trying to will it to reinflate by your sheer disbelief only, before you slowly lift your eyes to meet that cheeky smile you’ve been fond of since the first moment you set your foot on the grounds of the luxury resort that was supposed to be you new home for a while. 

It might not have been the most rational decision of your life to drop out of the university for a spiritual self-discovery trip through the East but it was definitely not the worst. OK, you ran out of money after something like one month, but that didn’t mean you were ready to give up on your plans. 

Thailand being your next destination after having left behind the breathtaking temples of Cambodia and incredibly beautiful landscapes of Vietnam, you decided to combine business with pleasure as you stormed the manager’s office of The White Lotus – the biggest and probably most expensive resort in the area – the advertisement from the local newspaper, announcing that the hotel was looking for an English speaking service staff, clutched in your hand. 

You weren’t naive, nor were you particularly experienced or life hardened. Something in between. You were impulsive, stubborn and still liked to believe in stories where the good guys saved the world and won the princess, even if deep down you knew it not to be true.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur with slight puzzlement in your voice as your gaze shifts back to your moped. “Everything was perfectly fine when I parked it here this morning.”

“Let me see,” the smooth, velvety voice makes your stomach flutter as the engine goes silent and a pair of leather gloves land carelessly on the tank as their owner swings off the bike and moves toward you.

“You’re new here, I haven’t seen you before,” there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you feel both – a cold shiver creeping up your spine and heat hitting your cheeks.

New is quite a relative term. Yes, you’ve been here for just three weeks, yet you are perfectly aware who is the handsome owner of the only Harley Davidson for the miles around even if he has apparently remained oblivious to your very existence.

But you also have to admit that it is hard not to notice Valentin – the resort’s infuriatingly handsome health mentor and fitness guru, especially when he remains number one topic of nearly every piece of gossip going around. 

Last week he was spotted sneaking out in the middle of the night from the private villa of that arrogant rich bitch from South Dakota, the one who had been terrorising the whole hotel for weeks already – the pool wasn’t warm enough, the massage table was not comfortable, the food was terrible and God forbid she was served the wrong champagne with the oysters. It seemed almost like a miracle to see her smiling the next morning at breakfast. 

Then there was that rumor that the swollen lip and the spectacularly bruised eye of one of the hotel’s personal trainers had nothing to do with the alleged jump rope accident but rather with an argument about a stolen client, apparently ending with Valentin throwing a punch. Though no one could really confirm if that part was true, some still swore of having seen him leaving the gym with blood on his knuckles.

Ah, and, of course, there was the affair, or at least, that’s what the housekeeping staff whispered about after noticing how the resort owner’s wife, easily twice as young as her husband, by the way, had taken an unusual interest in the fitness center with private stretching lessons,  late-night sauna sessions and meditation practices once of a sudden becoming a regular part of her so called wellness routine. 

Yet, despite all the fuss, you have to admit you’ve never actually seen him be anything but polite and smiling. And you have seen him. Just like everyone else, you find it impossible to look away from that broad muscular chest when he strides through the resort only clad in his yogi pants, heading to greet the new arrivals, or from those flexing biceps when you happen to pass by the training ground with him having a course - not that you’d ever admit to staring or having actually no business around there during that time of the day.

A broad chest clad in a snug dark green t-shirt that does more to accentuate than cover the perfectly chiseled muscles beneath, moves past you and your gaze involuntary drops down and lands on his hand, the conversation from the previous day rushing back absolutely uninvited. 

“Have you noticed how big his hands are?” The question had made you freeze mid-motion, the pillowcase in your hands nearly slipping to the floor. 

“Huh?” You had blinked and raised your brow questioningly, turning to Pam, your coworker, a nice girl you became friends almost immediately. 

“You know what they say…,” she had leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and giving you a knowing wink.

You had frowned, not really getting it this time, until Pam rolled her eyes, her cheeks already turning pink, as she cleared her throat. “The ones with big hands have big… you know… big khm…,” she had nodded meaningfully toward the lower part of her body.

It still had taken you a second before it finally clicked.

“Ahhh, you mean his dick,” you had said, watching as Pam practically choked on air, her face turning red as a beet, while you burst into laughter.

Yes, it is big. His hand.

“I’m Valentin,” he introduces himself, extending his hand like he expects you not to already know his name.

You hesitate for a second before shaking it, his grip is firm but warm, his somewhat rough fingers sending an unexpected jolt up your arm.

“I know,” you say, then immediately cringe at how blunt it sounds.

His smirk deepens, amusement flickering in those sharp eyes. “You know?”

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Everyone talks about you.”

“Good things, I hope?”

You let out a short laugh. “Depends on who you ask.”

He tilts his head, as if considering your words, then glances at your moped. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but this tire isn’t going to fix itself.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, I figured. I just don’t understand – how does a perfectly fine tire suddenly go flat?”

Valentin crouches down, inspecting it. “Sometimes, it just happens. Heat, pressure, bad luck. Or…” He pauses, running a finger along the rubber.

You frown. “Or?”

He straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Or someone let the air out.”

A chill prickles at your skin despite the humid air. “You think someone did this on purpose?”

“I think someone doesn’t want you going anywhere tonight,” his gaze shifts back to you, and his tongue flickers between his teeth as he licks his bottom lip. 

Shit, why does it look so fucking hot. That tongue can definitely do more. Wait, no, stop, you innerly slap yourself but it’s too late, the next thought is already there as you wonder – is it true, that thing about big hands and big… you know…

He heads back to his bike, and leans against it, arms crossed, watching you closely. “So… need a ride?”

Your heart stutters at the way he looks at you – his lips are smiling, but there is something in his eyes, something you can’t quite put your fingers on, something that makes you feel like a mouse before a big grinning cat.

You should say no, you should figure this out on your own, but the way he’s looking at you – the way he’s offering, like it’s not just a ride but something more – makes it very, very hard to refuse. 

Fuck it, we ball, you smile back at him and nod. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Take it easy, little doll, relax and enjoy the ride,” the hot whisper against your ear does exactly the opposite, you feel your heart racing even faster, each thumping beat pulsing between your legs, as you struggle to calm your breathing that threatens to spill into moans at any second if those thick fingers don’t stop their slow, torturous movement. 

“I… I can’t… Valentin, please…,” you breathe, your fingers gripping the edge of the table for support but your thighs part just a little wider beneath it.

The bar is dim, only the dance floor flashing in neon bursts, drawing all attention away from the shadowed corners and the shallow booths positioned along the walls with tables and red leather, plush and comfortable sofas - all tucked away in just barely enough secrecy to keep you somewhat hidden. A small mercy you feel thankful for, the sound of the pounding bass of the music  being another one, as it drowns out that moan you can’t bite back anymore as Valentin’s fingers push your panties aside, part from your pulsing clit and glide through your wet folds, to slid inside you with devastating ease. 

“You’re soaking, baby doll, just sitting here, waiting for daddy Valentin to take care of you, aren’t you?” That velvety voice edged with steel is killing you, not that those fingers inside you, curling, stretching, teasing, his thumb brushing firm, controlled circles against your clit, is making it any easier to gather any coherent thought. 

“Mmmmm… mmhhh,” is the only thing that rolls over your lips, your body reacts instinctively, muscles clenching around him, spine arching slightly against the seat as you melt into the sensation and sink back against the cushioned backrest, legs falling open just a little bit more, surrendering. 

Valentine’s other arm sneaks around your shoulders, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” he rasps. “Want me to ruin you, don’t you? Want me to fuck that tight, greedy pussy of yours, until you can’t walk anymore?”

“Ahh-ahhh,” your moan is barely muffled as his fingers curl against the wall of your core and press into that spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl. Oh, fuck, he’s good. 

The bar is full, the booth next to you crowded with a group of friends, laughing and clinking their glasses, but you don’t care. You can’t. Your head is spinning, thoughts dissolving, and every last bit of your self-control is fading away, all your senses dulled and consumed by the feeling of his fingers inside you, by that hypnotic voice dripping filth into your ear. 

How did you even end up here? The ride, the bike, your arms wrapped tight around his steel cut abdomen, holding for dear life – the memory is somewhat hazy, swept away in the whirlwind that is Valentin.  You can still feel the wind lashing against your skin, your breath stolen as you tucked yourself against his broad back.

“Wanna go out for a drink? You have a free day tomorrow, don’t you?” The question had sounded so casual but there was something in Valentin’s voice, some slight metallic tone, that  should have been a warning, a sign to you. 

“Yeah, sure! Why not?” words had left your lips too easily, although you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were a prey stepping into a trap, absolutely willingly – if you wanted to be honest with yourself. 

Because of all the whispers that followed Valentin, one was clearly absent – he never went out with anyone from the staff, never even really flirted. Never. Not that they didn’t want him to. The majority of the serving staff being girls, you knew for sure that most of them would kill to go out with the dangerously handsome health mentor, but he never asked. Not until now, not until you.

And you were certainly not letting this chance slip away through your fingers, to see more of him in real life, outside the resort's controlled microclimate. Was it a Russian roulette you were playing? Absolutely, and you were all in for it. 

“Fuck… yes,... oh shit, it feels so good…,” your whines are swallowed by the pounding music, your body trembling as you feel his fingers move faster, expertly working you toward the edge and then you’re coming undone in a bar full of people, music thumping in your ears in sync with your rapid heartbeat. 

Your eyes are heavy and half lidded, head fallen back against the plush backrest, your panties are ruined, completely drenched, and your hips keep rocking instinctively chasing the pleasure he’s drawing out of you. Was this how you thought the evening would end? Fuck, yes! And something tells you it’s far from over. 

“Breathe, kitten,” Valentin’s voice is a dark purr in your ear and it slowly brings you back to reality, as he withdraws his fingers from you. You whine quietly, your thighs twitching at the loss, and your eyes flutter open, finding his gaze already on you. 

Valentin is watching you, a spark of satisfaction dancing in his gaze, his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a teasing ghost of a touch, then he leans in.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth of yours to work, sweetheart. Will you do that for me?”

You sit up, straightening your spine as you reach for the champagne glass on the table, fingers slightly shaking. 

“Here?” you ask, turning to him. “You want me to give you head here, where everyone can see?”

“If you are up to it, baby doll,” Valentine’s smirk deepens, amusement dancing on his lips, and it just makes your heart skip a beat. 

“But I think you are very much enjoying this, aren’t you?” He leans closer, taking the glass from your fingers, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip. 

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls you back against his chest, while his hand captures yours, guiding it downward and pressing your palm against the hardness straining beneath his pants.

“Look at what you’ve done to me.” 

Fuck, even through the thick fabric, he feels huge, and you can’t help but smirk as the thought slips in that it must be all true, that thing about the hands and the dicks.

Your eyes wander around the room, taking in how the dance floor pulses with bodies under shifting neon lights, the waitresses weaving between tables, laughter and music filling the air, you swallow harshly as the thought alone of sucking him off here practically in public in the tenuous cover of some shifting shadows sends a fresh surge of heat pooling in your core.

Your fingers already move on their own as the heavy buckle unfastens with a soft clink and the zipper parts beneath your touch. You slide a hand inside, wrapping around the length of him, drawing him out.

Valentin inhales drawing air through his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest, as your fingers tease over his leaking tip, his fingers weave through the strands of your hair with just enough force to make your scalp tingle, as his grip tightens and he urges you down, his silent command unmistakable.

You glance up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, the corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, watching you, waiting.

Your fingers trail along his length, teasing, feeling the weight of him in your palm. Fuck, he’s big, thick, hot, pulsing against your skin.

Slowly, you lean in, your lips parting as you let your tongue flick over the swollen tip, tasting the beads of precum gathering there and Valentin exhales sharply, a curse slipping from his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dissipating in the thumping bass of the music.

You take him deeper, wrapping your lips around him, savoring the way his breath hitches as he disappears into the wet heat of your mouth. 

“May I get you something else,” you hear the voice of the waitress through the haze and you freeze, unsure what to do, adrenaline surges through your veins, making your heart hammer in your chest. Panic and arousal clash violently inside you, but Valentin’s hand in your hair firmly keeps you exactly where he wants you and you don’t know what you feel more shame or the intoxicating thrill of surrender. The way he controls you, the way he holds you in place without a second of hesitation, sends a sensation through you that you've never felt before and it's rush is so deep it steals your breath.

“Thank you darling, we are well served,” his voice is smooth, utterly composed as if he weren't sitting here with his cock buried in your mouth. You can't see the waitress, your face covered by your disheveled hair, the footsteps fade away, and before you can even process what just happened Valentin guides you back down his cock, resuming the steady rhythm of your movements, and you can't but moan around him. Your tongue glides along the thick vein running down his length and you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling him twitch against your tongue, his groan is low and guttural, barely restrained and that sound alone makes your core tighten with need.

"Just like that, kitten," he rasps, his hips jerking slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth, your own pulse pounds in your ears, matching the rhythm of the music, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming and electric. Your fingers tighten around the base of his cock as you set a steady pace, sliding up and down, working him with eager precision, and you feel his thighs tense beneath your touch, the muscles flexing under your fingers. 

You take him deeper, moaning around him, letting the vibration send a shudder through his entire body.

"Fucking hell…," Valentin’s hand tightens in your hair, his head falls back against the booth, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling unevenly, you can feel how close he is to letting go and coming undone right here and now, and that thought alone makes you throb between your legs, but before you can push him over that edge, he tugs you back by the hair, pulling you off him with a slick pop. Your lips are wet, swollen, and you look up at him, dazed, your breath coming in short gasps, Valentin smirks down at you, his chest heaving, his cock still thick and flushed in your hand.

"Naughty little thing," he murmurs, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip, his voice rough with barely-contained lust. "That was good. But I’m not done with you yet."

He drags you up, his mouth hovering just above yours, as he whispers. "Now, let’s see how well you take me when it’s your turn. Do you want daddy to fuck you? I know you do,” and before you can even respond, he’s already moving, pulling you into his lap, his strong hands gripping your hips as his fingers push your panties aside once more, the head of his cock is already at your entrance. 

“You know how to play this game, don’t you?” he asks, his mismatched eyes boring into you. You nod, swallowing hard.

“Your colour, baby doll?” 

You know exactly what he’s asking, your mind is hazy, body burning, every nerve tuned to him but there’s no fear, no hesitation, only raw, unfiltered desire.

“Green,” you breathe, and he pulls you down in one swift motion, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your body shuddering as his thick shaft fills you completely in one go, while one of his hands wraps around your throat and the other digs into the soft flesh of your ass beneath your dress, and with that nothing else exists anymore.

The bar, the people, the distant pulse of the music, it all fades away, the only thing that matters is Valentin and his cock twitching inside you, stretching you just right, the firm grip on your throat owning you completely.

You don’t care about anything, there is no room for shame or doubt in your mind, it’s too overtaken by the indescribable pleasure of that simple feeling of giving up the control, of surrendering to that commanding voice and those mismatched stern eyes.

And then he fucks you, his hips thrust up into you, filling you deeper, harder, while his hand guide you, making you bounce on his cock, while his grip on your throat tightens—not too much, never too far—just enough to make your head spin in the best way, and soon, you're a mess, a drooling, moaning, wrecked mess.

—-----------------------------------------------------

When you open your eyes, the sunlight streaming through the curtains tells you it’s already well past midday.

Your head is heavy, your body sore in all the possible ways, and you have no idea how you got home, but here you are, back in your bed tucked beneath your light blanket.

You shift beneath the sheets, and that’s when you feel it, an arm draped around your waist and a firm chest pressed against your back.

Your breath catches, the memories of last night crash over you all at once, flooding your senses as you jolt upright, a soft, mortified moan slipping past your lips.

"Good morning, sweet baby doll," the voice is rich, smooth – so damn pleased with itself, you turn slowly, and there he is. Valentin, bare-chested, relaxed, watches you with that signature smirk that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

"Can I get you something for breakfast?" He stretches lazily, completely unbothered by your flustered state. "You must be starving."

[becomingmina]

THAT DAMN PIERCING. w/ YANG JEONGIN

18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

pairing: yang jeongin x female reader genre + warnings: smut mdni!, dry humping wc: 610 mina's note: that earring pic of jeongin got me feeling some sort of way. i have been slacking off sorry

other works here ; any comments and thoughts you can drop them here ; ty for reading.

"You really like it that much?" He chuckles, hands guiding your hips as you lightly rut against him.

“Like it?” You detach your lips from his neck, eyebrows furrowed at him. “Baby? I love it," you squeal. "I love it so much." You cup his cheeks in your hands and moved your face closer to his ear. You once again examined the lotus earring just sitting perfectly on him.

“I can tell," he replies, his hands guide your hips harder against him this time getting a whimper out of you.

You press your lips on his, muffling a moan at the ache in your cores meeting. “Jeongin- I love it so much,” he now meets you halfway with the grinding, creating such a delicious friction at a slow pace.

“So lovely, all up on me because of this damn piercing,” he chuckles. “If I knew it was going to turn you into this much, I would have got it earlier,” he squeezed your ass.

“You turn me on no matter what,” you defend yourself, the pace picking up now.

“Liar,” he smirks then raises up an eyebrow as he waits for you to defend yourself. You feel yourself blush as you try so hard to cover up how much the piercing is making you feel. You had no choice but to tell him.

“It looks hot.. it makes your jawline more.. sharp..” your finger dedicatedly tracing along his jaw. “I don’t know what it is, but you just look so sexy.” You blurt, feeling a bit vulnerable admitting this. “And I want to feel it on skin when you kiss my neck.”

“Yeah?” he gets cocky, hands making their way back to your hips. “You would love the feeling of it touching your skin?” he teases.

You nod before you throw your head back at the pleasure cause by the friction between your bodies. He starts to get impatient as well grinding harder up on you. Your hand latches onto his scalp pulling him closer to you and he gives you taste of what you have been craving for so long, nipping at your skin on your neck making his earring brush against your cheek. The sensation of something new in such a heated moment like this makes you reach your orgasm fast, but with gentle moans. (Y/N very demure, very mindful)

Jeongin continues to help you ride out your high, smirking at you cumming in your pants. He slows you down now, hugging you so you’re close to him, where the damn earring is still touching you.

“Feels so good Jeongin,” you managed to get out before pulling back to look at him.

“That was hot,” he coos, combing your hair away from your face.

You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and giggle when he starts to chase you for more. “I love it so much. I love you so much.”

“Then give me one more darling,” he says, pulling at the hem of your shirt.

“Only if you cum with me,” you challenged.

“That’s the plan,” he replies, pulling your shirt over your head exposing your lacy bra. He bites his lips and leans back at the sight of your perfectly round boobs overflowing in your tight bra, a couple sizes too small.

He starts to feel up your sides, grinding himself up to you again. “Once it heals, I’m going change it to a dangly earring… would you like that?” He proposes, his thumb tracing over your bra where your nipple is covered.

You nod, “I would love that. So much.”

“I know you would baby… Come on then,” he encourages as you hump against his covered dick.

[sapphicautumn]

what abt a fix where bella ramsey ellie and reader are best friends and reader is insecure abt her body (a stomach, big thighs etc) and ellie says smthn along the lines of “do you trust me?” and ellie shows her how pretty she is :)) (and also maybe add in like some stomach grabbing it’s my weakness) (i’m so not self projecting rn 🙄)

Awe! Thank you so much for this suggestion, it’s so fluffy and soft and ahhhh! :(

Lotus Flower. E.W

Plot: your friend notices somethings up with you, and tries to cheer you up in the most Ellie way possible.

Pair: Best!friend ellie x afab reader. WLW!

Fluffy fluff fluff and corny FLUFF!

Men && minors, stay away!

“Did y’know that the Lotus flower can be used as herbal medicine in parts of Asia?” You spoke, your back pressed against the bed in your small little cottage.

Your friend, Ellie, sat across the room as her hands worked to fix a guitar she managed to find along yesterdays patrol with Tommy. Her fingers plucked at the strings, waiting to hear a tune that correlated to the note it was supposed to be. “Oh yeah…?” Her voice was distant, listening but not too involved.

“Yup” your voice popped the “p”, hands closing the garden book. Flowers have always interested you, it was evident for anyone. All they had to do was step foot in your room to see the decor on the wall, even the bedsheets, which you still can’t believe were in tact. Your tired body sat up, glancing down at your legs as you spoke once more. “What time are we heading over to Joel’s?”

Ellie glanced up, smiling gently. “He said dinner would be ready ‘round 6….that work for you?”

“I just need time to get ready and shit”

She scoffs, a laugh as she continued to pluck at the acoustic guitar. “You look fine, you don’t smell….like you usually do” her voice carried a tone that resonated with teasing.

“I’m serious….” You somewhat whined, feet helping you stand as you walked over to your closet and tried to find something that would work. Clothing hangers clashed together as your hand slid them across, scanning each jacket, flannel, shirt, jeans, or dresses. You had a lot of clothes for someone living in the world we live in, yet you hard such a hard time enjoying them.

It wasn’t anything new, sometimes you’d feel amazing, confident even. Other times, it would be like someone knocked the wind out of every ounce of admiration you had for yourself. It was difficult to convince yourself otherwise.

“So am I, you look fine. It’s just Joel, who cares? He’s not gonna be…inspecting the type of flannel you wear or some shit” the words mumbled out, eyes still focused on the instrument.

“Well you don’t have to worry about these things so I don’t really wanna hear it” your arms crossed over, holding your shoulders as eyes continued to scan the selection of wardrobe.

This made Ellie put the guitar down for a moment, eyebrows scrunched, “what’s that mean? What don’t I have to worry about?”

“Like, you don’t have to worry about how clothes look on you, is all I mean. Like you can wear anything and look normal and I just look-"

Ellie’s face showed major confusion. She thought you were beautiful, genuinely. She didn’t understand how you could even think against it. “Dude…trust me, you’re good”

Your feet carried you over to your bed, where you very …very, dramatically fell face forward.

“Oh my god, really?” She laughed dryly, making her way over.

You looked at the sheets, fidgeting with them as Ellie made her presence more visible. “Yeah really….I just don’t feel as pretty as I used to”

“And why’s that?” Her tone was careful, concerned. She laid on her stomach beside you, her hands fidgeting with her own rings so she isn’t looking at your sad expression.

“Ellie”

“What?”

“Don’t act oblivious, I’ve gained weight. Stop pretending you can’t see that”

She scoffed, “ok? As if this is some life changing news that’s gonna change the projection of my life or something.” Her voice ended with a laugh. “I don’t care, in the nicest way.”

You mumbled something before Ellie spoke again.

“How you look is no one’s business, the only person who should care is you, but besides that….thinking you’re not attractive isn’t an option by the way” she smirked, turning to you.

You laid on your back and huffed, rubbing your hands down on your legs. “But my thighs…”

“Are cute…they’re cute.”

“You’re such a shit eating liar” your voice laughed, in denial.

“Why’s it hard to believe I think it’s cute, huh?” She poked your shoulder with a stuffed animal that laid upon your bed beside them. “Is that such a bad thing? End of the world?”

“No, I just don’t think you’re being truthful…”

Ellie watched you for a moment. She inhaled softly before testing the waters. “You trust me..?”

“Not always” you smirked, rolling your eyes at her expression. “Kidding, dumbass….yeah I trust you…”

She nodded, satisfied with the answer as she moved to lay beside you again, almost spooning you from behind. You two usually cuddled here and there, so it wasn’t totallyyyy bizarre- but Ellie’s touch felt softer this time around.

She rubbed your love handle, “honestly, I don’t get how you could be insecure, this is probably the best thing ever right here.” She squeezed the skin around your abdomen, giggling.

You were taken aback before a soft smile spreads across your face, somewhat enjoying the softer affection from your friend. “What’re you doing?”

“I told you…think you’re cute….sue me” her hand messed around with your jeans thigh, squeezing a bit. She couldn’t lie, it turned Ellie on a little- but she wouldn’t tell you that. Not yet anyways ;)

You just laid there and let her cuddle you, enjoying the moment before she had to go and ruin it by tickling you.

“H-hey! Fuck you!” Your hands pushed her off, panting to catch your breath from laughing.

She held up her hands in defense “sorry!” Ellie’s lips curled to a smile before returning her hand to the edge of the soft skin covering your hip.

“Did Yknow the lotus flower has the ability to grow in dirty conditions?”

“What?” Your tone grew confused.

“Yeah, then it grows to becomes a beautiful creation…it is made with mud, and dirt, and still persists….”

You just watch her.

Ellie clears her throat, “Yknow, you grow with these,…stupid thoughts in your mind about how you look, yet you still come to be so beautiful…?” Her cheeks dusted pink, real smooth els, real smooth. Like butter.

“You read my flower book?” Your voice giggled, breaking the silence.

“That’s all you got out of that??” Her face fell, laughing along with you. “You’re awful….”

“You just said I was beautiful though” you teased.

“You can be pretty and awful…..at the same time”

You both smiled, watching eachother for a moment before finally,

“I can enjoy your little flower book too ok? Yeah I read it.”

You nudged her shoulder, laughing once more.

[moonsglare]

“feixiao, this is… a lot.”

you blink down at the very generous spread of mooncakes on the table. you have honestly no idea how feixiao managed to procure at least a dozen different mooncakes, or even when, but it’s a little late to be asking questions now. feixiao only grins, pushing you gently by the shoulders to take a seat by the table.

“we’ll taste test all of them!” she says cheerily, plopping down on the seat next to you. “let’s start with the traditional ones…”

she reaches out, tenderly lifting a mooncake in her calloused hands. the upper side of the treat is decorated with a pattern reminiscent of a lotus flower, the pastry a delicate shade of golden brown. your fingers brush feixiao’s as you take the mooncake from her.

“this one’s got lotus seed paste filling,” she explains. “it’s on the sweeter side, and a little nutty.”

you nod at her elaboration, taking another moment to appreciate the intricacy of the mooncake, before taking a testing bite. and just like she said, a sweet but nutty taste blooms on your tongue immediately, the smooth texture offset by the slight crumbliness of the pastry. you find the balance of flavors quite enjoyable, and feixiao’s grin only broadens as she sees you enjoying yourself.

“good?” she asks, and you hum around your mouthful of mooncake. “then, we’re off to a good start then. finish that one up, and we can move on to the red bean…”

the mooncake tasting session continues for a few hours, the actual tasting broken up between little anecdotes from feixiao here and there. you learn that jiaoqiu’s favourite filling is red bean, while moze’s—surprisingly—is custard. feixiao is a lotus seed and salted egg enjoyer, which she admits is mainly because it used to be general yueyu’s favourite. as she feeds you a more modern version with cream cheese as the filling, she tells you of the time she, jiaoqiu, and a very reluctant moze tried their hands at making mooncakes. it went… fine, or so she claims (you make a mental note to ask jiaoqiu if that really was the case).

by the end of it, you’re very full of mooncakes, but also very satisfied. feixiao cleans up as you sit back in your chair, and you rest your chin on your palm as you watch her wash up some of the dishes in the sink.

“we should try making our own next year,” you say idly, already thinking about the kind of pastry and filling you’d choose. you’re so briefly lost in your own thoughts that you don’t notice the way her hands pause as they scrub the plates for just a second before continuing.

“next year, huh?” feixiao muses with a chuckle, her voice carrying a certain… weight to it, before she shakes her head and offers you a smile over her shoulder. “that sounds great. looking forward to it, baby.”

you beam back at her, and her heart jitters in her chest like a rabbit’s rather than a fox. “mhm! in the meantime, i can introduce you to some desserts from my homeworld… ah! you have to try sago pudding, it’s so good—“

feixiao listens as you ramble on about all the sweets and desserts you’re going to have her try, and she files each and every suggestion into a little niche in her heart. she may be the lacking general, but here with you, she never lacks for a reason to live—even if just to sit by your side at the dinner table and eat desserts.

[renguro]

Now that S2 is almost over, I wanted to finally get out that post talking about all of the insights and things I did, learned, or other fun stuff about the countdown pieces I made. I still have something in mind for the S2 finale, so maybe if you read (or skip) to the end I'll have a preview for you?

Oh god here we go One day I was coming home from work and decided to check how many days there were until the new season released and I found it was 7 days. So I did all of these in 7 days. Literally everyone was worried about me because I did nothing but draw for those 7 days.

... Except for when I went back to work. I worked I came home and then drew until I literally couldn't anymore lmao. I remember being dazed and exhausted after the Clock Keepers and my dad came up to my room literally right as I finished and asked, "Have you gone to sleep?" And I said, "NOPE! :D" I was living on energy drinks

I'm also 90% sure this started the "ren you're doing too much you need to chill the hell out" thing with me and my friends now

When I was doing these, I had only read the first ten volumes of Hanako-kun at the time, so I was stopped right in the middle of Picture Perfect. I had the second box set, but I just hadn't gotten the time to read it since I got it for Christmas. That means I didn't know Shijima's full deal, and I didn't even know Hakubo's name, so I was winging it hard.

All of the full pieces are linked by clicking their names :)

NO.7 HANAKO

You can tell from the speedpaint I was struggling hard with the pose lmao. I honestly felt like the one I chose was a cop-out and didn't feel energetic enough, but the time crunch got me. At this point, I was also really unsure about how I wanted to treat the colors, because I'd only just started dipping into seriously studying how Aida does it. So many references. And him wearing basically all black didn't help I wanted to scream. I was TRYING to keep everything as solid colors without falling back on overlay and multiply layers, but I got desperate. Still looks pretty good I think.

My favorite part was probably the hakujoudai and the detailing on his collar/shoulders! If I were to edit anything, I think I'd put more on the bottom half of the background because it feels a touch empty. kinda killed it on this pant leg and his hat tho

NO.6 HAKUBO

Like I said, I had no idea who Hakubo was. For the first half of things, I couldn't even find his name, I was just calling him "Shinigami-sama..." I wasn't going to go trampling into spoilers just for references either, so I was freaking out on what to do for the background. All I knew was that there was something to do with lotuses or bugs, and already having an idea of where I'd take Tsuchigomori, I took the lotus route. I uh also hope I didn't make his face too feminine. I don't know why but when drawing male characters who are larger or more built (even if it didn't turn out obvious in this piece) I somehow keep making them look like butches.

Shading his hair was the most fun part out of all of this, I usually never draw characters with hair as short as his, so it was a fun challenge! I'm also just a sucker for kimonos and flowy clothes. He was probably one of the most fun ones for me, even if he was so early on. I LOVE the texture I got on the skull. (even if it's technically too small.)

NO.5 TSUCHIGOMORI

Tsuchigomori onwards ALL used this sticky note full of thumbnails I drew at work for reference. Yes that is a note next to him that says + cuntier. He was also drawn on the same day that I did Hakubo, so I managed to buy myself some extra time.

I was so excited for this one because I could see it so well in my mind's eye, until I realized how many hands I'd need to draw. And then I sucked it up and locked in because I love Tsuchigomori. I'm so pleased with how I worked in more of the blues into the shading and his hair. It was at this point that I think I was understanding how I wanted to take the colors for all of these pieces! I enjoyed doing the fun trick I learned with the weave on his sweater and the spiderwebs where I drew a thick like and then erased the middle. Nearly forgot the markings on his forehead too lmao.

I wonder whose black book he's reading?

NO.4 SHIJIMA

Oh Shijima. I truly had zero real clue about her, and I managed to dodge spoilers about Mei even when I was looking up references. That's why she's painting using her paintbrush clone haha. It's still cute though, so I'm keeping it. Her hair kept giving me trouble because it's the kind of hair you draw and don't really realize just how big you're drawing it until you have to fix it. Actually, I'm having that exact issue on what I'm working on right now, and I'll fix it after I take a break.

I dug up a comment I made while I was working on it and I still stand by this.

There's also something a little odd about the positioning of her chin that I was too exhausted to fix, and I SUPER fudged the coloring on her hair. Also I really didn't know what to put in the background OTHER than the atelier, but I can't really draw buildings! So uh! The exhaustion was beginning to set in after 3 days of this. (Since Hakubo and Tsuchigomori were done on the same day. I didn't keep that time advantage for long though.)

think i fudged it okay, though.

NO.3 MITSUBA

I was struggling on Mitsuba some because that thing where you see/read something and then forget about it only for it to arise as something you think you did happened. That pose I thumbnailed on the sticky note was WAY too close to the official Hell of Mirrors standee/art. Luckily I contain extreme Mitsuba bias (shocker) and I was able to figure it out. I had a ton of problems shading his coat just like I did with Hanako. It's so hard to keep things from melding together when you've mostly got them wearing black.

It's an odd thing to be proud about, but I feel I did the best on the.. Legs of his pants, the chains and lockets, and the eyes and teeth on his jacket. That and the ribcage scarf. I'm really disappointed in myself for the background and his hair, if I'm being honest. I wanna fix his eyes. I STILL haven't figured out his hair either too. Which makes me even more surprised that my friends said, ren, your bias is showing on this one because I was like IS IT??? ARE YOU CERTAIN?

his hand turned out nice too and did i mention i had fun on the ribcage

NO.2 YAKO

I sketched the first initial draft for Yako on the same day I drew Hakubo and Tsuchigomori, but when it finally came time to sit down and draw her? I realized there would be so much empty space where I couldn't have fun with colors and it'd just be the white back of her kimono, so I turned her around and scrapped the idea of her fox form curling around her. I couldn't fit fox Yako in, and I'm STILL kind of bummed about that.

The flow of her hair was so much fun to figure out, as well as the patterns on her kimono. I'm really happy with the background, combining the aspects of the Misaki Stairs' original version and the one after she's been removed from her seat with the spider lilies. The lilies themselves are a little fudged if you look too close, so... Don't look too close? :3

loved the kimono. every bit. can't believe i had her turned around.

NO.1 AKANE/MIRAI/KAKO

MY FAVORITE PART ABOUT THIS WAS THE COGS IN THE BACKGROUND SORRY AKANE'S FACE BOTHERS ME I NEED TO FIX IT ONE DAY HE LOOKS TOO OLD I WAS LOSING MY MIND AND THE EXHAUSTION WAS KILLING ME IT BEGAN MY HATE OF DRAWING AKANE'S HAIR BECAUSE *GESTURES VAGUELY*

Uh okay some good things to say about this one... The colors were a ton of fun to figure out how to place, and I think I at least did a good job on that part. Shading gold things is always really fun! And at least Akane's ponytail was fun to make flow, I was riding the high from Yako's hair here. I think I got a lot of that fun flowy movement in here, which I'm pleased about. This was another one that my friends say turned out the best, again that I'm ??? about.

these cogs are my everything

FINAL THOUGHTS + EXTRAS

All of the kanji's colorings for their numbers were taken directly from the anime! I don't really wanna get rid of that fun reference even if in like, Tsuchigomori's case the colors are REALLY different from the main piece.

Most of the first day was spent on, Hanako of course, and then setting up the frames for everyone else to go into. I spent money to get the patterns to go on the colored part, actually. Constraining everyone to the frames helped a LOT in terms of balancing myself and made it fun to choose what elements would stick outside of them. If I pushed for entire full backgrounds, then I would have been doing even worse.

I was on the ropes at the end. I was half dead and drawing like I was possessed. And the catharsis of it being done and it all looking acceptable just. Ough. I don't know if I'll ever have a high like that again. There's an evil, evil part of me that says, ren! redraw all of them for s3 under the exact same constraints! And shit I might but I'll complain about it. I think it's more likely though that I go back and doctor them up some so I can print them as standees. Probably just for myself, but I do want to build a stock for artist alleys.

I had so, so much fun overall even if it was so much it really could have put my already bad health in more danger. I learned so much about coloring, lineart, framing things, and I really attribute my gauntlet to the explosion in my art progress. That, and my sheer adoration for this series. Am I rambling? I just love TBHK. It's only been 5 months since I first discovered it and it's done so, so much for me.

Even if you went and scrolled through all of this nonsense, which I don't blame you for, here's a little preview of what I'm trying to finish by next week for the finale.

I can't believe we're on the final episode! It's so close now, and it keeps flooring me how little time has really passed. I'll try and push to get SOMETHING else done before then, but we'll see. I've got so much I want and have to get done.

[wethotcrazy]

THE GOLDEN LOTUS

pairing: Ollie Bearman x Reader

word count: 864

university au!! i just wanted something cute and sweet and i think i really cooked with this one. also thinking of maybe making this into a series or having other uni au's for other drivers, what do you guys think???

Ollie Bearman wasn’t one for change. Predictability was his sanctuary, a warm cocoon that he didn’t much like leaving. His life ran on routine: lectures, workouts, and pasta dinners in his dorm room. But predictability took a nosedive the day he stumbled into the Golden Lotus.

It was a small Chinese restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a charity shop, a little worn but radiating charm. Ollie’s first visit was born of desperation—he’d forgotten to do a food shop, and the Golden Lotus was cheap, convenient, and smelled amazing. He didn’t even like Chinese food that much, but the portion sizes? Enormous. Enough to feed a starving uni student for two days, if he rationed it right.

The food, however, quickly became secondary.

The real reason Ollie found himself at the Golden Lotus every Tuesday and Thursday night was the girl behind the counter. YN.

She was a computer science major with a sharp wit and a smile that felt like a reward when Ollie managed to coax it out of her. YN worked the evening shift, her laptop often open beside the register as she chipped away at coursework between filling takeout orders. She lived in the apartment above the restaurant, earning a rent discount by working their… or so he overheard.

At first, Ollie had been too shy to do much more than order his food, offer a polite smile, and retreat to his usual table. But YN had noticed him—how could she not? He was the only customer who regularly dined in. That was rare enough, but when someone started showing up twice a week like clockwork, well… she couldn’t help but be a little curious.

It had started innocently.

“You’re becoming a regular,” she’d said one night, sliding his order across the counter. Her tone was teasing but kind, and Ollie had stammered some excuse about the convenience. She’d laughed softly, and the sound stuck with him longer than it should have.

From that moment, their interactions had begun to stretch beyond the standard “Cash or card?” conversations. On slow nights, Ollie would linger, striking up tentative chats about coursework or whatever music was playing on the overhead speakers. He learned that YN hated group projects but loved building things—apps, websites, anything she could tinker with. She learned that Ollie was studying business but had a secret dream of running his own karting center someday, a nod to his childhood passion for motorsports.

It wasn’t long before they’d fallen into a quiet rhythm.

When YN wasn’t busy, she’d sit at a table with her laptop open, her brow furrowed as she debugged code or prepared for lectures. One evening, Ollie surprised her by setting his business textbook across from her.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

She blinked at him, caught off guard, then shrugged. “Sure, but I’m not sharing my Wi-Fi password.”

He grinned, and just like that, Ollie became a fixture of her workspace.

Mr. Zhou, however, was less enthused at first.

“That boy again?” he’d muttered one evening, poking his head out of the kitchen to see Ollie hunched over his notes. “Does he not have a home?”

“He’s harmless,” YN had assured him.

“Harmless or homeless?”

But Ollie grew on Mr. Zhou over time. The older man had caught him fixing a wobbly table one night, unprompted, and begrudgingly admitted the “straggler” wasn’t so bad.

By November, Ollie had started hanging around until closing. Not to pester YN—though he did enjoy the extra time with her—but because the restaurant had become a comfort to him, a little pocket of warmth in his otherwise hectic uni life. Sometimes, after locking up, YN would invite him upstairs to her flat. It was tiny, crammed with textbooks and a perpetually half-finished Lego sets, but Ollie loved it.

Their hangouts weren’t dates. Not officially, anyway. But Ollie couldn’t deny how much he looked forward to them. Whether they were watching a movie or playing video games, he felt at ease in her company.

The turning point came in mid-December, on a freezing morning when Ollie was walking to class with his flatmate, Kimi.

“So,” Kimi began, glancing at him with a sly smile, “how’s your girlfriend?”

“What?” Ollie nearly tripped over his own feet.

“You know, YN,” Kimi said, casually sipping his coffee. “You’re at that restaurant all the time. I just thought… you know?”

“She’s not my—” Ollie started, but the words died in his throat.

Because, truthfully, he didn’t hate the idea. In fact, the thought of YN as his girlfriend made his stomach flip in a way he hadn’t felt before.

That evening, as he sat at his usual table in the Golden Lotus, Ollie caught himself staring at YN while she worked. She was wiping down the counter, humming softly to herself, her hair falling loose from its tie. She glanced up and caught him looking.

“What?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Nothing,” Ollie said quickly, feeling his cheeks heat.

But in that moment, he realized he didn’t want to keep playing it safe. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

Just as soon as he worked up the courage.

[magic-shop-stories]

Can you make a Namjoon version of the pregnancy yoongi headcannon please?

💌 Reply:

Ahhh, thank you for this request! 🥹 Translating Yoongi’s blueprint into Namjoon’s universe was such a joy... and kinda healing to write tbh. If it’s too abstract, blame Joon... you know he’d turn parenthood into a TED Talk on existential botany. Hope this hits right for you, and that the brainrot is mutual (?) Let me know if you need tweaks! 💜 – c –

Kim Namjoon (RM) Pregnancy Headcanons x Reader

Warning: added a short mention of complication/ loss during pregnancy; brief mention of emotional vulnerability/complex feelings

🗿 How He Finds Out

you take the test alone first

needing quiet to process the enormity

the second line appears, you pace the bedroom

fingers brushing over his poetry books, his half-finished clay vase on the shelf...

Namjoon knocks softly after 15 minutes

"Love? You okay? You missed the Monstera’s watering time."

tries to jiggle the stuck door handle (his DIY fix last week)

fumbles with a paperclip

muttering

"Why do I always overtighten things…"

finally nudges the door open

finds you holding the test against your chest

glasses slide down his nose

he freezes

first words whispered like a haiku

"Are we... growing a universe?"

voice tender/ steady

=the way he reads letters at fan events

kneels carefully

avoiding the creaky floorboard

cradles your wrists

test between your joined hands

presses his lips to your temple

"However this goes... we’ll learn from it together."

🌿 Initial Reaction

Panic

spends the first night cross-referencing parenting books with peer-reviewed studies

highlighter in hand

scribbling notes in the margins of "The Hidden Life of Trees"

at 2 a.m. muttering about "epigenetic influences" and "sustainable bamboo diapers"

"Wait, prenatal sound exposure... should we play Debussy or traditional gugak?"

knocks over his bonsai while pacing

frets about "fetal stress responses"

creates a shared Google Drive titled "Project Sprout" before sunrise

Hidden Excitement

find him sketching a willow tree in his journal the next morning

branch roots morphing into tiny hands in the margins

you peek?

he slams it shut, cheeks pink

"Just... analyzing Fibonacci sequences in lotus pods."

later catches himself buying a single onesie

"For... a friend’s cousin!"

pattern: Van Gogh’s Starry Night with embroidered honeybees

you find the receipt tucked in his Walden pocket edition

"Fine. It’s… symbolic. Growth, y’know? Like haewon."

🌱 Worries

Fatherhood Fears

confesses at 2 a.m. over barley tea

steam curling like his restless thoughts

voice quiet

quoting Rilke: 

“Sometimes a man stands up during supper…”

trails off

fingers tracing the rim of his chipped moon-phase mug

“What if I… overwater them? Like my first bonsai.”

you find his journal open to a sketch of a tree split down the middle

one side labeled “Logic/Structure”

the other “Love/Chaos”

underlined in his blocky handwriting: 

“Can I be both roots and sunlight?”

finds him rereading Braiding Sweetgrass at dawn

circled passage:

“Parenting is an act of reciprocity with the future.”

Idol Life Stress

creates a Venn diagram titled “Cosmic Balance” during a flight

= Group Promotions | Prenatal Yoga | UNESCO Speech Drafts

mutters to his manager

“Can we route the Europe tour through Denmark?

Their parental leave policies could optimize…”

stares too long at ultrasound photos during Soundcheck

Jin catches him whispering to the grainy image

“Appa’s figuring it out. Like… how galaxies parent stars.”

forgets lyrics to Moonchild mid-concert

= first time ever

writes emails about “hologram tech for bedtime stories”

🌾 What He Does (Early Days)

Spoiling You

builds a custom "nest" in the sunniest corner of the house (and in his studio if you hang there)

hand-knotted hammock

handpicked field guides

"For our future botanist"

stocks the pantry with your cravings

hides your newfound aversions behind his kombucha SCOBY jars

leaves Post-its on the bathroom mirror:

"Remember: You’re already somebody’s ecosystem."

Overprepared

creates a bullet journal titled "Project Sprout: Phase One"

pages include: pressed gingko leaf tabs marking OB-GYN FAQs

also a graph comparing prenatal yoga studios

doodles of the baby

syncs a shared calendar called "Root Systems"

includes alerts like: ”3 PM: Hydrate (Y/N) + Water Ferns”*, ”7 PM: Debate Middle Names - Plato vs. Haneul?”, ”9:30 PM: Mandatory ‘The Martian’ Rewatch (Stress Relief)”

Hidden Romanticism

catches him playing "uhgood" on a tiny danso flute to your belly

"Early auditory exposure to heritage is… scientifically valid."

secretly starts a lullaby playlist titled "For When the Universe Feels Heavy" 

= curated mix of BTS instrumentals, rain sounds, and Maya Angelou recitations

forges a crib mobile from recycled mic parts and Hanji paper

each star inscribed with lines from his unpublished poems/lyrics:

"You, who will outlive all my words / Forgive me if I borrow the moon to explain your fingers."

🌌 Telling BTS

waits until the 12-week mark

citing "cosmic alignment"

hosts a "philosophy night" dinner

under the guise of discussing "existential metaphors in post-modern art"

sets the table with pressed flowers from his hikes and a centerpiece of his half-sculpted clay "symbol of life" (it’s a lopsided orb)

hides ultrasound printouts

inside Rilke poetry books

passes them out as "thought-provoking reading material"

Jungkook squints at the grainy image tucked between "Letters to a Young Poet"

"Hyung, is this… ? I see a baby... holding a galaxy?"

clears his throat

adjusting his glasses like a professor

"Actually, we’re… collaborating on a new project."

plays the heartbeat recording layered over his "SoundCloud experiment" 

mix of bamboo flute harmonies and his whispered sijo poem:

"Even the moon was once small / cupped in the sky’s dark palms..."

Reactions:

Jin

spills his makgeolli

laughing through half-tears

"Kim Namjoon, father?! Aigoo, the diapers’ll have PhDs!"

instantly Googles "baby-safe kimchi recipes"

"Important they respect fermentation science early."

Jungkook

silent for three full seconds

then leaps up, shaking Namjoon’s shoulders

"HYUNG. I’LL TEACH THEM HOW TO RIDE BIKES AND WRITE SONNETS!"

pauses, panicked

"Wait..which comes first?!"

Yoongi

nods slowly

eyes glinting

"Took you long enough."

slides a USB across the table

labeled "MixTape: Lullabies for Future Anarchists"

he already knew somehow, but kept silent

later, texts Namjoon

"You’ll suck less than you think."

Jimin

cradles your face

tearfully stern

"Uncle privileges include weekly dance lessons. Prenatal starts now."

demonstrates a "womb-friendly" body roll to Butter

Taehyung

holds the ultrasound to the lamplight

absolutely awed

"It’s abstract… like a Banksy!"

starts crooning Winter Bear to your belly

Hobi

immediately FaceTimes his mom for "emergency parenting tips" (as if it's his baby)

restructures your living room into a "positive vibes zone" with feng shui precision

jokes, lots of jokes

"First word has to be ‘J-Hooooope!’ Right? Right?"

Namjoon

tries to quote Kierkegaard on "the leap of faith"

voice cracks

collapses into silent tears when Jin speaks:

"Our leader’s leading a new squad."

later whispers to your belly

"You’ll have seven hearts before you even breathe."

Bonus

Group Chat Name: "The Epigenetics Committee"

Jin changes it to "Tiny Supreme Leader Support Squad"

Yoongi’s Gift

onesie printed with "I Survived Daechwita and All I Got Was This Sleep Deprivation"

Namjoon’s Realization

finds Jungkook asleep on your couch

he's asking you questions about pregnancy

Najoon cries again

posts on Weverse: "Love is a circular equation."

🌳 Telling His Family

visits Ilsan with a hand-painted onesie reading “Future Curator of Nature”

stuffed into a tote bag alongside his childhood pressed-flower collection

his sister answers the door

eyes darting to your bump

“Oppa. You didn’t… Oh my god.”

crushes you both in a hug

then sprints inside yelling (irony)

“Eomma! Appa! Namjoon finally did something cool!”

His Mom

emerges with a wooden spoon

freezes mid-scold about his “city-dust aura”

clasps her hands over her mouth

“Aigoo, my little mundungi…”

ushers you to the ondol floor

already reheating miyeok-guk

“You’re glowing! But Joon-ah...” 

pokes his bicep

“Are you meditating enough? Stress wrinkles age the baby’s aura.”

His Dad

nods stoically over tea

adjusts his reading glasses to study the ultrasound

clears his throat

presses a worn copy of Walden into Namjoon’s hands

margins filled with his own fatherly notes from ’93/94:

“Page 72: Joon cried here. Ask why.”

His Sister

drags you to his childhood bedroom

walls still plastered with dinosaur charts

“Here’s where he cried because T-rexes couldn’t hug properly.”

he was four

slides you a secret USB

“Namjoon’s 2008 Poetry... So Emo It’s Art, also blackmail material for when he’s being too philosopher-dad.”

Hidden Detail

in his old desk, finds a 3rd-grade “Nature Journal”

scribbled theories on “Why Rainbows Belong to Snails”

tucked between pages: a cicada shell labeled “First Heartbreak”

slips it into his bag

later placing it in the nursery

“Proof even confusion can molt into something beautiful.”

The Drive Home

his mom chases the car with a crate of homegrown ssuk and perilla leaves

“Boil the roots! It’ll make the baby’s cry less!”

sister texts: [Attachment: Namjoon age 7, sobbing into a melted ice cream]

🌿 Daily Life

Routine & Rituals

6:03 AM

wakes before dawn to simmer doenjang-jjigae with organic soybeans and kale (he's really trying, and it's not ending in a catastrophe)

leaves notes in calligraphy

“Nourishment is resistance — eat or I’ll recite Hegelian dialectics at you.”

adds doodles of scowling Brussels sprouts and a tiny Plato holding a fork

Post-Lunch Meditation

guides you through “forest bath” visualizations in your living room jungle

“Imagine your lungs as maple seeds… no, gently, you menace.”

his palms are warm and steady

pressing into your shoulders

“The iliac crest isn’t a metaphor, but today? Let’s pretend it is.”

Idol-Life Adjustments

converts his studio bookshelf into a “Zen Den”

matcha packets, lavender sachets, vintage Newton’s cradle for “stress diffusion”

texts PDogg:

“Postpone the feature... I’m optimizing circadian rhythms for two.”

secretly puts a prenatal Pilates ball in his studio

Chores

Laundry Wars

debates Jungkook over eco-detergent pH levels in the group chat

“Lavender is a neurotoxin to fetuses! Cite: Environmental Health Perspectives, 2019!”

Jungkook retaliates

“Hyung, your armpits are the real neurotoxin.”

(tho forget abpout this, I read about Dysfunction of the ABCCII gene, means asian sweat doesn't smell - god, I wish)

Culinary Experiments

attempts kimchi-jjigae

burns the first batch

blames “overzealous thermodynamic exchange”

his mom texts you her recipe with a note to Joon

“Stop intellectualizing the soup.”

Idol Life Impact

skips award show after-parties to chart the moon phases on your belly

writes lullabies sampling Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” over Moonchild instrumentals

practices babywearing with a handwoven hemp sling

“Ergonomic and a statement against fast fashion.”

Quiet Moments

4:33 AM Playlist Crafting

curates “Symbiosis: A Prelude” 

= blend of bird migration recordings

RM’s trivia: love ad-libs + Yoongi’s Seesaw humming

hidden track: a poem he whispers to your belly nightly

“You are the first universe that ever knew me from the inside.”

Voice Memos

records The Alchemist chapters in English and Korean

apologizes to the bump after mispronouncing

“Forgive me... Appa’s still learning how to hold multiple worlds at once.”

Hidden Clumsiness

knocks over your Himalayan salt lamp (again)

while demonstrating “kangaroo care”

uses the debris to create a mosaic titled “Fragmented Enlightenment”

you find it later in the nursery

labeled “Lesson One: Beauty in Imperfection”

🌏 Public Announcement

Lead-Up

Media Lockdown

hires an eco-conscious cybersecurity firm to "reforest your digital footprint"

code name: "Project Photosynthesis" 

after Taehyung’s slip: "They’re our little sapling!"

convinces Big Hit to issue a statement about "protecting nascent ecosystems"

ARMY thinks it’s climate activism

ARMY Hints

wears a hand-carved gat (traditional hat) during a live

etched with "세상에서 가장 작은 별" (The World’s Tiniest Star)

ARMY deciphers it as a reference to his lyrics

trends #TinyConstellation

he “accidentally” leaves his journal open during a live

revealing a sketch of a tree root cradling a star

Reveal

three months postpartum

posts a watercolor painting on Weverse

his hand holding a seedling

roots entwined with his veins

caption: 

"ARMY, you taught me that growth is a dialogue between light and shadow. Now, I’ve been entrusted with a new dialect; the first breath of a forest I’ll never fully understand. Walk softly with us as we learn to whisper."

attaches a voice memo

= rain sounds, his spoken-word poem

"Dear Meteors Who Choose to Root"

ends with the baby’s coo harmonizing with a nightingale recording (Ilsan, 4:33 AM)

Aftermath

ARMY Reactions

trends #RootedInRM for 94 hours

ARMY plants 814,000 trees globally via "Kim Namjoon Forest Initiative"

donates $1.2M to UNESCO literacy programs "for futures untranslated"

Paparazzi Countermeasures

collaborates with a law firm to draft South Korea’s first "Right to Grow" digital privacy act

releases an anonymous ambient track

"Lens Crack Symphony" 

= field recordings of shuttering cameras dissolving into wind chimes

hosts a guerilla art exhibit

= blurred baby photos pixelated into Van Gogh’s Starry Night

titled "The Distance Between Love and Light"

Hidden Details

Journal Leak

later reveals the seedling painting used persimmon dye from his mom’s garden

Voice Memo Easter Egg

the nightingale recording is from his childhood Ilsan backyard

Law Impact

tabloid stalker photos drop 92%

paparazzi begin calling him "The Unphotographable"

🌱 When You Panic

Trigger

overhears a podcast debating "Nature vs. Nurture in Epigenetic Trauma" while sculpting clay in his studio

phrase like "generational echoes" lodges in his ribs like a splinter

clay cracks under his grip

shattering into jagged moons

Calm Facade, Storm Inside

finds you trembling after a nightmare

your hands clutching a parenting forum thread

cups your face

thumbs tracing the arc of your cheekbones like comet trails

voice steady but eyes galaxies-wide

"Even the oldest trees survived their first lightning strike. We’ll be the soil that grounds the burn."

Secret Meltdowns

sneaks to the balcony at 3 AM

recording a voice memo choked with static

"What if I… overcompensate? Love them too fiercely? Turn into Icarus’ sun?"

sends it to his therapist

texts you:

"Found this study on parental resilience . Want to co-author a rebuttal?"

Acts of Service

brews yuzu tea in his chipped moon-phase mug

one from your first museum date

"Emergency aesthetic intervention required."

dumps two baby socks on your lap

one printed with Kant’s Categorical Imperative

the other with "Ask Me About My Carbon Footprint".

"Which one says ‘I’m fiscally responsible but fun at parties’?"

Idol-Life Impact

skips a UN panel on sustainability

citing "an urgent planetary realignment."

spends the day building a "sensory sanctuary" 

hanging felt clouds, wind chimes tuned to Spring Day’s key

writes a 12-page letter to the baby instead of his keynote speech

"You’ll inherit a world I’ve criticized but still believe in. Forgive me for both."

Hidden Resilience

you find his studio desk littered with failed haiku

"My love is a net / Too many holes, too much sky / Catch nothing but light."

beside it, a single completed verse pinned under a geode

"You will know me / Not by the scars I hid / But the bridges I couldn’t stop building."

🌧️ If Something Goes Wrong (+ Loss)

Hospital Vigils

stands sentinel by your bed

reciting Mary Oliver poems to your IV drip

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious...” 

his voice fractures

bathes your wrists with rosewater from his mother’s garden

hands shaking

“In another universe, we’re still whole. Let’s… let’s borrow from there tonight.”

Guilt/Aftermath

spirals into annotating every parenting book with “Where did I fail?” in crimson ink

you find him at dawn

knee-deep in the backyard pond

he's planting lotus seeds “for unbloomed futures”

studio becomes a shrine of half-scribbled equations

Grief = (Regret x Time) ÷ Unsaid Words

“(Unsung Verse)”

composed at 4:33 AM on a detuned hotel piano during monsoon season

no lyrics

just the hum of rain against glass

single sustained G minor

files it under “Metamorphosis_Data”

encrypts it with a password even he forgets

Post Loss

cancels his Bottega collab/shoot

citing “a necessary erosion”

ARMY trends #StandWithRM

funding a forest reserve in Ilsan named “Seeds Grove.”

he visits

hangs a wind chime from a persimmon tree

“You would’ve loved the sound of rain here.”

Support System

Jin drags him to a pottery studio

slams clay onto a wheel

“Sculpt something that can’t be quantified.”

they sit until dawn

molding silent vases for flowers that never arrive

Jungkook leaves a bonsai sapling on your porch

“It’s okay if it wilts. We’ll grow it again.”

Namjoon keeps it alive

“See? We’re still learning.”

Yoongi mails a USB labeled “For When Words Are Too Loud” 

ambient tracks layered with Namjoon’s old laugh from 2014

Bonus

five years later, during his TED Talk on “The Ecology of Loss”

soft G minor chord seeps into his mic

his toddler "Haewon" toddles backstage

he freezes

“Apologies. My heart’s just… recalibrating its orbit.”

🌌 Gender Reveal

Reaction

ultrasound tech smiles

“Looks like a girl!”

Namjoon’s breath hitches

eyes pooling with constellations

“A daughter… She’ll rewrite every star.”

buys a sapling from the DMZ forest to plant in her name

“So she’ll always know where resilience grows.”

tech corrects

“Wait, no! ...it’s a boy!”

freezes

then grins like he’s solved the universe’s riddle

“A son? Then we’ll learn gravity anew.”

orders a hand-bound journal titled “Hypotheses on Joy” to fill with their future questions

Late-Night Promises

whispers to your belly while sketching the moon’s craters

“You’ll carve your own orbit. Be sculptor or storm. I’ll be your compass, never your cage.”

plays a mixtape of rainfall

“Rhythm isn’t in blood; it’s in the spaces between heartbeats.”

Hidden Rebellion

declines all gender-reveal sponsorships

donates the offers to a nonbinary youth arts fund

tweets a snippet of Audre Lorde’s “There is no hierarchy of oppression”

caption:

“Hierarchies are human-made. My child is a natural phenomenon.”

🌱 Labor & Delivery

Prep

packs a hospital bag weeks early

includes: hand-knit hemp blanket

worn copy of “The Prophet” for whispered readings

portable mini bonsai

“For biophilic stress reduction”

memorizes your birth plan like a thesis defense

color-coded tabs

debates delayed cord clamping using Harvard studies

defers when you snap mid-contraction

“Trust the forest to know its roots.”

During Labor

channels his lyrics count breaths

“Inhale… four… seven… exhale...”

fidgets in his pocket

reciting Rumi under his breath

when contractions peak, he presses his forehead to yours

voice cracking

“You’re the Big Bang happening again. Let it… let it supernova.”

white-knuckles the bedrail

snaps it twice 

First Hold

cuts the cord with tears in his eyes

hands steady but soul trembling

cradles the baby like a relic

awe-struck

speechless (for once)

“You… you’re the poem I could never finish.”

Jungkook finds him at dawn

sketching the baby’s hand in his journal

“Proof that softness can reshape calluses.”

Hidden Moments

Panic Peak

flees to the hospital garden

sobbing into his sleeves

returns with acorn seeds to plant in the baby’s name

BTS Support

Taehyung paints a watercolor of the birth chart stars

Jimin choreographs a “welcome dance” with hospital socks

Lockscreen Lore

photo of the baby

captioned “My First Co-Author”

🌍 Idol Life Challenges

Touring Adjustments

negotiates "modular tour schedules"

two-week blocks with carbon-neutral travel offsets

publishes a Weverse series: "Parenthood in 7 Languages" 

= from hotel lobbies, baby strapped to his chest in a hanbok-style sling

FaceTimes you whenever he isn't there

"Tell them Appa’s dismantling patriarchal systems and mastering bottle sterilization."

Backstage Innovations

designs a "Portable Ecosystem" bassinet

= soundproof, air-purified, with a mini-library of global folktales

staff catch him debating naptime schedules with his manager

"Melatonin cycles vs. timezone optimization… we need a third axis for emotional bandwidth."

producers receive track notes like:

"Bridge too jarring... Babys stress spiked during playback. Revise."

Privacy Protocols (after birth)

codename: "Project Metamorphosis" (BTS group chat) + "Symbiosis" (public filings)

threatens paparazzi with "a TED Talk on the ethics of voyeurism" instead of diss tracks

updates IG bio: "Curator of small wonders." 

archives old posts

replacing them with abstract clay sculptures titled "The Weight of New Gravity."

BTS Support System

Jin’s Uncle Duties

hosts Kimchi nights

teaches the baby to grip cabbage while lecturing on Kantian ethics

"Ethics are like fermentation... both require patience and good bacteria."

Hobi’s Playdates

creates "Microbeat Workshops"

tiny tambourines

sock-covered maracas

films a tutorial

"Dancing Through Sleep Deprivation: A 7-Step Guide to Joyful Survival."

Yoongi’s Stealth Care

slides a USB into Namjoon’s studio

"Parenting Lo-fi: 24/7 Lullaby Beats to Overthink To."

secretly buys noise-cancelling headphones sized for infants

"For when Bangtan’s chaos is too iconic."

Taehyung’s Art Therapy

paints the nursery ceiling like the Van Gogh Museum

replaces stars with ARMY bombs

"Aesthetic and culturally relevant. Teach them young."

Jungkook’s Training

leaves a mini "Future Golden Maknae" workout plan

"0-3 mos: Grip strength (finger holds) 4-6 mos: Core stability (tummy time to Dynamite BPM)"

Hidden Stress Tells

over-researches "infant sleep regression in multilingual households" at 3 AM (as if their was a serious coreelation)

wears mismatched socks during diaper crises

quotes Thoreau during meltdowns

"Simplify, simplify… but how, Henry?!

🌿 Bonus Headcanons

family dog in 3...2...1...

Nicknames/Nonsense

calls the baby “Haewon” (sun and garden) as a placeholder

“It’s just… phonetically efficient!”

secretly tests names via Scrabble tiles

arranging letters into constellations

when they cling to his leg during a Live, he dubs them

“For their relentless grip on my existential crises.”

Late Nights

falls asleep annotating “The Art of Parenting in a Climate Crisis” 

margin notes: 

“How to explain melting glaciers to a toddler? Start with snow cones.”

bookmarks tabs: “Raising Anti-Capitalist Kids in a Late-Stage World” and “Is My Guilt Biodegradable?”

First Studio Visit

lets them “remix” his track by banging a wooden spoon on his awards

samples the chaos into an interlude called “Symbiosis: Noise & Nuance.”

plays it during a UNICEF speech

“This is the sound of hope refusing to be tempo-locked.”

Hidden Sentimentality

writes their milestones in the margins of his Walden copy

”First steps: 10/7. Proof that wilderness walks are innate.”

teaches them to say “Annyeonghaseyo” to his bonsai collection

“Respect all roots, human or not.”

secretly saves their crayon scribbles as NFT art titled “Post-Human Abstract Expressionism.”

note [06/05/25] : he wouldn't, I was not aware of the environmental impact of NFT's when writing this. I have to thank the person asking me about this in this NFT REQUEST

[damn this took me soooo long, but can I borrow him? for a week? pls... bc my so called father is buying milk since 2002]

[cumplane-forever]

Half-Demon Child (SY) Anatgonizes Da-Shixiong For No Apparent Reason

part of the aeroplane as sqq extended au- might delete later

(Context if you don't want to read allat: sy has been reincarnated as the half-demon son of mobei-jun and og shang qinghua.

In this au shen yuan is a rare plant baby that is made from mixing blood and was an accidental baby acquisition, immediately handed over by og shang qinghua to shen qingqiu. in this specific verse, sqq is aeroplane transmigrated (and also indirectly responsible for sy's birth by directing moshang towards the plant) although it works perfectly with og sqq as well.

sy grew up on qing jing peak with ming fan and ning yingying as his primary caretakeers as he was born in the same year the immortal alliance conference takes place(and sqq is too busy with trying to prevent canon to directly take care of him) in the following he's kind of regaining his memories and realizing he's in pidw. consequently ming fan suffers. ((side note: in this one sy grows at normal rates rather than the renesmee accelerated growing i said he'd have in part 3))

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

Ming Fan had survived many things in his life. Grueling night hunts. Endless paperwork. Senior martial brothers who thought "delegating" meant shoving every task onto his shoulders.

But nothing- not even the worst administrative nightmare An Ding Peak could conjure- had prepared him for Shen Yuan. At first, things had been fine. Sure, babysitting Shen Yuan had never been part of his plans, but he’d taken to the duty like any responsible disciple would.

Years of wrangling junior disciples had- surprisingly- not translated well into taking care of a literal newborn. Even Ning Yingying with her sunny disposition had struggled at first, but a few hours had revealed her a natural with a knack for subduing cranky babies. When it was his turn, Ming Fan had somehow managed- how he didn't remember, because four years later it was a forgotten blur.

Shen Yuan at the moment, was a tolerable (if slightly spoiled) child. The kind of kid who'd demand to be carried and fed at the same time, but also the kind who would cling to his robes and fall asleep drooling on his shoulder. Annoying, but manageable.

Then, suddenly, something changed. One day, Shen Yuan was sweet and pliant; the next, he glared at Ming Fan like he’d burnt his favourite toy in front of him. Ming Fan had no idea what he’d done to offend the little demon, but the five-year-old was on a mission.

“Shidi,” he said cautiously, watching Shen Yuan kneel in the courtyard, tiny hands cupped together.

“What… are you doing?”

“Ice lotus,” Shen Yuan declared.

“What.”

“I’m making an ice lotus.”

Ming Fan stared. Shen Yuan had been impressed upon, repeatedly, to keep his ice demon heritage under wraps. Sure, all of Qing Jing Peak knew, but the rest of the sect remained oblivious, and it was ideal that it stayed that way. Which meant no using no powers, icy or otherwise outside of the bamboo house and its surrounding gardens.

And yet, here was Shen Yuan, with a crude, half-melted lump of frost that he had manged to conjure in his palms. He stared at it with deep concentration, brow furrowed, lips pursed in an expression that would make any of the shijiemei coo at him and forget the mischief he was partaking in.

Ming Fan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You- Shen Yuan, stop that.”

“No.”

“You can’t just-”

“I’m practicing.”

“You’re five!”

Shen Yuan sniffed imperiously. “I’m cultivating.”

Ming Fan was going to lose his mind. He stalked forward, prepared to confiscate whatever disastrous creation was forming, but before he could, Shen Yuan threw it at him.

Ming Fan yelped as freezing cold slush splattered across his robes.

“Shen Yuan!”

The half-demon grinned insincerely. He then tried to hide his expression behind his hand. “Oh no, my hands slipped,” came the muffled excuse.

Ming Fan clenched and unclenched his jaw. He had an entire day of paperwork to finish, an errand to run for Shang Qinghua, and now he was standing in the courtyard, covered in melting ice, glaring down at a smug little brat.

He inhaled sharply. Patience. Restraint. Think of Ning-shimei. Think of how much worse this could be.

As if sensing his thoughts, Shen Yuan went in for the kill. “Shijie should come back soon. You like her more than me, don’t you, Fan-ge?”

Ming Fan narrowed his eyes. “What? Don’t start.”

“You’re always extra nice to her.”

“That’s because she actually listens when I tell her not to do something!”

Shen Yuan pouted, clearly unconvinced. “You like her.”

Ming Fan, who had been completely over whatever childhood crush he once had, exhaled forcefully. “No.”

Shen Yuan gave him a contemplative expression.

“Oh, don’t even-”

“You like her.”

“A-Yuan, I swear-”

“I’ll tell her you want to marry her.”

“I will have you grounded.”

Before Shen Yuan could escalate further, the subject of their conversation arrived.

“Ming Fan, what are you two yelling about?” Ning Yingying asked, stepping into the courtyard with a basket of sweets.

She stopped short at the sight of Ming Fan, dripping wet and seething. “Eh? What happened to you?”

Shen Yuan, the traitor, turned his wide, innocent eyes on her. “Fan-ge was playing with me, but he got too excited and tripped.”

Ming Fan nearly ascended from frustration. Ning Yingying snickered, but abruptly stifled it.

“Poor Fan-ge.” She fished out a pastry and handed it to Shen Yuan. “Did you behave?”

“He threw ice at me,” Ming Fan snapped.

“He's been having a bad day,” Ning Yingying reasoned, patting Shen Yuan’s head. "You should be glad he was playing at all." The little menace leaned into her hand smugly.

Ming Fan wiped a hand down his face. “I- you know what? You deal with him. I’m done for now.”

"Two shichen?"

"Three."

Ning-shimei looked as if she would argue, but then took a look at him and nodded "..By dinnertime then."

Demon-wrangling hours decided, he nodded and went to change his slush-stained uniform. As he stomped away, he heard Shen Yuan whisper to Ning Yingying, “Fan-ge is so clumsy.”

Vengence, Ming Fan decided, would be best served in the form of letting Ning-shimei cook dinner at the bamboo house that night.

[8auhaus]

In Defense of Calypso, an essay on Rick Riordan’s daughter of Atlas.

(Note: I will not be discussing the characterization of Calypso or the dynamic between Calypso and Leo Valdez within Trials of Apollo, as I believe they were unsuccessfully written to follow the bickering couple trope. I feel similarly towards the characterization of Nico di Angelo and Will Solace and their relationship in The Sun and the Star, and I feel it unfair to judge the dynamic that was written to mimic the popularity of Percabeth.)

“I'm coming back for you Calypso," he said to the night wind. "I swear on the river Styx. (House of Hades)

Ogygia exits in a pocket of time, similar to the Lotus Casino that trapped Nico di Angelo as eleven years old for decades. When reading a book, you have to remember the context in which it was written; It is unfair and frankly illiterate behavior to justify your hatred for innocent writing by warping the context of a children’s book. Rick Riordan, as senseless as his modern characterizations of the PJO cast are, would not write one of his few romantic relationships involving a main character to be predatory. Young adult fantasy has a target audience of people as young as 12 years old, who (in most cases) would not be able to derive insightful commentary with such extreme and complex dynamics. Instead, the characters and relationships presented should follow a storyline that focuses on relatable teenage experiences with a narration that reflects adolescent thought processes. A pedophilic character and a predatory relationship dynamic is a trope that is generally considered too graphic to successfully write within a series such as Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Instead, the relationship between Calypso and Leo is supposed to be an optimistic end to two characters who have dealt with longstanding heartache and loneliness. It can be considered an undermining of satisfactory character development, as having a character who struggles with loneliness find peace in being alone in a world that emphasizes the absolute necessity of alloromantic relationships would be a unique ending to the story and important messaging that romantic relationships do not “fix” a person. However, bashing Calypso for the profitable route that the author decided to follow (which is understandable, as the success of his previous novels within fandoms was partially because of the popularity of the romantic relationship between Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase (or “Percabeth”)) is not intelligent media consumption.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians emphasizes an overarching message of disability, how a person may struggle with disability in a world that doesn’t accommodate them, and how disability limiting a person’s abilities does not limit their character. The series is fundamentally a commentary on disability and trauma, as it was written to engage and represent Rick Riordan’s son who struggled with ADHD and dyslexia. While our main cast similarly struggles with these same two disorders, characters like Tyson, Nico di Angelo, and Leo Valdez are written more intentionally to represent disabilities such as Down syndrome and Autism Spectrum Disorder respectively. As the series develops, we see themes of trauma and long-lasting consequences of psychological and emotional distress, as it is assumed that the audience ages with the series and can digest mature themes more successfully. Calypso, because of her centuries-long isolation and repeated heartbreak resulting from the only close relationships she manages to develop, struggles with abandonment issues. It is not a stretch to say she may also struggle with social cues, similar to how a neurodivergent person may struggle to understand what behaviors are appropriate or not. To call her “mean,” “toxic,” “abusive,” or anything along these lines undermines the trauma responses Rick has made the effort to represent. Instead, it stands to demonize people with mental illness, assuming that their struggles define who they are and the relationships they have. The treatment Calypso receives for her trauma-based behavior is not applied to the male cast of characters, assumedly because of the standards misogyny has created for all women, even fictional.

Referencing the aforementioned defense of her “bad” behavior, many have criticized Calypso because of the curse she unintentionally placed on Annabeth which is seen in the House of Hades.

“We did nothing, the demons said. Your beloved has unleashed a special curse—a bitter thought from someone you abandoned. You punished an innocent soul by leaving her in solitude. Now her most hateful wish has come to pass: Annabeth feels her despair. She, too, will perish alone and abandoned.” (House of Hades, pg. 235)

However, it should be considered that, before Annabeth and Percy Jackson (and Nico di Angelo), no demigod had traveled to Tartarus, never mind surviving it. The demon encountered by the duo was not a common enemy, but a monster that could only be encountered within such a deep part of the underworld. Calypso, rightful in her bitterness though not in who she blamed for it, could not have assumed that Annabeth would encounter the Arai and suffer at their hands. (Note: this is assuming that Calypso had intentionally placed this curse, as it is equally likely that it was an unintentional manifestation of negative emotions)

According to a poll conducted by the Tumblr blog riordanverse-ship-polls, 93.9% of 346 voters feel, neutral or positively towards the ship between Leo Valdez and Jason Grace. 49.4% of these voters state Valgrace as their OTP or one true pairing. Additionally, the Valgrace tag on Tumblr has 2.1 thousand followers, and the tag that marks a romantic relationship between the two on Archive of Our Own has 1,651 fanfictions written (as of February 17, 2025). It is not unfair to assume that this pairing is popular within the fandom. This begs the question— how many people express hatred towards Calypso and her relationship with Leo Valdez because they would prefer a relationship between Leo and Jason? When scrolling through the Caleo tag on Tumblr, the Valgrace tag makes an impressive number of appearances. It is a common experience to see female characters hated in a movie, television show, book series, etc. because they “get in the way of” a ship between two men. It is a result of deeply rooted misogyny within fandom culture, which believes that male characters and relationships between men are inherently more complex than female characters and female relationships. This is not intended to be an absolute opinion, but instead a question that I ask every Valgrace shipper— are you holding female characters, specifically Calypso, to the same degree of morality that you hold the male characters? (Note: I do not intend to bash Valgrace or Valgrace shippers, but seeing the loud minority of them post Valgrace and anti-Calypso/anti-Caleo content under the Caleo tags is beyond frustrating. Ship and let ship!)

I believe I have addressed the reoccurring arguments in opposition to the ship between Calypso and Leo Valdez from Rick Riordan’s “Hero of Olympus” series, and those who incorrectly label Calypso as a mean, toxic, or abusive character. Greek Mythology does not allow for characters to be strictly “good” or “bad,” but instead allows readers to see the complexity of each action and its consequence. Though written for a younger audience, the same level of understanding must be given to the characters of the Riordanverse series.

(Please note, I am a 17 year old with limited experience with academic writing. Any constructive criticisms are welcomed, but I ask that you be considerate when disagreeing.)

[qichun]

❅ 17:15

❅ minors do not interact | 830 words | taglist

❅ contents: Wriothelsey had missed your birthday due to his duties in the fortress of Meropede. he pulls out all the works to make it up to you.

❅ warnings: fem!reader (no pronouns used.), author has never used a slow cooker before so i was free balling it, pet names used (my love), reader is smaller than wriothesley

❅ event: the sapling café's secret santa for @mlkbwunnies sorry i'm late. <3

❅ authors note: two fics in two days, who is he?

❅ no ai scraping allowed | reblogs and feedback are appreciated!! Graphics by @/saradika-graphics

The Duke of Fontaine doesn’t often have the opportunity to take time away from his duties at the Fortress of Meropede. When he leaves the confines of the prison, he is usually on emergency business or has been called to the surface by the Sovereign Neuvillette. Though the Duke considers this matter the biggest emergency he has encountered to date, he is late. Not only is he late, but he is days late, and he hasn’t been able to find the time to write a letter to explain his absence on his beloved’s birthday. Instead of wasting time with a letter, he decided he would make haste and prepare to make up for his tardiness.

His first order of business was heading to the docks. Since Fontaine’s catastrophe was diverted, the docks had been open to more nations, namely Liyue Harbor. Since the reconnection with Liyue Harbor, new ingredients that couldn’t be grown in Fontaine had become increasingly in demand. He made his way to the large ship named The Crux, with its large red sails folded. He was glad they had yet to close up for the evening. He made quick work of purchasing the necessary amount of bamboo shoots and wine for the dinner he wanted to make.

Once he had bid farewell to the crew, he made his way to Fontaine’s own market streets, where he could find the rest of the ingredients fresher and cheaper than at the imports dock. He had to haggle with a few of the vendors, but he managed to stay within his budget. He had two more stops before he headed to see his beloved. His first stop was Café Lutece to purchase your favourite dessert, Fontinalia mousse, before visiting Boucicaut at his store to buy you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, pluie lotus.

He looked at his pocket watch to check the time; he wanted to make sure you were still at work before he entered your residence. He hung his coat on the coat rack before swapping his large boots for house slippers. He padded toward your kitchen to place the ingredients in the fridge, especially the mousse, before searching for an empty vase. He filled the vase with water before cutting the ends off the stems of the flowers, methodically placing them in the vase. Once upon a time, he didn’t know how to prepare flowers; too rough around the edges to handle such delicate things, it was only after meeting you that he learned how to be gentle.

He placed the full vase on the kitchen table, with two fresh candles on either side, before he washed his hands so he could prepare dinner while waiting for you to return. He slowly worked through scoring and preparing the meat, along with the spices, bamboo shoots, and soup broth. An hour later, the house was filled with mouthwatering scents. This was the scene that welcomed you when you entered your home, you were tired and not expecting company, but a small smile pulled onto your lips.

“Welcome home, my love.” Wriothesley’s smooth voice called from the kitchen, where he was preparing the table for you to eat. You had been planning to order in since you were too tired to cook for yourself, before you released a sigh of relief knowing you didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” You wanted to be mad; you wanted to be upset, but you could see the flowers on the table, the bamboo shoot soup in the slow cooker, and the sheepish, apologetic look on his usually calm and collected exterior.

“I suppose this is a start to making it up to me,” you spoke sternly, wanting to make him squirm while waiting for your forgiveness, even though you forgave him the moment you stepped through the door.

Wriothesley led you to the table, where he placed the casserole dish of bamboo shoot soup before lighting the candles on either side, bathing the dimly lit kitchen in a warm glow. Dinner was a quiet affair, your small hand held gently in his much larger hand as if it were fragile. There were soft whispered declarations of love, apologies, and hugs; all of the stress that lined both of your shoulders melted away in the warmth of each other. After you had both finished your dinner, he led you to the living room to sit in the pile of blankets he had prepared for your return.

You waited in front of the fire; he returned from the kitchen with a plate of Fontinalia mousse in one hand and two mugs of hot chocolate in the other. He placed the treats on the low coffee table before pulling you into his lap in the pile of blankets. “Happy birthday, my love.” You spent the rest of the evening enjoying his warmth and comfort, the crackling of the fire filling the air as you watched the light snow fall onto the Fontanian streets.

[lotusarchon]

hot to go (nezha x reader)

content warnings: trans-masc reader (he/them pronouns used), rabbit spirit reader, second pov (you/your), racer/racing au, modern-ish au, fssy characters mentioned, weird plot, kidnapping attempt gone wrong, self indulgent, smut/nsfw warning - minors/ageless blogs dni, outdoor sex, cowgirl, oral (m receiving)

author's notes: save me racer nezha, save me

Just focus on the race. The track is all yours.

“Yo, Nezhie! Good luck buddy! You're gonna need it! Not for the other racers though. From me, haha. Okay, I'm gone now, byeeeee~!”

….

Li Nezha was a popular racer. Going from barely remembered in his rookie days to the current moment that everyone in the racing world was aware of his name, and the title he had been graced with ― the Lotus Prince. He who was above all ‘worldly desires’, expressing a profound commitment to his racing career. If it wasn't obvious enough from the sleek design and commitment to his car, the extra care given to his racing suit, then perhaps the countless offers from different sponsors, each one more determined and desperate than the last, to have him as the show of their fortune, should've been visible proof of his ever growing talent and power.

His arrogance and cockiness was irritating to his fellow racers, crew and even family members, that was a given. None enjoyed having to deal with an arrogant prick ― a person who spoke insulting words with false kindness, someone who always wore a fake smile and who cared little who's feelings he crushed, friend or foe.

Lotus Prince was the title he was given on the racetrack, but behind closed doors, arrogant prick was a generous if not kind title.

He was a ‘one-man’ show as the rumours went, and if it was possible, he most likely would've long since abandoned his crew. The one, sole reason anyone was willing to put up with him, either on the pit or as his driver, was because of his sweet, gentle golden retriever of a brother, Jinzha, who had inherited the family's business and his father's legacy. Said father had also been incredibly unhappy with Nezha's choice in careers, but since no amount of beatings and nights without dinners worked, he wiped his hands of this unfilial child and gave up on him.

He wanted to race so badly!? So be it! It wasn't his (Li Jing’s) life that was being thrown away anyway! Ha!

With a slight twitch of his eye, Nezha's hands clenched around his steering wheel.

Against other racers, Nezha was always certain to come out on top, even in his rookie years, stealing the title of racing champion to whoever it first belonged to.

At least, until recently, when he was promoted to go up against the Monkey King ― that Sun Wukong who was all but a cocky rookie, yet still managed to win more races than Nezha ever could.

What a damn monkey indeed. Second place had been given to Nezha, again, and again, and―

“The Monkey King takes the lead once again!”

“Son of a bi―”

***

“Whoa, buddy. Ya look pink.”

Mentally, Nezha countered to ten. His brother had always insisted that if he couldn't control his temper, at least give himself some sort of countdown to relax and think rationally.

It was bullshit. Counting didn't help him relax, it only made him itch to hit the person who thought this method was remotely helpful to begin with.

With an agitated huff, Nezha raised his head to the man―er, monkey?―who came to irritate him with that stupid remark.

Of course he looked pink. Nezha was probably the only racer who was man enough to not give a fuck that his signature colors were…pink. His car, his racing suit, hell, even the ribbons that he wore were colored pink.

To be honest about 70% of Nezha's fans were women, and one only needed a mere glance at him to know why.

He was the epitome of a pretty boy: jade white skin, thick lashes and full lips tinted pink from his constant gnawing, and many often wondered what he would look like of he just smiled. A sharp jawline and dark eyes that reflected none of his true emotions, and his hair tied into twin buns, styled with girlish looking ribbons. When he wore his helmet, strands would occasionally slip from the style, but it only served to make him look more appealing to his fans.

Naturally, it should be common knowledge―forget about the color, no man alive would dare to step outside their house looking like that, nevermind allow pictures to surface and plaster across billboards and the like. The fact was, an even rarer 10% of those remaining thirty percent of his fans were actually straight men, and even they at times couldn't bring themselves to admit they were diehard fans of this pretty-boy racer, who may as well have been better off playing the role of some prince or something in a xianxia setting.

Sighing, Nezha rubbed the crease in his forehead that always seemed to appear whenever Wukong was within sight. His temple throbbed as he answered, “Can you take your silly jokes and gloat somewhere else? Weren't you supposed to be partying with Yang Jian?”

That Yang Jian, in question, was either Wukong's boyfriend or close friend. Whatever the relationship was mattered little to Nezha ― the farther away Wukong was from him, the easier life would be.

Unfortunately, this monkey was as smart as a koala bear. The lousy grin he wore widened, and he promptly sat himself down on the back of Nezha's car, designed with white lotus flowers and his title.

Nezha felt his eyelid twitched.

“You know, I'm really just concerned about ya,” he said cheerily, swinging his legs back and forth. “I mean, you should've seen your face when you hit second place today. You looked like someone had just fucked your mom!”

Nezha listened to his inner voice and grabbed a wrench from one of his mechanics.

“I mean, damn. I know you hate losing to me but could you really not have expected it? I'm me, and you're, well, you. So I don't really see why―” He suddenly paused, his eyes on the wrench Nezha clenched. “Why do you have that.”

“....”

After much shrieking and a comical chase, Nezha retired inside his trailer for the day. His next race was supposed to be held in Donghai, which was at least a few days worth of driving. The sooner he got there, the less chances of him running into that annoying monkey.

The fantasy of not hearing Wukong yap in his head was enough to withdraw a rare, barely there smile. One that would've made his driver―his annoying brother Muzha―stare at him in terror, or his fangirls squeal with glee, to be given the knowledge that their cold, unreachable lotus could smile.

He settled back against the seats, staring boredly through the windows with an unreadable expression.

A knock from the driver's seat roused him from his daydreams. He spared it a brief glance, meeting a face that could've been carved of the same mold as Li Jing's had it not been for the slight delicate softness inherited from their mother's.

Nezha squinted.

“Ge wants to know if you wanna give any of your friends a few tickets,” Muzha deadpanned from where he sat, his gaze focused on the road before him. “Speak quick, I don't have time, and neither does he.”

Of course he didn't. Jinzha was always so busy, yet still attempting to make time for his brothers.

Nezha thought and sighed.

Tickets for what friends? Most of the people Nezha worked with tolerated him for the promise of money, or for Jinzha. Arrogance was what he was known for, and to be honest, he never allowed anyone the chance to get too close.

He wasn't so caught up in his own ego, like a certain Monkey King. He was more than aware of his own unlikable personality, and thus knew better than to try or pretend, instead dedicating his life to his racing.

Checking his neatly trimmed nails, picking at the faint nail polish left behind, Nezha merely hummed.

“Tell him not to bother. I don't need support anyway.”

From the driver's seat, all he heard was a snort from Muzha, before he finally fell silent.

***

Nezha had only rested his eyes for a few minutes, yet when he reopened then again, almost three hours had passed.

He yawned, grumbling as he sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Outside, the moon was high in the sky, and so the passing scenery was mixed in a passing blur and darkness, lit only by the occasional streetlight.

For a split second, he was mildly concerned. As much as he disliked his older brother, that wooden prick, there was no way he could keep driving without rest. Even if he desperately itched to arrive at Donghai in time, if Muzha fell asleep at the wheel and an accident happened, it wouldn't end well for either parties.

Resolutely, Nezha leaned over, knocking on the front compartment that opened to the driver's seat.

“Muzha?” He called out, a slight frown to his expression. “Hey? You know you can stop, right? If you crash, the one who's being blamed is me.”

A pause. There was no answer, only the gentle driving that continued.

Nezha hesitated.

“Fine. I won't stop you. But don't blame me either if something happens.” Another pause. “Get some rest too. Good night.”

Fuck.

Nezha knew something had been off when he woke up properly the next morning, squinting at the bright sunlight that threatened his vision. He must've been lying on the bare ground, to be in this position, and thanked his stars the jacket he wore was padded to avoid the feeling of gravel pressing into his back.

He squirmed, discovering that his hands had been tied in front of him, and sighed.

Honestly. He'd have to be an idiot to not recognize the situation he had been placed in.

With a huff, he tried to make an attempt to roll onto his side. There was much difficulty, but in the end, he found himself leverage, and was finally able to sit up and examine his surroundings (after his eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness).

What he first noticed was that his trailer, thank the heavens, was parked nearby, and didn't seem to have been dealt any damage. There was no sign of his brother however, and that made his relief become gnawing guilt as he examined the rest of his surroundings.

A long gravelled road, with some sort of rickety fence that stopped for a few short miles, at least from what he could see. Either side overlooked what might've been dunes, miniature at best compared to the ones he had seen on another trip, but sandy dunes all the same, and flat exposed rock that seemed to glimmer from the sun beating down upon them.

For all his pretty boy appearances, Nezha wasn't exactly a stranger to the rough outdoors. His childhood was spent froclicking wherever he could, and tearing a dragon's sinew from it's body. If he reached into his pockets, he could still feel the remains there, rubbery and often used as a past time for him to turn into different patterns between his fingertips. Soft and princely he might've been, and with smooth, gentle hands that could've been a woman's, Nezha was as much at home in this blistering weather as he was in the racetrack.

That didn't make him any less happier, however. Briefly, he contemplated summoning his sash tied around his belt, when he spotted two figures emerging from the back of his trailer. They took no notice of him, so Nezha took it upon himself to stare as much as he could.

One was a man much taller, with a bushy bear and long flowing hair tied into a low ponytail. With only a mere side view, there wasn't much for Nezha to go off on, aside that he wore loose, black robes in this hot as hell weather. He faced a smaller figure who bounced in place, but at least looked like someone from the modern century.

Nezha stared, taken aback by the fluffy black ears that twitched on their head. Most animal demons or spirits in this day and age hid any sign of their true forms behind a glamor, not a part of them revealed to be an animal. Even Sun Wukong in this day and age had opted for an appearance that though still stood out, was enough to hide his true form from unwanted remarks.

Even their fluffy bobtail, which Nezha barely spotted from the pastel pink jacket they wore around their waist, was in sight.

A rabbit spirit? He blinked. They've got guts showing up like that, I'd give them that.

They also had the guts to try and capture him of all people, but for now, Nezha wouldn't dwell on it. At the very least, this spirit was at least dressed comparably decent, in loose, white clothing in this warm weather.

And appearances aside, Nezha couldn't tell if the latter was male, or female. Their voice, which was a mix of a high-pitched whine and feverish garbling, was androgynous at best.

“Honestly….” The older man interrupted the rabbit spirit's indecipherable speech. “How does one find themselves in such a mess…..your Qiu-mei will not be pleased.”

Huh. They must've recognized him then, and clearly had much regrets. Good that they did, and Nezha with a pleased conscience, decided not to attack them yet.

“I’m sorry.” The rabbit spirit wrung their hands nervously. Their ears twitched rapidly, and Nezha was mildly amused by the sight. “I didn't mean too…i-it just kinda happened.”

“....(Name), how does one happen to kidnap a racer and mistake him as their target!?”

So their name was that, huh. Mumbling the name to himself, Nezha continued to eavesdrop to pass the time.

(Name) burst into tears, still wringing their hands. “It really was an accident!!” They whined out, fidgeting in place. “It was so dark outside! I just jumped at the first trailer I saw outside….”

Nezha finally understood.

This, for some ironic reason, had genuinely been some sort of accident. Muzha must've stopped somewhere after Nezha had fallen asleep, for a small break to rest his eyes. The designated area he'd chosen was a seedy gas stop, but while he was busy at the counter, this (Name) person mistook their vehicle as some other target of theirs, and had stepped inside.

And now that they'd realized their error, they clearly were about to faint on the spot.

Luckily, the older black-robed man caught them, stuck between laughing and sighing.

“Okay, okay, relax―” The older man chided, patting the smaller figure's back. “Just breathe, alright? I'm sure we can work this out…probably….”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh, or cry. The knowledge his brother was at the very least safe soothed his temper, but at the same time, knowing these people were criminals was enough to make him grimace. Accidents were…excusable, but on purpose…that went against everything he stood for, arrogance be damned.

Unable to keep up with their mindless banter, Nezha cleared his throat―loud enough to catch their attentions. The rabbit jolted with surprise, but the darkly-dressed man simply spared him a glance. Nezha caught the sight of a scraggly beard and dark eyes, but what stood out to him was the familiarity.

“Shen Gongbao.” The name fell off his lips with a bitter taste to his tongue.

The centuries old Taoist spared him a lecherous grin. “His Highness, the Third Lotus Prince. Nice to see you again. You lost the baby fat from your face���couldn’t recognize ya’ for a sec.”

Nezha rolled his eyes at the remark. Next to the Taoist, the rabbit was flailing their hands, attempting to stop their accomplice from talking. Shen Gongbao merely waved them off, still smiling at the racer bound and tied on the road.

“Huh. Always wondered where you and the others disappeared off too.” Shen Gongbao toyed with his beard and took slow, calculated steps towards him. Up close, Nezha could spy grey strands mixing with his dark hair.

So he got older too.

“Don't see why that matters to you,” he retorted back, and flicked his gaze to the bouncing rabbit spirit. For whatever reason there was, they seemed at least able to recognize him if the dark flush to their freckled cheeks was anything to go off by. They bit their thumbs and stood in the same spot, bouncing on their heels with a look of anxiety in their eyes. “Besides. Aren't you too old now, pulling this type of nonsense?”

Shen Gongbao simply pouted. “And aren't you too old to be having such a sour attitude? Honestly, how did you manage to become a racer? And such a popular one too?” He reached out, pinching Nezha's dusty cheek. There was now little distance between them, and the faint smell of sweet liquor filled Nezha's senses and made his eyelid twitch.

“Don't tell me.” Nezha winced when the Taoist finally released his possibly red, swollen cheek. “You weren't happy with what Jiang Ziya gave you, so you decided to terrorize everyone else. How very….” He struggled to find the correct word.

“Demure?” The rabbit spirit piped up from where they sat.

“(Name), do be quiet.”

“Sorry….”

“.....” Nezha exhaled. “Just what the hell are you planning on doing with me? I don't have all the time in the world to be wasted on the likes of you and your little pet.”

Shen Gongbao snorted. “I find that highly unlikely, little prince.”

“And I'm not his pet!” The rabbit quipped again, earning another sigh from their master. “Master Shen, I'm not! Tell him I'm not!”

“Of course you aren't (Name).” The Taoist stood. “But why waste our words on a dead man? Don't get so upset, he's not worth our time.”

Nezha's brows furrowed slightly. Did this guy seriously think they could just kill him just like that? Sure, his skills were a little rusty, but―

“Um….we can't kill him.” The rabbit, no, (Name), looked mildly upset as Shen Gongbao took a swig from his flask he must've kept hiding in his sleeves. “I mean. Well….. isn't there something else we can do? Like sending him back?”

Maybe this rabbit had the right head on their shoulders.

“Um. No.”

And maybe he should've used that brick of his on Shen Gongbao when he had the chance instead of listening to Jiang Ziya’s nonsensical babbling.

“Why not!?”

“(Name). Your Qiu-mei would hit you if she heard you speak.” The Taoist rubbed his forehead. “You don't…kidnap people and then just return them. He knows too much and isn't our target, so we have to get rid of him without our secrets being leaked.”

The rabbit blinked. “He's rich and people would pay a lot to have him back and alive.”

Nezha nodded. For as dumb as they appeared to be, it seemed that they were quite smart for whatever age they were. It benefited him, because then he wouldn't have to lift a finger in restraining these villains until the last second.

Shen Gongbao’s thick brows looked like they wanted to frown harder. He spared Nezha a glance and stood, dusting the gravel and stone that clung to his thick robes.

“My little A-Lan,” the Taoist said, his tone gentle and laced with kindness, like when a parent was trying to deliver bad news to a toddler. “Your….admiration for the prince is showing. Look at him―do you think any honest woman would want to be near him? Nevermind anyone in general. He's a prick.”

The rabbit’s lips pursed slightly.

Nezha looked offended where he sat.

“Um. I most certainly would be missed,” he deadpanned from where he sat.

Shen Gongbao spared him a look. “Would you really?”

“Yes. I'm quite famous you know.”

The rabbit nodded. “He is, Master.”

“(Name), shush. My point still remains. You're arrogant and haughty. It's not an issue about holding you for ransom. It's simply that you aren't worth anything, and no one would be willing to pay the price to get you back.”

“Um.” The rabbit tried again. “But we can't kill him. That's…I mean, it's not really nice….”

The older man looked like he wanted to roll his own eyes, but fought back the temptation to flash the rabbit a small, fond smile. It seemed, by their dynamic, that this was not something new, and Nezha felt a little disappointed that he was not the exception to this sympathy.

“You and Qiuyue are far too different.” Shen Gongbao heaved a sigh and tugged on the rabbit's fluffy ear. “Perhaps it is for the best.” He spared Nezha another glance, and continued, “Fine, then. If you don't want for me to kill him, then we'll go with your plan.”

***

When Shen Gongbao had asked for your plan in sending Nezha back without either of you getting caught, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Yet, who would've guessed―not only did he have you take control, he left the racer in your hands.

It's totally fine, he had said. He sealed Nezha's meridians away, so he couldn't get away from the cables tied around him. No big deal!

It was in fact a big deal. Nezha's face might've been soft and pretty, but his body did not match that delicateness. He could crush you to death with one hand alone! The fuck!? Did your master not see the size of those things!? And he expected you to watch him!?

Hahaha, what the fuck!?

“You're telling me you don't know how to drive?” He deadpanned from the driver's seat, his free hands clenching the steering wheel. His expression was blank, if not unamused, and he seemed itch to roll his eyes. “How on earth did you even steal it to begin with?”

You flushed with shame, staring at the dashboard in front of you.

The truth was, you barely managed to steal his trailer that night. It was genuinely pure luck you had managed to keep it from driving on the road without attracting attention.

Nezha continued on, “What kind of kidnapper has their own hostage doing the driving? That's pretty lame, isn't it?”

You covered your face in shame, your ears drooping.

“Please, no more. I can't take it anymore,” you managed out, fighting back tears of shame.

Whether or not he felt any sympathy, he wouldn't say, but at least his insults stopped for the time. His gaze remained focus on the road before him, his lips pursed.

Arguably, you might've been decades younger than your cousin and master, but at least that meant you had more common sense than they did. Sure, you were probably useless for a lot of things with your anxiety always ready to skyrocket, but at least your first thought hadn't been to murder a guy because he was the wrong target.

And to be honest, you did like Nezha a lot. You might even dare to call yourself one of his fans, but that would be a bit much. His pretty boy looks were the only things you really liked, because racing was a boring sport to you, and you didn't understand anything related to it. Ignoring that Nezha's personality was also ass.

With a sigh, you propped your hand under your cheek to stare out the window. If Nezha did, and he most likely would, try to turn you in to the authorities, you could always just make a run for it. Just as long as he returned home safe….

A few hours passed before Nezha finally spoke again.

“Where are we going?”

You blinked.

“You…you're the one who's doing the driving!?”

“Yeah, and you brought me here.” Nezha glanced at you. “Shouldn't you at least be able to tell what direction we're in?”

“....”

Shen Gongbao was the one who asked you to meet him here, but that didn't mean you knew where here was. It was the middle of nowhere as far as you could tell, and when you'd dragged Nezha inside the trailer sometime later, your master hadn't told you that you might've been heading in the wrong direction.

Not to mention, you didn't think you would've gotten lost. Nezha was a driver, so surely he should've been able to tell where you were heading??

Fuck.

“Oh my god we're lost.”

“You're fucking with me.”

Nezha groaned, banging his head against the steering wheel. You panicked when the trailer swerved, but it didn't crash into anything unassuming, and Nezha muttered another curse under his breath before regaining his bearings. He glowered at the open road, his brows twitching.

You gulped nervously.

“I'm supposed to be in Donghai in three days!” He muttered out, digging his nails into the steering wheel. “And I can't believe I got kidnapped by Bugs Bunny and his fucking evil wizard accomplice.”

You processed his words, and gaped. “Who are you calling Bugs Bunny, you…you fucking….”

Nezha raised a brow. “Go on.”

“....” You looked away and pouted. Finding an insult that would hurt was too hard. You should've listened to Qiuyue when you had the chance. “I'm not a Bug's Bunny.”

“Could've fooled me then, Lola Bunny.”

“Okay, stop.”

The trailer came to a stop on the side of the road. Nezha couldn't keep driving forever, and because you were useless in driving and couldn't take turns at the wheel, he had no choice but to stop for a break, even when he would much rather keep driving until daybreak the next day.

He sat at the edge of his cot, watching you try to figure out how to pry the sink open without breaking anything.

“You're a bad kidnapper,” he commented, picking at the last bits of nail polish on his fingers. He frowned, looking around for the bottle he'd had tucked away somewhere. “Like. Seriously. What kind of kidnapper just grabs someone without knowing how to drive? Much less do anything in general?”

“It was an accident.” You gave up on the sink, choosing to look through the cupboards instead for anything of nutritional value. All your hands could find were bowls of lotus seeds, covered to prevent spilling over. You stared at the several bowls lined up neatly in the cupboard, and deadpanned.

Well….lotus seeds it would have to be, then. Though you really wished you could find meat….at least you wouldn't have to cook it.

You grabbed a bowl and faced Nezha, taken aback by the sight of him sitting cross legged and painting his nails a fresh layer of pastel pink that matched his car's designs.

He glanced your way, cocking a brow. “What?”

“Nothing…” You shook your head, taking the empty spot next to him. “Um. I found this….if you're hungry….”

Wait….wasn't he reborn from a lotus root? You glanced at him nervously. Would it count as cannibalism if he ate them―

“Feed me.”

“Pardon?”

Nezha sighed. All of his attention remained on painting his nails with precision, and he barely even spared you the energy of an eye roll. He stuck his tongue out, examining his index finger in the trailer light, and made a gesture with his free, unpainted hand.

“You're pardoned. And I said, feed me. I'm busy.”

“...” You picked at one of the seeds, your ear twitching. Perhaps Shen Gongbao had been right. With an attitude like that, did he even have friends? Or, if he somehow magically had any, how did they tolerate him this much?

Begrudgingly accepting your role, you placed a lotus seed to his lips. Though distracted, his teeth latched onto it with ease, and you watched with awe as it disappeared into his mouth.

Well, you were already bored anyway. Might as well make a game of how fast he could eat and swallow lotus seeds.

“Stop staring.”

“Oh.”

***

Two days had passed, and unfortunately, you were both still very lost. There was an occasional gastop and settlements on the road the longer Nezha kept driving, but neither had been helpful with directions. Either because they sensed you were a spirit and they were awfully superstitious, or because Nezha's not too-pleasant attitude and expression scared almost everyone into fainting on the spot.

You didn't have the heart to ask the lotus prince to try to be nicer. If you did, he would probably go back to calling you those mean names again. He had stopped after reducing you to tears once, but you weren't very eager to remind him. Creative as they were, you did not enjoy being at the receiving end of those insults.

Maybe he was just a sadist.

Unsurprisingly, Nezha did not take pleasure in driving for this long. After your most recent gas stop, he ended up stopping the trailer in an empty grazing field. You sat with newly acquired snacks to watch him drive his race car around, kicking up dust and scaring the local wildlife in the process.

You couldn't make heads or tails of whatever he was doing, but when he drove past, you did manage to catch sight of his expression. For once, he seemed genuinely happy to be there, behind the steering wheel of his stupid car, driving repeated circles in the same tire tracks until he was tired.

It might've been a trick of the light, but you could've sworn you saw a faint smile on his lips.

“Honestly,” you spoke to one of the rabbits that hopped closer to the blanket you sat on. “He seems like a nice guy in the field. Is it that hard for him to place that same energy into talking to people?”

The rabbit twitched its nose at you.

“I mean. Qiuyue is always complaining about people being unchangeable.” You threw a lotus seed at the rabbit. “But it's…not fair, is it? People can change! And, I dunno. He's lived decades longer than I have, but doesn't seem to have anyone to really be there for him, does he? Outside of his brothers, I mean.”

“...”

“Ugh.” You groaned and allowed yourself to fall back onto the grass beneath you. “I'm going mad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You glowered at the familiar face hovering above you, a smirk curling on those lips that you had gotten used to staring at in the two days you spent with him.

He was right, at least. You were a horrible kidnapper. I mean, who let's their hostage drive around knowing damn well they could escape if they wanted too!? Qiuyue would have your head if she saw you as you were now.

Nezha extended a gloved hand towards you, and you accepted it, allowing him to pull you up with ease. His car was parked near the trailer, and as he sat himself next to you, you couldn't help but spare him one more glance. The sweat beading down his temples, the slight motion of his chest as he caught his breath, his ruffled hair and the strands that escaped his bun….

You sighed as he stole another bowl of lotus seeds, propping your hands behind you.

Don't misunderstand ― you most certainly was not falling for a guy you met only for two days. This wasn't a cheesy romcom to begin with.

But, you'd be lying if you said you weren't mildly…atttacted to him.

“Why were you talking to yourself?” Nezha asked between a mouthful of seeds.

“I was talking to my rabbit friend.”

He blinked, giving you a weird look between stuffing seeds into his mouth. “So you can….communicate with them?”

“No….”

“...”

“Oh. You're really weird then.”

“It's not weird! I was just talking out loud! How is that weird!? Stop looking at me like that! Hey!” You gasped as he snickered, grabbing him by the arm. “Stop laughing! I'm not weird! It's not! Don't you talk to yourself all the time!? Stop laughing!!!”

There was nothing you could do about it. With a snort, Nezha's free hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward, if only to grin at your embarrassed expression.

“But it's funny,” he insisted, watching you squirm. “You're the only person I've ever met insane enough to talk to a rabbit. I have to laugh.”

“You! You're so horrible.” You gave up, slouching on his lap. Maybe if you stayed incredibly still, you could pretend to be dead. “I was just pointing something out…”

Too bad Nezha didn't want to follow with your pretense. He set his now empty bowl aside, both hands free to do as they pleased. With your front on his lap, he placed his hands on your back, and casually grabbed at the fluffball that was your tail.

“I heard.” He squeezed the soft fur experimentally, ignoring how you twitched and tried to pull back. “While I appreciate your concern, it is as you've said. I've lived for centuries, I don't think I need anyone else to be there for me. It's pointless.”

You gave up on escaping and prayed for your tail. The legends of how Nezha tore out the dragon king's son's spine and was probably still playing with the sinew made you mentally sob.

“But it's not nice being alone, is it?” You tried to look at him. “I mean…even gods get lonely every once in a while. Isn't that why they like to visit humans?”

Nezha caught your gaze, and a small, barely visible smile adorned his expression. The hand not occupied with your tail pinched your chubby cheek.

“But being lonely is far better than pointless attachments,” he pointed out, leaving your cheek to tug your ear. “A god lives forever. Eventually, you'll learn that it's better to simply be as you are, and to depend on no one but yourself.”

“Is it because you've been hurt before, or that you'd rather not take the risk of being hurt ever?”

He paused, and released your tail. “The latter.”

“Oh.”

Without his hand on your tail, you managed to roll yourself onto your back, staring up at him. He stared back a blank expression, and you frowned, wanting to say something.

“.....do you wanna fuck?”

Nezha choked and shoved you off his lap. Which, come to think of it, really was well deserved. Who asks that question with a straight face, after having a conversation like that!? The fact he didn't try to kill you was mercy in itself, but you didn't exactly think of that while staring at the way his face seemed to flush and grow pink in color to the tips of his ears.

You picked yourself up, dusting the grass that had stuck to your pants. Nezha blinked.

“Um…what the fuck?”

“Qiuyue told me that in awkward situations like that, relief helps with the tension.” You held up a finger. “And I mean. We're stuck here for a bit. Might as well make the most of it.”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh or cry. In all his years of living, he had never heard anything more ridiculous, and very tempting.

“....very well….I guess. We can um. Try.”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Yay!”

“Don't do that.”

“Oh.”

With how shy and bouncy you were, Nezha thought you would've wanted to do this….thing, you suggested, behind the walls of the trailer for privacy.

Yet instead, you insisted that you stay outdoors. For what reason, he couldn't tell, and he lost all thoughts of questioning you when your warm hands wrapped around the base of his cock and slowly pumped your hand.

Nezha's breath hitched, his hands clenching the blanket he sat upon to leverage himself. His bottom lip worried between his teeth, and his face burned ever so warmly when your warmth breath brushed against his sensitive tip, flushed an angry red, the slit slowly leaking precum from your ministrations. Your tongue dragged against his weeping tip, leaving him fisting the blanket and his hips instinctively bucking against you.

You raised your head slightly, blinking up at his blushing experience, and as if an afterthought struck you, you gently patted his thigh.

“Don't worry, I'll be nice,” you assured him with a smile.

Shouldn't I be saying that to you?

If he wanted to respond, he had no chance to do so. His teeth sunk into the tender skin of his lip, and a strangled moan managed to escape through gritted teeth when your mouth enveloped his cock, your lips sucking at his tip and the warmth of your tongue dragging against his slit.

His tip kissed the back of your throat, and your hands clenched at his bare thighs, forming crescent shaped cuts from your nails. You glanced up at him through your lashes, and Nezha couldn't bare to keep eye contact for long. He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing as you began to bob your head against his length.

You could feel him throbbing, yet for some reason or the other, the Lotus Prince remained stubborn in his actions. He refused to even look at you, despite the red blush spreading to his neck, or the fact he was trying so hard not to buck his hips with every swirl of your tongue.

Honestly….

Your nose pressed against his pelvis, and Nezha choked, his hand flying to your head. His fingers laced through your hair that had fallen from its ponytail, gently tugging and fisting the strands when you hollowed your cheeks and dragged your tongue against the underside of his shaft. He twitched and groaned, his chest heaving with his shallow pants.

His cock throbbed in the cavern of your mouth, and you allowed yourself to pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth with a slick noise. Saliva clung to his tip, and your hand, breaking the strand that connected his tip to your lips, stroked him to completion. You could feel his hand tugging at your hair, his head falling back with a quiet moan as he came in your hand, his cum coating your wrist in sticky, wet spurts.

You sat up, allowing him to catch his breath. His hair must've come undone at some point, and the strands of silky black hair draped his face like a curtain. The redhue spread across his nose, and he gazed at you through hooded, glossy eyes.

“Well?” You looked around for something to wipe your hand on. “That felt nice, didn't it? Now, you can feel better about yourself.”

Nezha frowned, using his elbows to push himself up. “That's it?”

“Hm?”

“That's….” He trailed off, clenching and unclenching his hand. “You…um. I mean, is there not another….”

He was looking at you again, but not quite at your face. Intrigued, you followed his gaze, lower―

“Pervert!”

“What!?” He choked. “How am I the pervert!? You just sucked my dick!”

“And!?”

“W-well, I thought that….you uh…”

“....”

“....”

“Fine.”

“Yay!”

“WHY IS IT FINE WHEN YOU DO IT!?”

You refused to lie on your back, and Nezha was adamantly stubborn, so in the end, you both compromised, and thus was your position. On one hand, you figured you didn't want to complain, but on the other….you really did not do well with prolonged eye contact. You almost wished you'd accepted his offer to do it on the grass instead….

Nezha's hands squeezed the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your hips to meet with his upward thrusts. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration, though you had to wonder why he chose to stare at your exposed breasts instead of anywhere else.

“You're…you're a…” He briefly looked up to catch your flushed gaze.

“Um. I'm a guy.” You deadpanned at his surprise. Was it not obvious from the beginning? “Did you not know this?”

Nezha blinked as if realization dawned on him. His lips parted to make a remark, but then he immediately snapped them shut, burying his face between your plush tits abruptly. You gasped when you felt his lips latch onto your nipple, his teeth teasing the sensitive skin.

The action caused your cunt to abruptly clench around him, a whimper escaping you, mixed with another moan when his cock brushed against a sensitive spot inside you that made your toes curl and your entire body tremble.

One of his hands slowly crept upward, against the curve of your ass, until it found your fluffy tail. His nails scratched against the base connected to your back, and then he tugged in time with another bite to your sensitive nipple.

You wanted to smack him for that. Of all the places he had to touch, why the hell was it your tail!?

As revenge, you tugged off his ribbons, allowing the rest of his hair to fall against his shoulders. He parted from your bite- covered breast to glance up at you, and his hair seemed to frame his face like a dark halo.

Oh.

He tugged on your tail again, and this time, you could see the grin he wore everytime your body reacted.

“What?” Nezha asked innocently.

You exhaled. “I'm gonna hit you.”

“Doesn't that go against your little code?” He angled his hips again, finding that sensitive spot inside you. The warmth coiling in your stomach spread, and your hands clung to his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his jacket. “And you like it, so why are you complaining? You'll probably cum from this too.”

You scowled. “No, I won't.”

“Yes, you will.” Nezha gave your tail another firm tug. His nails scratched at it's base again, soothing the sensitive skin before he tugged again, all done with repeated motions, until your cunt spasmed and coated his cock with your arousal and slick as you came.

He cooed when you buried your face in the crook of his neck, his fingers still teasing your twitching tail while his cock throbbed inside you.

“See?” He insisted when you grumbled against his neck. “Told you you'd cum from it.”

He waited for you to catch your breath, and when you did, you raised your head to glare at him.

“Rot in hell.”

“And leave me with blue balls?”

“....”

***

“Nezhie! You're alive!!”

Nezha sighed, rubbing his temples from the incoming migraine threatening his skull. He had to fight the urge to grab the wrench nearby, looking so, so tempting as Wukong's big mouth came closer.

“Wukong, please.” He set his helmet down, glancing at the champion once again. “I'm not in the mood to listen to you yap. Yes, congrats, you won.”

The monkey looked offended by his comment. Nezha frowned, until he felt Wukong slugging him in the arm.

The wrench looked really tempting right about now.

“Dude! You're funny.” Wukong chuckled and patted his head. “Nah, nah. I'm not here to gloat. We're friends! I thought you upped and died!” He pinched him on the cheek, tugging the flesh until Nezha hissed a curse. “Don't be like that man. What else was I supposed to think, huh? Then you show back up again and you bring back a boyfriend too!”

“....boyfriend….?”

He glanced in the direction he'd last seen you. You had followed him back to Donghai, and the minute Jinzha had seen you with him, he hadn't waited before he jumped on you, bawling his eyes out about taking care of his little baby brother.

You were still there, trapped in his brother's hands.

“Wait…he's…. he's not my boyfriend.”

“Ah, right. Husband.”

“NO!”

@lotusarchon , 12.02.2025, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sweet revenge

Pairing: Valentin x reader (female)

Authors note: this is me processing the S3E5 of The White Lotus.

Warnings: SMUT 18+. I keep thinking of Valentin as a dom, I don't by his polite smile. Even if I usually enjoy dom reader more, with him it just doesn't work. 😅 So sub/dom vibes, slight degradation, oral m receiving, fingering, p in v

Word Count: 5,4 K

Summary: your marriage is a farce, your husband ignores you, and you are fed up with this mundane existance of being simply unseen until a certain sexy health mentor notices you

“Ready for some yoga, today?” The smile the handsome health mentor beams at you could probably melt an iceberg but it is helpless against your brooding mood. The familiar aroma of fresh coffee hits your nose as you raise the cup to your lips and take a slow, savouring sip, while your eyes wander to the other side of the table.

He’s always busy. Your husband. Even now, sitting within arm’s reach, he’s hidden behind a massive morning newspaper, his only response to your question about visiting the famous Buddhist temple around the corner – a barely audible "Khm." 

You wouldn’t be surprised if his choice of hotel for your second anniversary had been dictated by its strict ban on electronic devices, so that he could perfectly hide himself and keep avoiding you even during breakfast – the only time you actually spend together – buried behind that stupid newspaper.

The thought of enduring another day of yoga, meditation, and stress management sessions makes you want to scream, and you are quite sure even the threat of execution wouldn’t make you sit through it again. No wonder the smile you force onto your face barely holds, drawing a slight furrow of concern from your ever-charming instructor.

“Lady is not feeling well today?” he asks suddenly, and you nearly choke on your coffee. Is it that obvious?

No, you are not feeling well. You fucking hate this stupid hotel. You hate the so-called healthy breakfast, the endless polite smiles and shallow bows.

And most of all, you hate the man sitting across from you, pretending you don’t exist.

“I think I want to do something fun today,” you look up from your coffee cup, watching as the fine steam curls in the bright sunlight, casting a shimmering silver veil over your health mentor and making him look somewhat mysterious. “I think I might skip the yoga.”

You wait. Will there be a reaction from the other side of the newspaper? A word? A glance? Anything?

Nothing. Sometimes, you wonder if he even exists, or if he’s just a phantom conjured by some cruel, unending nightmare.

It had never been about love, that much was clear from the start. This was a deal, a calculated merger between the two wealthiest steel companies, sealed in marriage.

And yet, you had hoped. Even if there was no passion, no fairytale romance, you had hoped the two of you could at least be partners, friends and allies in business and in life.

But it became very quickly painfully obvious that was never on your husband’s agenda. 

The silence from behind the newspaper stretches unbearably long, you exhale slowly, pressing the edge of your cup against your lips. The coffee burns, searing hot—but you barely notice. You’ve learned to love the pain. At least it reminds you that you’re still alive. Sometimes.

“Maybe I’ll visit the temple,” you add, more to yourself than anyone else.

Still nothing.

Valentin, it’s the name of the health mentor, assigned to you by the over caring manager of the hotel, clears his throat, shifting his weight slightly, his mismatched eyes flicking toward you with the kind of polite curiosity he reserves for hesitant guests. “Would you like me to arrange transport?” he asks, his voice smooth, professional.

You shake your head. “No need.”

You don’t want another carefully curated experience, another guide leading you through the motions of enlightenment, you just want something real.

Isn’t that ironic? You had once thought marriage – this marriage – would be the real part of your life. That despite its transactional nature, despite its calculated foundation, you could build something meaningful within its walls.

But walls don’t build themselves and your husband never even picked up a brick.

The rustling of paper draws your attention and for a fleeting second, you think he might actually lower it, might actually speak. Your breath catches.

But no. He merely folds the page, shifts slightly, and continues reading.

—------------------------------------------

The simple sand road to the monastery isn’t particularly long, but with no shelter from the relentless sun, it feels endless. Sweat clings to your skin, your breath turning shallow as the heat presses down on you, and the journey takes longer than you expected, the afternoon already slipping into its golden haze by the time you reach the base of the massive stone stairs leading to the temple.

A small cloud of dust swirls beneath your foot as you step onto the first stair. You pause, staring at the ancient, timeworn stone beneath you.

Then, you start counting. One. Two. Three.

You need something to anchor yourself, something to focus on, because the last thing you want to do right now is think.

Four. Five. Six.

You don’t want to think about the suffocating silence of your marriage. About the man who sits across from you every morning yet feels a million miles away. About how, somewhere along the way, you’ve started measuring your own existence by the small, sharp edges of pain – hot coffee against your lips, the sting of too-bright sunlight, the ache in your calves as you climb. Or about how you have to force yourself to look away from the perfectly sculpted abdomen of your personal yoga instructor, health mentor, confidence booster, and walking temptation all in one.

You’re sure he says the same flattering lines to all his clients, yet you still can’t stop the slight curl of your lips when he praises your form, marvels at your fitness levels, or sounds genuinely impressed by how well you hold a downward dog.

It’s ridiculous, and yet, for the briefest moment, you almost feel seen.

Twenty. Twenty-one. The numbers pulse in your mind like a prayer and by the time you reach the top, your breath is uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs. You press a palm against your chest, as if to steady something deep inside yourself, then lift your gaze.

The temple stands before you, ancient and unmoving, the air is thick with the scent of incense, a soft curl of smoke drifting from the entrance and monks move silently through the courtyard, their robes whispering against the stone. 

The sight is so starkly different from the artificial luxury of the hotel that for a moment, you hesitate. You don’t belong here. And yet, you’ve never felt more drawn to a place in your life.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find something here, something real. Something that doesn’t hurt. You take a slow breath, preparing to step forward, when a voice, soft and familiar, halts you in your tracks.

“Skipping yoga and running off to find enlightenment instead?”

Turning slowly, you find Valentin leaning casually against one of the temple’s carved wooden pillars, arms crossed over his chest, an amused glint in his mismatched eyes. 

He looks different. With the stylish light silk shirt, showing off his extremely well built frame,  and black sporty trousers he looks infuriatingly out of place here – too vibrant, too much a reminder of the life you were trying to escape, even if only for a few hours.

You exhale, masking your surprise with a sigh. “Valentin, what are you doing here?”

He tilts his head, as if the answer should be obvious. “Guiding lost souls toward balance and inner peace.” Then, with a small smirk, he adds, “Or at least keeping an eye on the ones who suddenly decide to abandon their wellness retreat without warning.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. “I needed a break.”

“From what? The relaxation?” His voice is teasing, but something in his gaze lingers too long, as if he sees more than you want him to.

You shift uncomfortably, the last thing you need is for Valentin, your overly attentive, far-too-charming health mentor, to start analyzing you.

“I just wanted to be alone,” you say, more firmly this time.

To your annoyance, he doesn’t look deterred, instead, he takes a step closer. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The question hangs between you, heavier than it should be, because no, you’re not sure. Not anymore.

You glance toward the temple entrance, where the scent of incense drifts in the warm afternoon air, your imagined refuge, a place of stillness, but now, with Valentin standing here, watching you like he’s waiting for an answer you don’t have, the ground beneath your feet feels anything but steady.

He sighs, tilting his head toward the temple steps. “Come on, then.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re going to search for something real, at least let me make sure you don’t pass out on these stairs first.” His smirk softens just slightly. “Consider it part of my job description.”

A reluctant laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Damn him. Still, you hesitate.

Following him means acknowledging the pull between you, the quiet, unspoken thing that has lingered in the spaces between conversations, between his casual touches as he adjusted your posture, between the way he always seemed to notice when you weren’t okay.

But walking away means going back to the emptiness you came from, and you’re not sure you can do that, either.

—--------------------------------------------------------

The rhythmic thump of bass vibrates through the wooden floorboards, mingling with the crash of waves in the distance, and the air seems thick with the scent of salt and citrus, the heat of the day fading into the electric pulse of the evening.

You sit at the bar, ice clinking in your glass as you swirl the liquid inside. A mojito, Valentin’s choice for you. “Something refreshing,” he had said with that ever-present smirk.

Beside you, he leans back against the bar, one elbow resting on the counter, watching the dance floor with lazy amusement, the half unbuttoned stylish silk shirt reveals his sun-kissed skin and toned forearms. He looks completely at ease here, as if this place, with its neon lights and reckless energy, belongs to him. And maybe it does.

You take a slow sip of your drink, the coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth buzzing beneath your skin. “I thought you were all about health and balance,” you muse, raising a brow at him. “This doesn’t seem very… meditative.”

Valentin laughs, low and easy. “Balance means knowing when to let go.” He gestures toward the dance floor, where people move with uninhibited joy, bodies pressed close, arms lifted to the sky. “Besides, what’s the point of a healthy body if you don’t use it to feel something?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, and to your surprise, he suddenly turns toward you. “Come on.”

You blink. “Come on what?”

His grin is pure mischief. “Dance with me.”

You snort. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

Valentin doesn’t argue, he simply takes your hand, your small palm disappearing into his large one and suddenly, you’re not sitting at the bar anymore, you’re being pulled onto the dance floor, the press of bodies and the thrum of music wrapping around you like a second heartbeat.

You open your mouth to protest, but then his hands settle lightly at your waist. 

“Relax,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “Just move.”

So you do. At first, it’s awkward, you’re stiff, hesitant, too aware of him, of the heat between you, of the way his fingers press just lightly enough to steer you but firmly enough to keep you close.

But then the music shifts, and something inside you does too, the beat takes over, drowning out everything else – the noise in your head, the weight in your chest, the echo of a marriage that feels like a ghost haunting your every step, and for the first time in longer than you can remember, you don’t think. You just move.

Valentin’s gaze never leaves you, his expression switching between approval, awe and something else, something deeper, dark and intensive, something you’re afraid to name but it makes your skin tingle.

The song changes, but you don’t stop and neither does he.

—-----------------------------------------------------

His lips are scorching against your skin, taking, demanding, yet somehow just as giving, as every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every sharp inhale between parted lips feels like breathing in life itself, like drawing a fresh breath after eternity of drowning.

You moan as your back meets the wall, it’s so cool against your overheated skin, while Valentin presses his body against yours, his thigh between your legs, spreading them open. 

His name is barely more than a whispered breath against his lips, but he hears it, and the way you say it, so desperate, so wanting, so surrendering, makes him groan into the kiss, as his hands grow restless, tracing the curves of your body. 

His fingers roughly dig into the soft flesh of your hips, and you can’t bite back the moan that claws through you, the raw and unfiltered sound slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

“You like playing games, don’t you?” It’s not really a question, it’s more like a realization, and there is something in Valentin’s voice that makes you shudder.

You know what this is, what it could be, what it will be if you don’t stop now, but you don’t want to stop.

“I do,” you breathe, and the moment the words leave your mouth, Valentin’s hand moves, wrapping around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from fear but from the way your body reacts, heat suddenly coiling low in your belly. 

“Then let’s play,” Valentin murmurs and his voice feels like a rustle of silk over steel, sending a shiver down your spine.

Stepping back, Valentin grabs your wrist, and a soft whine escapes you as he withdraws his other hand from your throat, leaving your skin tingling.

Your weary eyes follow his every move as he leads you out of the dimly lit comfort of your villa bedroom, across the courtyard. It isn’t until you reach the villa on the other side that realization dawns, and you suddenly know where he’s taking you.

The massive terrace doors slide open soundlessly, as Valentin releases your hand, stepping inside without the slightest hesitation and heading toward the large, imposing oak desk – the very heart of your husband's domain.

Leaning casually against the sturdy edge, he turns to you, watching and waiting while you hesitate at the threshold. This is his realm, his villa, his study. He always insists on having one, no matter where you travel, it’s his excuse to remain occupied, to bury himself in work, to keep pretending you don’t exist.

Your pulse hammers in your throat, while Valentin keeps watching you in silence.

Slowly you step inside, sliding the heavy glass doors shut behind you, the quiet thud reminding you of a trap snapping closed.

“Onto your knees,” Valentin’s voice reaches you the moment you turn toward him again.

You lift your gaze to meet his, and before your mind can even process what he’s asked, your body obeys and you slide down. Your knees hit the floor, but you almost don’t notice the impact through the haze of anticipation, curling around you like thick smoke.

Valentin’s lips quirk in the faintest hint of satisfaction as he shifts slightly.

“Crawl to me,” he commands and you do, smile tugging on your lips, the smooth wood cool beneath your palms as you move, each shift of your body slow, teasing, testing.

Valentin doesn’t move, doesn’t rush you, he simply watches, leaning against the massive oak desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface, he lets you play, lets you draw it out, watching with that quiet, knowing patience that only makes the air between you heavier.

Your gaze drops, landing on the noticeable strain against his trousers, the hard outline pressing insistently, demanding release, and a fresh wave of anticipation rushes through you, mingling with the slow burn already curling in your veins, your knees ache, a beautiful reminder of presence, of being alive and wanted, of the serenity of submission.

You reach him, and his fingers slip into your hair, claiming control, tilting your head up until your eyes find his, and the amusement in his expression is unmistakable.

“Lady enjoys testing limits,” he muses.

Your lips part, a response forming, but he runs his thumb over your lower lip, silencing you before a single word escapes, and a thrill shivers through you, the slow, intoxicating game settling into place.

“You’re not the only one,” Valentin murmurs, his thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you of exactly what you both are in this delicious exchange of power.

His free hand moves achingly slow, tracing the curve of your jaw before gliding down your throat, as his fingers linger precisely where they had claimed you before. You swallow hard, and he watches the flutter of your pulse beneath his touch, his lips curving in satisfaction.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” He doesn’t really need to ask, the answer is already written in the way your fingers move, deft and eager, working to free him, in the way your lips part, a greedy moan slipping past them before you even realize you’ve made a sound.

But just as your lips part fully, just as your tongue flicks out, his grip in your hair tightens, not painful, but firm, controlling, and he tilts your head back, forcing you to look up at him again.

“Look at you, so eager, so needy,” Valentin muses. “Patience,” he hums. “You wanted to play. So let’s play.”

A flush burns through you, the heat in your belly growing with each passing moment, you close your eyes, your nails dig lightly into the fabric of his trousers, a silent plea. He chuckles, low and indulgent, thumb swiping over your lip again, smearing the moisture left behind by your tongue.

Valentin finally releases the tension in his grip, just enough to let you move, to let you take what you’ve been craving and you don’t hesitate, your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock while your fingers wrap around him, and the sharp breath he draws is like music to your ears. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice huskier now, and you glance up at him, drinking in the sight – his tousled dark hair, the sharp angles of his face, the way his mismatched eyes flicker with something dangerously close to ruin, but he’s still composed, still in control.

That won’t do, with a teasing slowness, you drag your lips over his length, just barely touching, just enough to make his fingers tighten in your hair again, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk behind him.

A flicker of frustration crosses his face. Good. You like it. Your tongue flicks over him again, featherlight, and his grip jerks, his hips shifting forward just slightly.

A breathy chuckle escapes you. “I thought you said patience?” 

His eyes darken.

“I did.” Valentin agrees, his voice impossibly smooth. Then, before you can react, his hand tightens. “But patience,” he whispers, “is something I teach, not something I practice.”

He pulls you closer, and the next moment his cock fills your mouth, stretching you, pushing past your lips until the burn at the corners of your mouth becomes a delicious ache. He’s big, thick and heavy on your tongue, and you can do nothing but take it – let him guide you, move you, use you because there is nothing more intoxicating than surrendering to someone who knows exactly how to wield power.

His first thrust is slow, measured, testing your limits, then another, deeper this time, until he finds the perfect rhythm, until your body learns to follow his lead.

Your only response is a low hum around his length, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. You don’t dare to stop him, you don’t want to stop him. The ache in your knees, the burning stretch of your lips, it all blends into the dizzying pleasure wrapping around you like a thick fog, pulling you under, making you pliant, making you his.

Saliva spills from your lips, dripping down your chin as you take him deeper, bobbing your head along his length, the slick, obscene sounds filling the room, and your fingers dig harder into his thighs, nails pressing into firm muscle as you hold on, as you let him use you.

Then it happens – the first raw, unrestrained moan slips from his lips, rough and unexpected, and in the same moment a rush of satisfaction surges through you, making your limbs tremble as pleasure pulses through you.

You’ve undone him, even if only for a moment, and God, it’s the sweetest kind of victory.

_____________________________________

Valentin watches you, completely absorbed in the way you give yourself over to him, the way you need him. 

He has seen loneliness in many forms – restless indulgence, desperate validation, quiet self-destruction – but yours is something else entirely. It’s not the loneliness of someone abandoned, not the aching void of someone craving affection, it’s the loneliness of a woman unseen, of someone who exists in the periphery of her own life, a shadow in the grand, empty spaces your husband refuses to fill.

And now, here you are, on your knees before him, surrendering, not for him, not even for pleasure itself, but for the feeling of being claimed, of belonging to something.

You don’t even realize how much he understands, how much he wants to give you this, not just the rawness, not just the sharp edges of control and surrender, but the pleasure – the real escape.

Every unrestrained sound that escapes your lips, every shudder that runs through your body, every moan that vibrates against his cock – it’s all a silent plea for oblivion, for something that makes you forget, and he’ll give it to you.

His grip tightens in your hair, just enough to remind you that you’re not lost, that you are here, you’re his in this moment, and you’re going to take everything he gives you.

He forces himself to breathe through the heat coiling in his gut, the heady mixture of control and restraint pushing him slowly to the edge, but he won’t let go first, not until you do, not until you have got what you crave for.

"I know you can take more. Don't hold back, sweetheart," Valentin’s voice is still smooth, but there’s something raw beneath it, something unraveling.

His head tips back as you take him deeper, swallowing around him, forcing yourself to relax, to ignore the way your throat tightens whenever his tip grazes too far. You feel his fingers tense in your hair, his breath turning uneven, his control fraying at the edges, you feel the slight twitch of his cock inside your mouth, the way his grip tightens just a fraction more. He’s close, so close you can almost taste the victory.

But just as the triumph starts to settle in your chest, just as you think you’ve won this game, Valentin moves, his grip suddenly becoming unyielding as he pulls you off him.

A gasp rips from your lips as your head tilts back, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you to his cock, your breath is ragged, your lips swollen, the loss of him sudden and jarring, as your eyes flick up, searching his.

His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths, his jaw tight, his fingers still buried in your hair, holding you in place. 

“You thought I’d let you win that easily?” he murmurs, and your stomach tightens.

Of course, it would have been too easy, but it’s not over, and you feel the slight tinge of excitement back in your shaking limbs.

Valentin releases your hair slowly, tracing his fingers down your cheek, tilting your chin up so you’re looking only at him.

“Get up,” he orders, and your legs shake as you obey, rising to your feet, anticipation thrumming through every inch of you.

His eyes never leave yours as he steps aside the heavy oak desk, his palm smoothing over the polished surface before he gestures to it with a slow, knowing smile.

“Now,” he breathes, the words sinking into your skin, into your bones, “Bend over.”

Your breath is shallow, pulse hammering in your throat as Valentin watches you. You should hesitate, should second-guess this, but you don’t, there is something in his voice, in the quiet certainty of his presence, that makes you want to obey.

Your palms meet the smooth, polished surface of the desk as you lean forward, the cool wood welcoming your body, humming with anticipation, your heartbeat a steady drum in your ears.

Behind you, Valentin doesn’t move right away, he takes his time. You hear the subtle shift of his breath, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts, as he watches, you can feel his gaze sweeping over you, mapping your curves, taking in every shallow breath you take, and it’s almost unbearable, this waiting, this cruel stretch of silence he’s using to unravel you even further.

His hands reach you first, slow, teasing, fingertips ghosting over the small of your back, trailing lower, skimming the curve of your hips before hooking beneath your silk underwear as he pushes the fabric up, peeling it away, baring your ass to him inch by inch.

A shiver ripples through you, and he notices, of course, he does.

“You’re trembling,” he muses.

You swallow hard. “You like that?”

A low chuckle: “Oh, I love that.”

His palm slides up your spine, fingers splaying, pressing you further into the desk, you inhale sharply, the sheer presence of him behind you, surrounding you, making you dizzy, and then – nothing, his touch disappears, the absence of it sharp, almost aching.

You shift slightly, seeking it back, but he tuts softly. “So impatient,” he murmurs, dragging a single finger down your back, and you can't help but whine in frustration or need, or something between the two.

Valentin leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I told you, sweetheart…,” his hand on your back gets heavy, a sharp contrast to the featherlight touch before, “this is my game.”

You cry out as his palm cracks against the soft flesh of your ass, the sharp sting blooming into heat, the sound echoes through the dimly lit study, swallowed by the thick walls.

His other hand presses you firmly against the rough surface of the desk, holding you exactly where he wants you, where you need to be.

"Beautiful," Valentin murmurs, his voice like molten honey, seeping into your dizzy consciousness, while his fingers trace over the mark he’s left, soothing, teasing, before his palm lifts again.

You barely have a second to brace yourself before he strikes once more, the jolt of sensation makes your body tense, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk, a whimper escaping your lips, not just from the sting, but from the sheer intensity of it all, from the way he makes you feel owned without ever needing to say the words.

"Good girl," he praises, his hand lingering, squeezing your buttocks. "I knew you'd take it so well."

A shiver rolls through you at his words, at the quiet, knowing amusement in his tone, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if he knew from the moment he first saw you that you’d come undone for him like this.

Valentin hums in satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, ghosting over your folds before dipping into your slick, aching core, and a sharp gasp escapes you, your body instinctively pressing into his touch, craving more.

“You’re drenched,” he muses, dragging his fingers through your arousal, spreading it, playing with it. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”

He leans forward, his body a solid wall of heat against your burning ass and back, his lips graze your ear. "Tell me how much you like it."

It’s not a request, your breath shudders as you turn your head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him through hooded eyes. "I…" you swallow, your voice breaking on the admission. "I love it."

A moan slips past your lips, unbidden, as his fingers start moving in and out of you.

"Let’s see just how much more you can take," Valentin’s voice reaches you as if from a dream – distant, intoxicating, pulling you deeper as his hand comes down again, heavy, punishing, liberating, the sharp smack echoing through the room and this time, you don’t even try to stifle the moan that rips through you. 

Valentin’s fingers start to work you open, drawing you under in that beautiful space where the world outside this moment fades, dissolving into nothing but the pure sensation of his touch, his voice, the way your body responds without hesitation, without thought.

His other hand slides up your body, wrapping around your throat, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he holds you down against the table, making your pulse race and your head swim, and soon there is nothing else left, just the heat coiling in your core, your walls clenching around his fingers, and his grip making your body melt. The edges of reality blur and your mind floats, you are weightless and you are his.

The pleasure is thick, dizzying, curling around you like a cool, silken cloud and you barely register the sounds falling from your lips – moans, pleas, shameless whimpers – but Valentin does.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone full of satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You buck your hips against his hand incapable of speech, you don’t care anymore, there’s no holding back, no shame, just raw, consuming need.

And he loves it, he presses deeper, stretching you, teasing you until you're trembling, whining mess before him. Suddenly without a warning he pulls his fingers away, leaving you empty, desperate, and a frustrated whine escapes your lips, but before you can beg, before you can even catch your breath, you feel it. 

The head of his cock, thick and hard, is pressing against your soaked entrance.

“Breathe,” he commands, voice smooth, firm, the last tether keeping you connected to this world. “Take me.”

And then he thrusts, a cry rips from your throat, pleasure blooming so violently it borders on pain, as he fills you completely, stretching you to the point of perfect ruin, and you can do nothing but take it.

He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t ease you into it, he fucks you relentlessly, unyielding, thrusting into you with a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder against the edge of the desk. 

The wood bites into your soft skin, a dull ache mixing with the overwhelming pleasure, blurring the lines between pain and bliss, and the room is filled with the sound of the sharp slap of skin against skin, your desperate moans, the rough scrape of the desk beneath you as it all melts together into something filthy, something primal, something beyond anything you’ve ever felt before and you never want it to stop.

You don’t hold back, you can’t, your moans grow louder, shameless, broken, echoing through the study. You want him to hear, you want everyone to hear.

And then, something shifts, a flicker of movement catches your eye, a presence just beyond the edge of your bliss-drunk haze, and your gaze drags toward the doors where you see him – your husband, standing there, watching.

His expression is full of surprise and something else, something you had never seen before, your eyes drop lover to his hand wrapped around his rock hard cock, tugging violently at it while his gaze remains glued to the sight of Valentin ruining you.

The shock should snap you out of this haze, should send you spiraling into shame, into panic, but it doesn’t.

It’s the first time you see him like this – silent, desperate, weak and wanting, it’s the first time you feel you have the power, you are finally seen, you unravel him.

Valentin groans, his rhythm faltering as he feels you tighten around him, your body clenching down, dragging him closer to the edge, and he leans over you.

“Look at you,” he rasps. “My perfect lady. My queen. Falling apart so beautifully for me.”

Without warning Valentin yanks you upright, your back flush against his chest as he drives into you, his hand still around your throat, as his tongue flickers against the shell of your ear. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Let him watch what he’s missed… what he doesn’t deserve.”

That’s all it takes, pleasure surges through you, hot, electric, overwhelming, ripping through you before you can even brace yourself for it as you shatter with a cry, your core seizing around Valentin, every nerve igniting as bliss detonates in violent waves, white-hot and endless.

You sob through your climax, your hands scrambling against the edge of the desk for support, your mind utterly lost to it. 

Valentin’s thrusts grow even rougher, deeper, pushing you through the aftershock, using you for his own pleasure now, but you don’t care, because as you come undone, as your body trembles and your cries fill the air, you keep your gaze locked on your husband, standing there, watching, completely powerless.

You never imagined revenge could be this sweet.

[awarnin]

a braeden nsfw alphabet like the dylan one perchance 😋

NSFW Alphabet | BRAEDEN LEMASTERS HEADCANONS

warning: NSFW content, unprotected sex. a little stalking without consent.

author's note: Helloooo, I want to apologize because I've had this request for months and although I started writing it months ago I never managed to finish it :( I've managed to make some time in my life to get back to writing, and HERE IT IS! I hope you like it. Again, I'm so sorry for the wait. xx

.

a = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

i won’t lie to you—this man loves you, no doubt about it. But when it comes to relaxing after sex, he won’t last long before falling asleep. it’s not your fault, that’s just how he is.

b = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves your ass. He’ll look at it all the time, touch it all the time. he likes to feel it in his hands, against his crotch, on his tongue. He’s obsessed.

as for himself, Braeden knows he has a handsome face. he subtly grooms his beard and keeps his haircut on point to best complement his features.

c = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

inside you. If you ask him not to, he’ll respect it—but until then, that’s the only answer. Cumming inside you turns him on like crazy.

d = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

my boy can get a little stalker-ish when he really wants something—I can totally picture him going through your underwear looking for a pair of dirty panties… just smelling them would send him to heaven.

e = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

mhmm, I think he was definitely with two or three girls before you, but he’s still a bit shy when it comes to being in bed with you.

f = Favorite position

MISSIONARY and LOTUS. this man is a romantic—he loves feeling your whole body rubbing against his while you’re doing it, loves moaning in your ear while resting against you.

g = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous?)

this man is never serious—he never stops talking. But surprisingly, there’s a point when you won’t get a single coherent word out of him. he’ll be so overwhelmed by what he feels that his brain won’t process anything else. I won’t lie—it’s cute. It’s adorable seeing him so wrecked by the pleasure you give him that he’s left in a daze for minutes.

h = Hair (how well groomed are they?)

he definitely has hair down there, but not enough to bother you—or for him to do anything about it.

i = Intimacy (the romantic aspect during the moment)

i don’t think Braeden is able to do much else in that moment besides admiring you with everything he has. he might not say it with words, but his actions say it all.

j = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

oh my godddd, he loves masturbating. He loves it when you do it for him. He loves thinking of you while doing it. when he’s on tour and you’re not around, no matter how much he tries to resist, he ends up in his hotel bathroom moaning your name while gently massaging his balls.

k = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Orgasm control: Do I need to say it? You’re the dominant one here. Braeden loves when you make him beg to come—and you love hearing him whimper in your ear.

Underwear fetishism: Like I said before—he LOVES smelling them.

l = Location (favorite places to have sex)

probably the car. You underestimate Braeden when it comes to picking places to fuck—it could be anywhere: a women’s bathroom, an elevator, his old bedroom at his parents’ house. Anywhere works. But the car is different—the idea of possibly getting caught turns him on even more.

m = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

everything. you touched his leg? He’s turned on. You wore a tight dress? Turned on. you're just watching TV in short shorts, completely unbothered? Yup—still turned on.

n = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

sexual degradation. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s offending you, and he wouldn’t want you to offend him either. what can I say? He’s a gentleman.

o = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he loves both. He loves pleasing you, loves how you pull his hair while he licks your clit in the passenger seat of his car at night before dropping you off.

But he also loves when you go down on him in the middle of traffic at 2pm.

p = Pace (fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

i don’t think Braeden can be rough and fast during sex—you could be, but he’d be so overwhelmed by the pleasure that he’d just let you do all the work.

q = Quickie (opinions on quickies)

whenever you can. whenever there’s time. Any small opportunity. in fact—can you right now?

r = Risk (how willing are they to experiment?)

he loves it. he’ll tell you, “What’s the worst that could happen? What would they say? We’re a couple,” to justify wanting to fuck on the tour bus.

s = Stamina (how many rounds? how long?)

two or three in one go—let him rest a bit and he’ll come back to finish all six.

t = Toys (do they use them?)

i don’t know about you, but he loves when you use them on him.

u = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he won’t. he’ll tell you straight up—it’s on you if you want to make him wait.

v = Volume (how loud are they?)

he’ll moan, gasp, sigh—he’s not ashamed of being heard. You’re the reason he sounds like that.

w = Wild card (a random headcanon)

He doesn’t like using condoms.

at first, he’ll always use them. But after dating for a while, he’ll ask to look into other birth control methods, and he’ll be totally open to frequent STD testing if it makes you feel safe.

x = X-ray (what’s going on under those clothes)

average length, a little thicker in the middle, but overall on the slimmer side.

y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I think you can figure that out yourself, can’t you?

z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

go back to the beginning, babe. Bye. <3

.

[unfotp]

there has to be like a time travel fix of mdzs where old 50+ year old aceVirgin Jiang Cheng who took the years to figure himself and his emotions out, was a wonderful sect leader gets transported into baby 18 year old Jiang Cheng. He knows he was in romantic love with this bitch boy not-yet-necromancer and just

he changes. he acts mature and doesn't get riled up fights his mom and disparages his father for being a coward and it's a wonderful slow burn to chengxian

it Has to follow like those villainess manhwa plot points where he manages to reduce the war casualties, ausses out jgs and is just so hypercompetent and Busy.

on another note I wish there were side stories on the political intrigue this man was doing to get Lotus Pier to more than its former glory