surelyucantbe · 2 years ago
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no offence but if h*rry p*tter is your 'comfort media' you should probably examine what it is about its status quo underlying philosophy that is so comforting to you
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art · 7 months ago
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Creator Spotlight: @camberdraws
Hello! My name is Camber (any pronouns), and I’m a mixed media illustrator located in the southwestern United States. I love drawing everything, but I have a special interest in depicting strange creatures and environments, often accompanied by abstract imagery and mark-making. Professionally, I’ve worked creating concept art and 2D assets for museum exhibits, but currently, I am engaged full-time as a software developer and make standalone illustrations in my free time. I’ve been posting art on Tumblr since I was a teenager, and the site has been very welcoming towards my work to this very day!
Check out Camber’s interview below!
Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?
I’ve had an interest in drawing since I was barely sentient, but at thirteen years old I decided to become “serious” about art. I was all about reading tutorials and doing a ton of studies. I would tote my heavy instructional art books to school every single day (my poor back!) Despite all this, I decided to forgo art school in favor of a bachelor’s degree in Computer Science at my local college. Alongside my major, I received a minor in Art Studio with a specialization in fine art, which totally changed my views on creating artwork and drastically changed my style.
How has your style developed over the years?
As mentioned previously, my style did a 180 after I studied under some very skilled fine art professors! As a kid, my drawings were very realism-heavy and inspired by video game concept art. I mostly worked digitally, too. During college, I was thrown for a loop when we were instructed to do strange things like, for example, make a bunch of marks on paper using pastel, WITHOUT looking, and then turn said marks into a finished piece of art! I quickly and deeply fell in love with abstract work, and especially appreciated images that are not easily parsed by the viewer. Since then, I’ve made it my goal to combine abstract mark-making with more representational subject matter.
What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?
Hmmm, one habit I really enjoy as an artist is strictly tracking the amount of time I spend drawing! I currently work a full-time job wholly unrelated to art, so I have to be careful with my time if I want to spend enough hours drawing each week. I created a spreadsheet that allows you to enter the amount of minutes you’ve drawn each day and calculate how much drawing time you still need to reach your weekly goal (I aim for 20 hours a week.) Having such a clear, numbers-based objective keeps me motivated to work like nothing else!
Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?
I know this is a common inspiration, but Hayao Miyazaki’s work has been rewiring my neurons since I was a child. Seemingly all of my artistic interests can be summed up by the movie Princess Mononoke: it has strange/abstract creature designs, a strong focus on nature and environmental storytelling, and a mix of dark and hopeful themes. Additionally, I’ve been deeply inspired by video game series such as Zelda, Okami, Pikmin, and Dark Souls. But arguably, none of these have influenced me more than Pokemon! I’ve been drawing Pokemon since I could barely hold a pencil, and I haven’t stopped since! I believe my love of designing creatures originated with my endless deluge of Pokemon fanart during my childhood.
What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?
I’ve always been fascinated by 3D mediums and am so tempted to try them out! Whether that’s 3D models created digitally or sculptures made from clay, I profoundly admire artists who have this skill. Oftentimes, it feels like I don’t have time to delve into a totally different artistic paradigm. However, I feel very strongly that learning new skills can enrich your current work. I should take that advice and someday give 3D mediums a shot!
What is a recent creative project that you are proud of?
I am in the process of creating an art book (a dream of mine!) and have been executing smaller drawings of concepts I find interesting from both a visual and storytelling standpoint. A recent drawing for said book is that of a snail made of ink with an ink bottle as a shell, and it went absolutely viral! I’ve never had an experience like this as an artist before and it has been spectacular! I was able to open a shop using my newly acquired art printer and sell many prints of my snail. Creating something original, directly stemming from my interests, and having that resonate with so many people has been unreal. I couldn’t ask for more as an artist!
What advice would you give to younger you about making art that’s personal or truthful to your own experiences?
I would tell my younger self to chill out and experiment more! I was so caught up in the idea that I needed to have a realistic style to be considered “good.” I also believed that technical skill was the only measure of how worthy my art was. That’s not to say technical skill doesn’t matter, but I now firmly believe the creativity and voice of your ideas far outweigh the skill of execution in terms of importance. Technical skills should elevate ideas, not the other way around. Once I began to revel in strange ideas and stories for my work, depicted oftentimes in odd styles or mediums, I truly found my voice as an artist.
Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?
My peers here on Tumblr inspire me more than anything! Sharing my work with contemporaries and giving each other support brings me joy like no other, and keeps me motivated to continue creating. I wouldn’t be where I am today without them! @beetlestench, @theogm-art, @trustyalt, @ratwednesday, @phantom-nisnow, @svltart, @mintsdraws, @mothhh-hh, @jupiterweathers, @thesewispsofsmoke, @picoffee, @fetchiko, @kaisei-ink, and @pine-niidles just to name only a few!
Thanks for stopping by, Camber! If you haven’t seen their Meet the Artist piece, check it out here. For more of Camber’s work, follow their Tumblr, @camberdraws!
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hyukalyptus · 2 months ago
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the willow tree — prince!yeonjun x servant!oc (mira)
cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, chubby!reader (rarely self conscious), exes to ???, unsupportive parents, dual POV, classism, mira is described as chubby and has long wavy hair, mira often wears dresses/thongs/etc, smut, sir kink, sneakin around, pet names (darling, babe, baby, love, my girl), lots of cunnilingus/bjs/handjobs, more specific content warnings before each chapter, NSFW/MDNI!!! notes. this has taken me forever!! i know i've been talking about this for so long and i really hope you love it. the poll said to post everything at once, but i put chapter headers so you wouldn't lose your place since its so goddamn long. anyway, enjoy!! wc. 26K im so sry
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cw. yeonjun is a bit of a jerk in a flashback, classism, yj is an environmental activist and if u are a climate change denier, feel free to block <3, mira (oc) is described as chubby, yeonjun sneaks into mira's room (but not in a pervy way).
YEONJUN'S POV
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Open your heart to the adventure ahead. I glare back at the cheesy quote slapped across the page-a-day calendar resting on my desk Mother gifted me last Christmas. The phrases usually amount to nothing more than fortune cookie wisdom or elementary classroom poster encouragements, and today's offering is no exception.
It’s plastered in meetings and to-dos I have today. One meeting is with a new landscape architect for the garden, another with Gemma about the upcoming quarterly dinner, and another with our ambassador about an upcoming international environmental meeting I’m attending later this year. 
Philanthropy has always been a forte of mine. No matter the cause, I can persuade the richest of the rich to contribute to the cause, I host grand fundraising events, and love speaking for what I care about. My pursuits have evolved over time, ranging from childhood health to advocating for mental wellness and combating food scarcity. 
It’s been difficult to choose what I cared about most, but I simply can’t commit all of my focus to every cause, no matter how hard I try. Within the last few years, my focus has been the environment—an urgent matter demanding action, even if I’m not a major contributor to the problem. Nonetheless, I certainly have influence over large corporations that do, not to mention my political influence. I've also cultivated a deep appreciation for the arts, advocating for universal access. Last year, I facilitated the donation of $125,000 worth of instruments to local public schools.
Outside of work, I like learning new instruments and artforms—right now, pottery and piano—and reading. And I love to travel. I always fly commercial—never private. 
“Honey, be in the common room in fifteen minutes,” Mother—the Queen—says at my door. She glows as her deep ruby chiffon dress flows with her movements, exuding royal, elegance, and authority. She finishes putting in her gold earring before adding, “We have a new hire.” 
Ah, the customary introduction of new staff. I finish watering the peace lily on my window bench before heading down the hallway.
Our castle is opulent yet sophisticated and contemporary. I genuinely love the peacock-green walls, the gold trim, the myriad of photos on the walls—memories of the Queen presenting awards, snapshots from my trips, simple portraits. Despite the grandeur of it all, it’s home.
The common room is large and well-lit thanks to the floor to ceiling windows. Lots of comfortable seating scatters the floor for when guests are over. A large Morisot painting hangs on the wall opposite the windows—brushstrokes full of energy and splashes of rich greens and blues. But it’s the simplicity I love about it. It’s why I bought it. 
“Good morning, Your Majesties,” Gemma states as she enters the room, fifteen staff people following behind her. Everyone does their obligatory bows and curtsies, something I never particularly liked. But I understand the purpose behind it. 
The staff stand in a straight line facing us, Gemma being the stiffest of all—she commands the room, adores perfection, and keeps everything in order. She isn’t my personal favorite staff person, but I don’t know what we’d do without her. 
They’re all wearing their boring uniforms—half are in drab grey frocks with white aprons and the other half are in drab grey suits. I’d rather they wear whatever they want.
Formal introductions like these aren’t to my taste. I like getting to know the staff on our own terms. Organically. But this is important to Gemma. It’s a sort of initiation, a welcome into the family. So I let her do what she needs to do, but I’m busy reminding myself of my to-do list.
Email Princess Everly about the upcoming benefitReschedule interview with Philanthropy DailyOutline Climate Week keynote speech
“As you know,” Gemma startles me out of my thoughts. “We’ve welcomed a new person to our team. I want everyone to give her a warm welcome.” Walking to the end of the line, she introduces her, “This is Mira.” 
Mira smiles softly with a curtsy that I’m assuming she learned to do in the kitchen moments earlier. 
“It’s nice to meet you, Ma’am,” she says, tilting her head toward Mother. “And you too, Sir.”
“Nice to—oh.” My mouth hangs open. What am I supposed to say again? Oh right, “Um…it’s nice to meet you too,” I finally murmur. That was embarrassing. 
Everything flashes across the movie screen in my mind—memories with her. The girl I fell in love with when I was a stupid teenager. The girl who stole my first kiss. The girl that was so sweet to me and treated me like any other kid because that’s all I was—a kid.
But she wasn’t just a girl to me. She was the first—only—person I was in love with. The girl I snuck out of the castle at night to go stargazing with. The girl I told all my secrets to. The girl I never thought I’d see again. How could I have forgotten her? 
Do you remember me?
Perhaps that’s all I was to her, though—a boy. Another insignificant teenage romance. Then again…how could she forget? We’d talk for hours about spending our lives together. She’d even picked out her favorite room in the castle that we’d move into together when the time came. It’s now the music room, complete with a piano among other instruments. 
We’d sit under her favorite willow tree in the garden eating red bean buns she’d brought back from the next town over when she’d visit her cousins. 
Have you forgotten? To be fair, It has been six…seven years. Wow. 
The room soon clears, except for Mira and myself. She paces around and smooths her skirt.
“Oh!” Mira gasps. “I’m so sorry. I thought everyone had left,” she says with an awkward curtsy. Simply shaking my head, I stay put. “...Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?”
“Nope…uh, no,” I start, fiddling with the edge of one of the couches before finally speaking up again. “Where are you from?” I’m testing the waters. Trying to see if she remembers me without coming straight out and asking. Honestly, I do this with all our staff: ask where they’re from, get to know them a bit. I don’t like having robots I know nothing about doing everything for me. 
“I’m originally from the next town over.”
Hm. Am I wrong? Maybe she simply looks a lot like my Mira. And has the same name. And the same gorgeous brown eyes. Perhaps I shouldn’t refer to her as my Mira anymore. 
“I’ve lived here since I was a kid though,” she adds. Ah, okay. That seems like something I should’ve known. Nodding, I open my mouth to say something else, but Mother calls me from a distance.
“Yep.” I stand up straight as a pin, turning to exit the room. “Be right there.” 
-
Rummaging through my drawers, I finally find it. The necklace I’d bought Mira all those years ago—a delicate circle pendant with an “M” stamped in the middle hanging from a delicate gold chain. She wore it everyday for six months. I can’t remember how I ended up with it, though. 
So, she’s real. At least that’s true. What should I do with it? I pace up and down the hallways clutching it, brainstorming about what to do with it. Perhaps I should simply walk up to her and ask her about it. Should I wrap it for her and give it to her as a present? Should I give it to Gemma to return to her?
“Oh, Gemma, I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing for almost bumping into her. 
“Not a problem, sir.” She curtsies and begins to walk away, but—
“Gemma?” She turns, holding her hands behind her back, awaiting my instruction. “Can you tell me where the new hire stays? I want to make sure I’ve got everyone’s rooms in order in my head.”
“Mira?” I nod. “She lives in room number six, sir.”
“Thank you.” I smile, but she simply waits. Ah— “Dismissed.” 
As I nonchalantly make my way to the staff wing, I keep an eye out for anyone who might be watching. Not that anyone would question me, but I don’t like people in my business. I eventually find her room in the same hallway as everyone else’s—a basic wooden door painted white with a brass “6” nailed to it—I hesitate before knocking softly. No response. I try again, slightly louder. Still nothing. On the third attempt, I test the door handle and find it unlocked. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m just gonna get in, put the necklace somewhere, then get out. I won’t bother any of her stuff. 
But her room is so sweet. Plain and organized since she just moved in. A single photograph of her and her parents with who I’m assuming is her grandmother rests on the dresser. The bed’s made neatly. There’s a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. 
Ah, the bedside table drawer. That should be a good spot, but I find things that are way too personal in there and decide against it, respecting her privacy despite the fact that I’m breaking and entering. 
Hm…where to put it? Sock drawer? The windowsill catches my eye—a perfect blend of visibility and subtlety. I approach it, careful not to disturb anything, and hang the necklace on the window latch. It’s hiding in plain sight but still easy to find and doesn’t show that I rummaged through her drawers, which is a plus.
Now, we wait. 
-
A week passes. Radio silence. I haven’t gone back to her room to see if it's still hanging on her window, but I haven’t seen it around her neck either. Perhaps she threw it away and I should give up. 
Trudging through my bedroom door, I loosen my tie and toss my phone and wallet onto my bed. I attempt to rub the tiredness out of my eyes, but I’m exhausted. Thankfully, my dinner is already waiting for me on my dresser under a cloche. 
Next to my plate is a glass of ice water dripping in condensation along with a napkin and a set of cutlery. And resting right next to my fork is Mira’s necklace. The sight of it sends a jolt through my system. I knew she came into my room somewhat regularly—all the staff do—but thinking about her in my room makes me tingle. 
I sink onto the edge of my bed with a sigh as the chain slips through my fingers. When I first gave it to her seven years ago, her eyes lit up and her smile made everything feel right. I knew we were supposed to be together. That all seems so distant now.
Why didn’t she simply get rid of it? 
Maybe she hasn’t given up entirely and neither should I. 
It goes back and forth between us for a few weeks. After I found it on my dresser, I slipped it into her apron pocket. Then I found it between the pages of my notebook. The day after I wrapped it around the sugar bowl’s lid handle, it appeared wrapped around the handlebar of my bike. 
We never spoke a word of it. 
Every time I found it, it made me smile, but I knew this couldn't continue forever. I need to see her, to talk to her, to find out what was really going on. Does she want to talk to me? Does she hate me? Does she even remember me?
The next morning, I slip a note under her door. 
Meet me under the willow tree at 8. - Y
Every minute of the day feels like an eternity as I wait for evening to arrive. Doubt gnaws at me, but the thought of seeing and speaking to Mira keeps me sane. 
The evening air is cool and crisp. The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep blue. Waiting under the willow tree, I think about the many times Mira and I have sat under here and talked for hours, watching the stars as the branches swayed in the wind. We’d talk about our days, places we wanted to visit together, how I wanted to tell everyone about us but she was too hesitant. 
Minutes start to feel like hours as I wait, the silence around me amplifying my racing thoughts. What if she never comes? What if she didn’t get the note? What if she’s avoiding me? Does she hate me?
Finally, soft footsteps approach and I turn to see Mira, her silhouette framed by the dim garden lights. She walks slowly, like she’s dragging it out as long as possible. As she comes up to me, her eyes search mine. My heart races, there’s a lump in my throat. 
"Mira," I start, my voice barely above a whisper. She curtsies. “You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s my job, Sir,” she says flatly. Rocking back on my heels, I press my lips together. 
"I thought I’d return this straight to you,” I say, holding up the necklace. “It seems like it keeps getting lost.” I chuckle nervously, trying to break the tension.
“Thanks,” she replies flatly as she accepts the necklace. Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. I thought I’d memorized every detail about her, but seeing her now under the lamppost, it’s like I’m rediscovering her all over again. She’s beautifully chubby and always has been. Her long, dark brunette hair has a tint of red that makes it look like cinnamon. The wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants paired with an old pair of flip flops tells me she either forgot about our meeting and got dressed in a hurry or wants to get this over with. Or perhaps both. 
“What can I help you with, Sir?” Awkward silence. 
“Mira,” I whisper, her name a fragile plea on my lips. She stares at the ground, avoiding my eyes. What was she expecting? For me to never bring us up? Of course I’d talk to her about it. “Mira Ashenrose, right?” She hums quietly. “I realized I never asked your last name since you started working here.” 
The silence between us is thick with tension. Memories flood my mind and I hope the same is happening to her. The last time we were here, we laid with each other for hours, so long that the sun started rising. She fit so perfectly in my arms. 
“I can’t forget you, Mira,” I say, stepping closer. “Why are you avoiding…us?” The space between us is charged as electricity swirls around us. “Remember us? All those nights we went stargazing? Our picnics? Those daisy chains you made me? You can’t tell me you don’t—”
“Of course I remember,” she interrupts, tears glistening in her eyes. My heart aches at the sight. “I remember everything, Yeonjun.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “I remember falling asleep under this willow tree with you. I remember dancing with you. I remember kissing you before sneaking back into my house. I remember everything, okay?” Her voice trembles. “But that doesn’t mean I want to.” 
“What? Why wouldn’t you?”
She looks utterly heartbroken. “Don’t do this to me, Yeonjun. Stop being cruel.”
Her words punch me in the gut and everything comes rushing back. The reason we ended. I’d asked her to our annual ball—our first public appearance together. The Queen would find out. My royal friends would find out. The whole country would find out. She was a wreck for weeks leading up to it, but I reassured her every chance I got that it would be okay. 
She was—and still is—smart, incredibly beautiful, but most of all, I loved her. Why should anyone care if she wasn’t a royal as long as I was in love with her? That should’ve been enough. 
"Yeonjun, darling," my mother's voice sliced through the delicate hum of the ballroom. "I'd like you to meet Princess Penelope. She's your esteemed companion for the evening." Always so professional. 
“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering a strained greeting to Penelope before turning to face my mother.  "May I have a word with you in private?"
Graciously excusing herself, she left me to confront my mother amidst the grandeur of the ballroom. "Why would you do this? I told you I didn’t want to be set up.”
"I understand, Yeonjun," my mother replied with a tight-lipped smile. "But it's time you started considering your future—"
"My future?" I scoffed. "I'm eighteen."
"Exactly," she countered, her tone firm. "You need to think about a suitable partner. Someone who embodies the qualities of a Queen—dignity, wisdom, influence. And most importantly: royal,” she pointed a finger at me. “I won’t be around forever, darling.”
“Do they really need to be royal?”
My mother's smile widened, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
I swallowed what I really needed to say. There’s no way I’d win an argument anyway. With a resigned nod, I returned to Princess Penelope, the weight of my mother's expectations—and I suppose my entire country’s—heavy on my shoulders. So heavy I’d forgotten—
“Mira,” I said under my breath. There she was, staring at me in disbelief as I danced with Princess Penelope. Ignoring the questioning from Penelope, I abandoned her mid-step and made a beeline for Mira, my heart pounding with a mixture of dread and urgency. "Mira, wait!" I called out, desperation lacing my voice as I chased after her out of the ballroom and into the moonlit courtyard.
"Why, Yeonjun?" Mira's voice cracked as she finally turned to face me, tears staining her cheeks. "Why would you do this?"
"I had no choice," I confessed, my mother’s expectations running circles in my mind. “My mother made me.” 
"You could've told me," Mira interjected, her voice trembling.
"When?" I demanded, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I only found out thirty minutes ago—"
"You could've texted me.”
"I can't risk—"
"What, people finding out about us?" Mira's voice rose with each word, her anguish palpable in the cool night air. “Are you ever going to tell The Queen about us?” Squeezing the bridge of my nose, my eyes twist shut. “Well?” 
Looking at her—possibly for the last time—she looked absolutely beautiful. Her gown was perfect. Soft lavender satin that caught the light as it cascaded down the skirt, a glimmer of fuschia reflecting in the light. I wanted nothing but to hug her, to feel the satin on my fingertips. The sweetheart neckline was gorgeous on her, accentuating her frame perfectly. The M necklace rested around her neck. Her hair was absolutely perfect—she’d been trying out styles for weeks and the final choice was supposed to be a surprise.
“Answer me, Yeonjun.”
I couldn’t do that anymore. Mother meant what she said to me earlier that night: they must be royal. “Just go home,” I said, turning to leave her there alone. Breaking her heart was the best thing to do in the moment. If I could never truly be with her, breaking it off right then and there was the easiest thing for both of us. 
“What? Why—”
“What do you expect, Mira? You’re not royalty. You’re nothing,” I said. “Now go home.”
Too stunned to speak, I stare at her in disbelief. How could I have been so evil to her? What was I thinking? Why did I forget that? Must’ve blocked it from my memory. And now that I’m older, I’d never let some stupid outdated rule like that stand in our way. 
“I’m so—”
“Save it,” she says flatly. “I should’ve thrown away the necklace the first time I found it.” Straightening her posture, she wipes the final tear rolling down her cheek, shaking her head to rid of the emotions. “Let’s pretend this whole thing never happened, yeah?” 
Fine. If someone did that to me, if someone told me I was nothing after telling them they were in love with me for six months, I’d probably feel the same way, if I’m honest. 
As I accept my fate, I turn to walk away, but halt in my footsteps. “No,” I start. “I don’t want to forget this—that we ever happened.” She stays standing there, arms crossed, trying to control her breathing. But I hover over her, waiting for a response. “Please. I miss—”
“Don’t.” She snaps, shaking her head. “Don’t even think about starting that bullshit with me…Sir.”
“I told you, Mother set me up with her.”
“I don’t care about that. You told me I was nothing.” Speechless again, I can’t move. “You never even tried to contact me again and you expect me to give you a second chance?”
“That was seven years ago.”
“So?”
“I’m…we’re both so different. I used to be a stupid teenager. I would never— Please—”
“Please, what? What do you want from me?”
“I don’t—” Honestly, I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off, but I don’t know if that’s possible at this point. I hadn’t felt lonely until she showed up, drowning in my endless to do lists, barely ever hanging out with anyone that wasn’t on my staff or another royal. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe think about that first.”
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cw. eating food. 
MIRA'S POV
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On my days off, I hide away in a gazebo in a quiet part of the garden and sketch. It’s a nice place to escape to, away from everyone while staying close to home. Home. It’s still hard to believe this castle is my home, even if I am just a servant. 
The gazebo sits against a stone wall on one side—one of those that looks so old you wonder how it's still standing, withered with moss growing between the stones, vines going up and around it. The bench theoretically offers lots of seating, but most of it is covered in pots, plants, and gardening supplies. It’s more storage than an intended place to rest. 
My spot was bare when I found it and it gives me a full view of the grounds. To the right, our village is on full display—colorful, quaint, and inviting. To the left, a thick forest stands tall, leaves rustling with the wind.
Someone’s foot crunches the gravel as they walk toward me and my little corner, but I don’t react. As long as I stay relatively still and quiet, no one bothers me. I continue my sketch of those cute squirrels running around together under the willow tree I’ve always loved. Although it’s left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth recently. 
But the presence of a person looms behind me. Can’t I have one quiet day to myself? Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. They’ll leave eventually. Maybe. Hopefully. 
“...Mira?” A familiar voice says, slow and undeniably warm. 
“Oh.” I stand up straight, giving my obligatory curtsy Gemma has ingrained in me since day one. 
“I told you not to do that,” Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun—says. He’s dressed casually today, cute even. But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that. A simple maroon cashmere sweater that fits perfectly with his dark wash jeans that barely gather at his ankles, exposing his black vans. A short necklace of black beads sits around his neck. One of those outfits you’d see him wearing in a magazine with a caption like, ‘Royals – they’re just like us!’ 
“And I told you, it’s my job,” I say, returning to my seat, continuing my drawing. 
“Not right now though,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s your day off, right?”
“You have my schedule memorized?” 
“No,” he chuckles, running his fingers through his shiny, black hair that I can practically feel on my fingertips. “Why else would you be hiding in my corner?”
“I figured you followed me—your corner?” 
“I wasn’t following you,” he says, walking closer before rocking back on his heels as he stops. “I read here sometimes.” He holds up a book. “You thought this spot just happened to be clear on its own?” I hum, scooting over and patting the bench next me. “You’re really okay with me here? I don’t want to bother you,” he says, as genuine as one can sound. But I’m still surprised. Sure, he’s not the demanding type, but I don’t know if I’d act the same if I were royalty. 
“To be fair, I was here first,” I say smugly. Although, he is still my boss. It doesn’t matter that we know each other from that past. I add a quick, “...Sir.” for good measure. “Go ahead and sit.”
“Don’t you hate me?” He asks and I chuckle, but when I look up, I see he’s serious. 
“No, I don’t hate you,” I say. “I’ve moved on, Yeonjun.”
Shrugging, he sits near me, opening his book. I tried to get a peek at the title, but I never got the chance without being too obvious. As he sits next to me, I must admit his presence adds a peaceful comfort to what would typically be a relatively silent, if not boring, morning. There’s even a sort of completeness. Birds seem to be chirping more harmoniously. The clouds have disappeared. Oh, what am I saying? That’s ridiculous. That’s a coincidence, Mira. 
“You still draw?” He perks up, pulling me from my thoughts. 
“Of course,” I answer immediately. 
“What are you working on?” Straightening on the bench, I riffle through some papers quickly, trying to hide any potentially embarrassing sketches I don’t want him to see. 
“Just sketches.”
He nods, curiosity etched on his face. “Can I see?” 
“Uh,” I clear my throat. “Sure,” I say, sitting one of my feet on the ground, turning toward him. Our knees brush each other for a moment, but I quickly move it out of his way. Smiling, he examines my drawing of my favorite willow tree I finished yesterday before bed. My cheeks flush as I remember why it was on my mind while drawing, but I hope he doesn’t draw that conclusion. 
“Ah, you’ve gotten so much better.” 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I chuckle. 
“I just mean,” he looks at me, eyebrows raised in defense. “I can tell you’ve been working on it, I dunno. How else would I say that?”
“That’s fine,” I say. Awkwardness fills the air as I shift my weight around. 
“I’ve been doing pottery, you know.”
I do know. But I’m not supposed to be listening in on their conversations at dinner. I can’t help I’m nosy. I simply ask, “Really?” Humming, he pulls out his phone. 
“This one just came out of the kiln.” He hands me his phone—I wonder what world secrets are on Prince Yeonjun’s phone—to show me a beautifully hand thrown vase. The body is smooth and cylindrical with a slightly tapered neck that gracefully flares out at the top. White glaze covers the surface, contrasting with the thick organic strokes of black glaze. Small, oval handles are attached on both sides. “I just learned how to do handles.” 
“Oh my gosh, Yeonjun…” My breath is taken away. I had no idea he was such an incredible artist. It looks like it was plucked straight out of a museum. “It’s gorgeous.” He always was one to do things perfectly—an all-or-nothing kinda guy. 
“Thanks,” he smiles, pressing his lips together. 
“Show off,” I say, lightly nudging his arm with my elbow.  
An hour or so passes and I’ve switched sitting positions several times, eventually landing on a classic leaned-back-against-the-wall position with my feet up on the bench so I can use my knees and thighs as a desk. He’s barely moved an inch though, sitting happily with his back pressed against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, reading. 
I barely notice my toes absent-mindedly tucking themselves under his thigh like I used to do when we were—
“Oh!” A servant that I haven’t learned the name of yet stumbles in on us, carrying a tray full of food. “I’m sorry—”
“No, it’s okay,” Yeonjun says, but I’m doing everything I can to hide my face. This can’t get back to the other servants. They’re all such gossips, which I guiltily love, but that doesn’t mean I want them gossiping about me. “Come on over, Natalie.”
“I swear I didn’t tell her about your spot, Sir,” Natalie says nervously.
“I know you didn’t. It’s okay,” he offers a gentle smile, reaching out for the tray, dismissing her after she curtsies, scurrying off quickly. “Don’t worry,” Yeonjun says to me. “She keeps all my secrets—she’s the only one that knows I come out here. She won’t say anything about,” he trails off, gesturing his hand between us.
“There’s nothing to tell.” 
“Alright,” he sighs. “You hungry?”
“No.” My stomach growls at the worst possible moment. 
“I kinda feel like you are.” I ignore him, focusing on my drawing. “I asked her to bring another meal. You can have it if you want.” 
Peeking over my sketchbook, the tray is fully decked out in sandwiches that look absolutely delicious; sides of mac and cheese and fruits, complete with two glasses of water and a little flower.
“I suppose I’m pretty hungry.” My stomach growls again at the sight of it. “Oh, ignore that; she’s been fussy all day.” I scooch closer to him hesitantly accepting the offer. 
“Mira,” Yeonjun starts. I hum, reaching for a pineapple slice. “Why are all the staff afraid of me?”
“Huh?” I look up at him.
“You saw how nervous Natalie was just thinking I might be mad at her.”
“I think you forget you’re a literal prince,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Are you scared of me?”
Hm. That’s an interesting question. No, of course I’m not scared of you. Why would I be? But perhaps the real answer is Yes, but in the way that everyone makes fun of when people say it out loud. Honestly, I am afraid. Afraid of falling for him again. Getting my heart broken again. We’ve barely talked since I started working here, but I know how convincing he can be. If I’m not careful, he’ll have me wrapped around his finger by next week. 
And let’s not forget he told me I was nothing. That kind of thing doesn’t simply go away. 
I wonder if he’s ever said something like that to one of the servants. Does he think all non-royalty are nothing? No, he wouldn’t be like that anymore. But how would I really know?
Shrugging, I finally say, “No.”
“That’s not very convincing.”
I roll my eyes, “I don’t know, Jjun—” I catch myself as that dumb nickname comes out of my stupid fucking mouth. What’s wrong with me? He looks at me with wide eyes. “Uh, Yeonjun…Sir.” Let’s just pretend like nothing happened. “You said some hurtful stuff to me. Have you said anything like that to one of them?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You could ask a servant if they’re scared of you.”
“I just did,” he points out. Right. I’m…a servant. I keep forgetting that bit when we’re alone. When we’re alone, it's like we’re friends. It’s casual and comfortable. See? What did I tell you? A few hours of silence followed by a few minutes of talking and I’m right back to where I was seven years ago. Stop being so pathetic. 
“Ah.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, I know,” I chuckle. “You’re right. But maybe ask a servant that seems like they’re scared of you. They’re probably scared of Gemma more than anything.”
As we wrap up our lunch, his phone buzzes—a calendar reminder probably. 
"I have to get going," he announces, moving efficiently to gather the remnants of our meal onto the tray. But as he stands to leave, an inexplicable urge pulls at me, begging him to stay. Please don’t do this, Mira. Don’t be stupid. 
With a gentle smile, he suggests, "I'll talk to you later?" It's then that I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence for the past who knows how long. "Oh, you have a leaf in your hair." I attempt to remove it myself, but without a mirror, it’s proving to be difficult. "Here," he offers, leaning down. My mind screams at me to resist, but his closeness sends a rush of warmth through my body. With gentle precision, he plucks the leaf away, discarding it casually.
Yet, instead of stepping away, he stays close. I pretend not to notice the magnetic pull between us. Stop it. Admit it. You want him to stay. Straightening my posture, we’re almost leaning into each other, like we’re about to—no. Our gazes dart between each other's lips, ghosts of his touch haunting my senses. Does he still taste the same?
The cool breeze snaps me back to reality. What were you thinking? "Thanks," I mumble, retreating to reestablish a distinct boundary.
"No worries," he replies. The fading sound of his footsteps on gravel leaves me facepalming.
How can I be this close to him without seeing him? Without falling for him again? There’s only one thing to do. 
Avoid him at all costs.
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cw. sexual tension, suggestive.  
MIRA'S POV
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“Didn’t you finish Mother’s painting in two weeks?” Prince Yeonjun asks, leaning against the doorframe to the sunroom. It’s become my makeshift painting studio. Once the Queen found out I sometimes do art, she thought it’d be a good idea to commission me for new portraits to replace the old ones in the Great Hall. I like painting and I need the money so I of course said yes. 
“Mm-hmm,” I nod, finishing up the final touches on the pattern of his royal cloak. “I’ve been busier recently,” I lie. In the painting, he sits with an arm resting atop a piano against a backdrop of rich velvet curtains like the ones in the living room. The intricate details of his uniform are perfect if I do say so myself. His face, though, is a grey blob with a basic sketch. I work off photographs for the most part, but for faces, I like them sitting right in front of me to get every detail.
But him sitting a foot away from me while I carefully analyze every detail of his face for hours does not sound like a good idea right now. Even if it does sound appealing. 
“You almost ready for me?” 
I should get it over with, but my hands are tired and I have a lot of tasks for my actual job to do before the end of the day.
“Tomorrow,” I say, walking my paintbrushes to the sink. “Does that work for you?” He’s quiet, so I look over my shoulder to make sure he heard me. Pushing himself off the doorframe, he shoves his hands in his pockets. 
“Y-yeah,” he says. “That should work.”
“Okay.” I wipe my paintbrushes with a towel. “Meet here after lunch?” Smiling gently, he nods. “Well, I’ve gotta get back to my real job. See you tomorrow,” I say with a curtsy. 
Tomorrow comes way too fast. I brush my teeth, floss, use mouthwash, and chew some gum to get rid of any trace of my lunch. Dragging my feet down the hallway, I can’t get there slow enough. 
“Ah, Mira,” he says with a smile that warms me from the inside out. I respond with a simple hello, but I’m already burning up as I gather my brushes and paints while he watches me in silence. I realize I’d forgotten to curtsy, but I decide to omit it this time considering he hates it so much. 
“The Queen sat on this stool when I painted her,” I say, moving the stool into place. “You might need to adjust the height.” While he does that, I mix a base for his skin. Starting by mixing the primary colors to get a deep brown, I add a good amount of white to lighten it up then a good amount of yellow and a touch of red for warmth. “Sit still,” I giggle, holding my palette knife next to his cheek. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing while I add more brown to darken it a bit. Clasping my hands together, I say, “Alright, I’ll be painting for at least two hours, so do anything else you need to do.” 
“I’m good.” 
Shrugging, I adjust my easel so he’s in my sightline but not too close.
Two minutes into painting, he asks, “So how’s your day been?”
“Good. You?” 
“Good,” he responds. I truly don’t mind silence between us two, but I must admit this silence is deafening. “Do you work in silence or can you talk?”
I giggle and say, “I can talk. Or you can play music if you want.” 
“How about both?” I nod. “Alexa, play classical music to focus,” he pauses, waiting for it to respond and start playing. “Tell me what you’re working on.”
“Well,” I start, swishing my brush into some clean water. “I’d already had a basic sketch of your face, but I made some skin tones first. A base, a highlight, and a shadow,” I say, showing him my palette. “Then I’ll go in and fine tune everything.” 
Time passes by—I’ve honestly always liked simply existing near him. We used to do this all the time back when we were dating. Sit near each other and just be. Quietly. Like the other day in the garden when I was drawing and he was reading. It’s peaceful. I can focus. 
It smells like that day in here—soil and paint. Whoever keeps up with these plants is great at their job. They’re gorgeous even in the winter.
“Now I’m working on your eyes,” I say matter-of-factly. Part of me starts with his eyes to get it over with and avoid them as soon as I can, but the other part counts myself lucky that I have reason to stare at them for the next thirty minutes or so. I mix a deep, cool brown and dip my pinkie into it to hold it up next to his eye. “I’m, um,” I glance down. “I’m gonna touch your face.” My pinkie rests on the apple of his cheek so I can get as close as I can to his eye without touching it. “Open your eyes.” 
Damn. Those eyes are like mirrors reflecting my deepest emotions. The world around us fades. I almost drop my palette. Glimpses of our history, our laughter, tears, and dreams we’ve shared together swirl around in them. They take my breath away. 
Realizing we’re staring at each other, I snap out of it, jerking my hand away from him and dive into painting them instead of gazing into them. 
“First try?” I hum in question. “You got the color of my eyes right on the first try?” My ears warm up.
“Well, you know…” I say, my head hanging low. “They’re the same as the Queen’s.” Lie. The Queen’s are much warmer. Hues of deep mahogany and amber; they’re vibrant with hints of gold and copper that catch the light. They glow in the sun. His, on the other hand, are intensely dark. Deep and rich like shadowy moonlight. You could get lost in them like a maze at night. They’re like reading a book by candlelight. They’re gorgeous. 
“Why do I need to be here again?” He asks and I look jokingly offended. “I mean, you worked off photos up until now.”
“So I can get the details of your face I might otherwise miss,” I say, closely examining his face. “Like this freckle,” I say, poking the freckle on his right cheek with the end of my paintbrush that I would never miss in a million years. It’s one of my favorites. “Or this little birthmark.” He’s got the slightest purple splotch on his cheek that again, I’d never miss. 
“You’re painting those?”
“Of course,” I say. “They’re part of you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him grazing his fingertips over his cheek, smiling to himself. “Move closer.” Examining his features even closer, I’m a few inches from his face. I, again, realize I’m staring at his face and my heartbeat quickens. I snap back and say, “Um…sorry.”
“You’re okay.”
But this keeps happening. I keep getting close to him, our hearts beating together as our breath gets sharp. And fuck, I miss him. I can’t help but think about if I were doing this for fun, not as a staff person. I used to draw him all the time. 
And now, here he is, grown up, mature, tall, and utterly handsome as I’m forced to paint a larger-than-life portrait of the guy I used to love and thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. I was such a stupid eighteen-year-old. 
He doesn’t stop staring at me. Not when I add details to his nose. Not when I clean my brush. Not when I observe my painting from a distance. I catch his glare. 
“Can you stop staring at me like that?” I ask, a smile teasing my lips. 
“Like what?”
“Like…” I cock my head to the side. 
“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?” Ah, fuck you. The warmth that rushes through my body is overwhelming and I swear my knees are ready to buckle. My hands tremble as I fight the urge to drop everything. “I don’t think I can stop that, Mira,” he adds softly. 
“You can’t say shit like that to me, Yeonjun,” I manage to say, my smile stubbornly betraying my attempt to stay cool. I keep my eyes on the brush, pretending I’m not seconds away from screaming. 
“Why not?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his breath warm against my ear.
“Because…” I finally look over at him, incredibly close to me, eyes flitting all over my face, indiscreetly hovering on my lips. Admittedly, my eyes do the same: land on his lips and suddenly the only thing I’m thinking about is kissing him. “Because…” I repeat, trying to get me to do literally anything but kiss him in this moment, but we both know that’s the only thing either of us want. Each other. To be together. 
I try to remember what his lips feel like. Strong and passionate. At least they used to be. 
How have they changed now that he’s older and has most likely gone through a few serious partners and several hook-ups? Are they softer and more loving now that he’s not a dumb ego-ridden eighteen-year-old? Are they even stronger now that he’s found himself and has solidified his position as a Prince? I wonder. No. Don’t do this. Oh, but why not? 
In one ear, the wise and cautious version of me begs me to refrain from kissing him. Don’t do this, Mira. Remember how heartbroken you were. Mixing romance with your boss is a terrible idea. 
The more rebellious, lust-ridden version of me counters, Look how much hotter he’s gotten. Just make out with him. The Queen is your boss, not him. You could always make out with him, maybe even fuck him, and pretend like nothing happened. 
Wise Mira gasps, That’s mean! 
Right, Lustful Mira says. But he was mean to her. 
Listen to me, Wise Mira chirps up. Don’t kiss him at all. 
Lustful Mira chimes in again, But Mira…look how absolutely delicious his lips look. You want him. He clearly wants you. Don’t you wanna—
“Because I said so.”
He chuckles, “Fair enough.” 
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cw. brief mentions of alcohol, cunnilingus, fingering, mira briefly feels self conscious about her body and pubic hair, mira lies to a stranger, begging, yj sneaks into a room she's in, sir kink. 
MIRA'S POV
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"What are you wearing friday?" Hyomin casually asks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she effortlessly dusts the coffee table while I clean the windows—the newbie’s job. 
"Aren't we supposed to wear our uniforms?"
"Oh no, darling! The quarterly dinners are the sacred day we break free from the uniform chains—as long as it’s formal." Hyomin is one of few servants I genuinely like. Most of the others are constantly trying to play the game to move up the ladder—none of them really want to be friends. 
The ones that aren’t too busy playing the game are too on edge, following each rule to the letter. 
Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun, I correct myself for the millionth time—unexpectedly knocks on the door. I, Hyomin, and Natalie perform our obligatory curtsies, even though I know he hates it. If we don’t though, Gemma fusses at us, which he also knows, so he plays along.
"Excuse me," he says, clearing his throat. "Could I trouble someone for a refill on my coffee?"
Natalie, always willing to volunteer, seizes the opportunity and responds quickly. "Certainly, Sir." She breezes by the coffee table to scoop up the metal coffee pot resting on it, returning to the Prince to pour him a fresh mug. 
Our eyes catch each other, a small yet obnoxiously noticeable smile appears on both our faces. Hyomin nudges my arm and mumbles, "And you've gotta wear something extra special for him, right?" What? My eyes widen, shock and annoyance evident in my expression. Shooting a piercing glare at her, I’m rendered momentarily speechless. Hyomin persists, her voice low, "Oh, don't act all innocent. I've seen how you two look at each other.”
I scoff and roll my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
A mischievous smile plays on her lips, "It's adorable, really. The blushing, the hair-tucking when he says hello, the clumsy encounters,” she says, tilting her head toward him. “Look how red his ears are.” I must admit, they are pretty pink. “We all talk about it, you know.”
“Did Natalie say something?”
“No,” she says confused, but her look soon turns suspicious. “Why would she?” Damn it. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? I avoid eye contact, hoping she’ll give up, but I doubt she ever will. “Mira, why would Natalie say something?”
“No idea.” 
She hums knowingly. "Yeah, right. You two are so obviously dating, it’s ridiculous,” she says, folding the decorative blanket that hangs on the back of the couch while he leaves the room. “We're all waiting for the announcement."
“We are not dating.”
Persistent as ever, Hyomin challenges again, "Look me in the eye right now and swear you haven’t at least kissed him."
I stand tall, smoothing the skirt of my uniform, then take a deep breath and lock eyes with her. “I swear I haven’t kissed him.”
Hyomin narrows her gaze, searching for any crack in my expression. My stomach churns, and before I can stop it, the words spill out in an unfiltered confession.
“…in seven years.”
Damn it. How did she get that out of me?
“What?”
“Shh—!”
“But wh-what do you mean?” She giggles, eager to hear what I’m assuming is the best gossip in years. Although, with royals, there has to have been something juicier than a teenage romance, right?
Motioning for secrecy, I say, “Promise you won’t say anything to the other servants. Please.” Hyomin nods, an expression that practically screams, Spill it. “We knew each other when we were teenagers. We dated then, okay? We broke up seven years ago. I’ve barely spoken to him since.” 
“Oh. My. God. Oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!”
“Calm down.” I hold my hands up. “It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal? It’s a huge deal,” she exclaims. “Y’all are totally still into each other.” 
“I mean, he’s cute,” I say. “But that ship has sailed.”
“Oh really?”
“Really.” I nod. “We’re just too different.”
“I dunno, I think—”
“Nope.”
“I just mean—”
“Drop it, Hyomin. It will never happen.” My words carry a finality to the discussion.
“Fine,” she concedes, folding her dust rag to place on the table. “The question still stands—what are you wearing Friday?”
Shrugging, I shake my head, “I don’t have anything formal.”
“A perfect excuse for a shopping trip—let’s go into town tomorrow,” she suggests. “I’ll get someone to cover for us for the lunch service.” 
-
“Ah, look at you!” Hyomin cheers. “You’re absolutely stunning.”
“I can’t remember the last time I got this dressed up.” Actually, I do. That night. The night he broke my heart. But I’m not thinking about that right now. In fact, I won’t be thinking about Yeonjun at all tonight. 
Walking down the stairs into the royal hall, the silk of my dress rustles gently as it shimmers in the light. It’s a gorgeous deep viridian that cascades to the floor, creating an ethereal effect with every move I make. The bodice is fitted perfectly, with boning that snatches my waist and makes my tits look amazing. The off-the-shoulder straps elegantly drape across my arms. To complete the look, I’m wearing gold dangle earrings and my hair is styled in loose waves that cascade down one of my shoulders. Around my neck is a delicate circle pendant with a moon stamped into it. 
It’s simply beautiful in here. I’d helped set it up this morning, but seeing the guests dressed up, hearing the musicians playing, the grandeur of it all—it takes my breath away. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation with an occasional loud laugh. 
One couple glides along the dancefloor in each other’s arms, both of their dresses flowing gracefully across the dancefloor. A group of young people wearing crowns and tiaras clink their glasses near the champagne tower. Someone else checks their jacket at the front door. 
Deep emerald velvet curtains drape along the walls, adding even more drama. Every detail of the Hall has been meticulously curated to evoke a sense of luxury. 
“Excuse me,” someone says as they brush my shoulder. “Oh.” It’s Yeon—Prince Yeonjun. “Hello.” I nod to him before my obligatory curtsy. Not even trying to hide the fact that he looks me up and down, he makes my cheeks burn. “You look…” He clears his throat. “Um, really pretty.” Well, there goes me not thinking about him at all tonight. How could I put him out of my mind when he looks like this? Positively sexy as hell in his prince uniform. So regal, rich, and powerful. 
“Thank you, Sir,” I say. I catch Hyomin out of the corner of my eye looking stiff as a board with her mouth hanging open. 
Extending his arm out, he asks me, “Care to dance?”
God, I’d fucking love to. How did he do this to me so quickly? We have one nice conversation, maybe a few glances in the hallway and suddenly he’s making my heart race like he did when we were dating. “I don’t think it would look very good for either of us if you were dancing with one of your servants.” Is that even true? I don’t know. 
He nods, pressing his lips together. “I’ll see you later then?”
“When?” I ask as he raises an eyebrow. I hope I didn’t sound too desperate. “I just mean, I don’t know why we would see each other.”
“Right,” he says. “Well, have a good evening.” He nods gently at me and then to Hyomin before walking away. 
Turning to Hyomin, she looks at me with a wide smile and knowing glare. She’s such a smug bitch. “Oh my god,” she gasps under her breath, drawing the edge of her wine glass to her lips. “Look at Prince Sipho over there.” Tilting her head to the side, she adds, “He may be even dreamier than Yeonjun.”
I scoff in my head, but I’d never tell anyone that. Instead, I murmur, “Where?”
“Right over there,” she smirks, tipping her head toward a literal tall, dark, and handsome man. Commanding the room with his height, he undeniably catches my gaze—not an eye contact that stops time in its tracks, but one where we can’t take our eyes off each other. 
Prince Sipho pushes his way through the crowd toward me, but I can’t help but wonder where Yeonjun is. Actually, why do I care at all? Shaking the thought out of my mind, I welcome this new prince’s hand reaching for my own as he delicately touches my knuckles with the poutiest part of his lips. I suppose he’s too much of a gentleman to fully press them to my skin. 
“May I have this dance?” He asks, looking up at me through his eye lashes. So formal. Quickly glancing at Hyomin, she gives me an eager nod. I guess the servants will have something to gossip about later. At least that’ll replace the conversations about me and Yeonjun. 
“Yes, you may,” I say, returning the formality. We do all the obligatory dancing things—hand on my waist, mine around his neck, holding each other’s free hands. Slowly stepping with the classy romantic music of the string quintet, he admittedly looks stunning in his formal wear—baby blue with gold trim. The baby blue brings out the radiant sapphire undertones of his deep brown skin, the gold showcasing the warmth of his amber irises. 
“So,” he starts, his voice deep and rumbling. “Who am I dancing with?” 
Without any hesitation, I lie, “Charlotte.”
“Well, Charlotte,” he says. “You’re on Prince Yeonjun’s staff?” I blink up at him with confusion etched on my face. How did he— “The rose?” He asks, tilting his head toward my chest where a delicate ivory rose is pinned to my dress to differentiate us from the guests in case someone needs something from us. 
“Ah,” I giggle. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Where is he anyway? No. I’m not dancing with Prince Sipho to make Yeonjun jealous—I’m dancing with him because he’s hot, seems sweet, and seems to think I’m hot too. Why would he be watching anyway? This is his party. He’s probably busy schmoozing with some high-stakes donors or some other royals. 
Prince Sipho’s hand glides down to the spot right above my ass—he’s really testing the boundaries, huh? I love it. But guilt twinges my heart. Half of me hopes he isn’t watching this and the other half hopes he is. I don’t know which is worse. 
A loud crash brings the room to a halt and I try to locate where the accident is, but Hyomin waves me over. “Damn it,” I murmur. “I’ve gotta go…clean that up. Excuse me.”
After rushing to clean up the broken glass, I return the broom to the closet that’s three times the size of my bedroom. I take my time putting it back—a break from the hustle and bustle of the party is very much needed right now. The click of the deadbolt jolts my heart. 
A million things run through my mind. A creep is in here with me. Hyomin locked it from the outside and forgot about me and now I’m locked in until someone remembers to come get me. How long am I gonna be in here? Is someone in here with me?
“Hello.”
“Oh,” I say, relieved. “Hello, Sir.” I curtsy, tilting my head toward Prince Yeonjun as he steps into the light. Why is he in here anyway? I’ve been trying so hard to avoid him since the garden when we almost—nevermind. But he’s weaseled his way into my life. Telling the Queen I paint so I’d paint those portraits of them—yeah, I saw right through that bullshit. Bumping into me earlier tonight. But there’s nowhere to run now. We’re utterly alone. 
That’s terrifying. 
He’s never looked at me like this. Dark pupils dilated with lust and desire. It makes my heart race and I stumble back, tripping over some old cardboard boxes, but I catch myself on the countertop. 
Walking toward me, he keeps his hands in his pockets, but manages to box me in, cornering me and standing tall over me, intimidating and somehow…safe. I know he’d never hurt me. Physically at least. But I also can’t wait to see what he does next. 
“So it’s okay for you to dance with Prince Sipho but not me?” His voice grumbles with the low hum of the music right outside the door. 
“I’m not one of his servants,” I say matter-of-factly. “Why do you care anyway?” I ask cheekily as he creeps closer and closer. So close I’m fully backed into this counter now, almost sitting on top of it. “What are you—” 
“Can I kiss you?”
“No,” I answer quickly. 
“Mira…” he sighs. “How can you expect me not to kiss you when you look like that?” That makes me feel things all throughout my body that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling for ex-boyfriends, especially an ex-boyfriend that’s also my boss. And the prince of my country. 
My mouth parts and I swear I tried my best not to lick my lips. “Don’t kiss my mouth,” I say. I told Hyomin I haven’t kissed him in seven years. At least that’ll still be true after whatever happens next. 
Reaching for my hand with his white-glove-clad one, he places a gentle yet devastatingly sensual kiss to the back of it, looking up at me through his eyelashes like Prince Sipho did moments ago. But he had nowhere near the effect Yeonjun has on me. I bet he can smell the nail polish from when Hyomin painted it on my nails a few hours ago. As his perfect pouty lips kiss my hand, I can’t help but wonder how those lips would feel in other places. 
“You look—” he stops for another kiss on my palm. “Absolutely—” then the pulse-point of my wrist. “Stunning.” Then inside my elbow. Making his way up higher, my breath hitches in the back of my throat. “As usual,” he adds. 
That fucker. 
He’s always been like this. Silky smooth then sugary sweet. It gives me whiplash. 
Eventually, his lips explore my collarbone. “You’re so warm.” I don’t know how I got up here, but I’m fully sitting on the counter now. His hands are all over me—brushing my upper arms, grazing the smooth satin of the dress that covers my thighs, digging into the folds of my hips. 
How did this happen? How did I go from dancing with one Prince—a perfectly nice and gentlemanly prince—to sharing this romantic…something with Prince Yeonjun? Something because it’s not a kiss, it’s not more than a kiss, but it’s certainly not less than a kiss. It’s…something. 
His palm brushes the side of my breast and he stops himself from pushing any further before he whispers in my ear, “Can I touch you?”
“I think you already are.”
Firmly squeezing my tit over my dress, I groan as my back arches. Oh my fucking god. Is this real?
Something in his body language switches at the sound of my groaning and he drops everything to get to his knees. He pushes the skirt of my dress up and past my thighs, looking up at me for permission.
Is he…? 
My pussy clenches around nothing at the sheer thought of those gorgeous plump lips around my clit. I let him explore further with his lips without any hesitation whatsoever. Then they’re inside my thighs, slowly moving closer where I desperately need him. Nerves fill my stomach. Flashbacks of other guys going to taste me and not liking what they find enter my mind. Is that gonna happen with him? Is he gonna be turned off by my hair? My stretch marks? The way my fat thighs cover his ears?
As much as my inner feminist hates those thoughts, there’s always that twinge of embarrassment that I still haven’t managed to work through. 
“Yeonjun…” I sigh. “You don’t have to.”
“What if I want to?” He asks. “Do you want me to?” Obviously. I nod. Pressing his lips to the outside of my panties, he breathes me in and I realize he’s never been this close to me. Ever. 
Sure, we’ve kissed, but we were teenagers, we had no idea what we were doing. It never got this far. Never got past the occasional makeout session on my picnic blanket under the willow tree. “You smell so good.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“I’m serious. You smell delicious.” 
Lips delicate and careful, he takes his time. I never thought this is how it would be with him. I always thought of him as the kind of guy to get straight to it. At least that’s how I imagined it—him embracing me because he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed me right then and there. Whisking me off to his bedroom to undress me, never careful, never delicate. 
But I love it. Love taking a deep breath, letting my head lull back onto the wall behind me, my entire body relaxing. The feeling of a tongue flicking my clit for the first time in months, and the first time it’s his tongue. I card my hand through his hair, gripping some strands between my fingers. Mouth dropping open, I sigh, looking down at him, eyes closed, fully entranced by my taste. Thank fuck he knows exactly what he’s doing now. 
The softness of his white cotton gloves feels like heaven against the heat of my thighs, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want his bare hands on me. 
Like a mind-reader, he plucks his gloves off, one finger at a time, putting me under a spell as he goes. I stare at him as he loosens the glove by pulling on the pointer finger, then the middle, the ring, his pinky, then tugging it all the way off. It’s so sexy. I think I caught a small smirk, but it's just dark enough for it to be hidden. 
The tip of his finger teases my entrance and I can tell— “Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so wet, darling.”
Don’t call me that. But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud…I’m not even sure I’d mean it if I did. He finally pushes his finger all the way inside me, curling the tip of it to find just the right spot that makes me absolutely moan. He lets go of my skirt to grip my thighs, finally feeling him squeeze and touch me after all these years of wanting him. I beg myself not to stop him and make him touch me everywhere before continuing. 
My pointer fingers graces his and he intertwines his fingers with mine. Something this intimate only happens between lovers, right? Holding hands while fucking in the closet when there’s a party right outside the door? I can’t decide if this is the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done or if it’s the most romantic thing. 
Arguing with myself internally, a second finger breaches my entrance, filling me even more so than before. He’s incredible…almost skillful with his fingers. It’s sexy. And exciting. 
Expertly flicking his tongue, he finds the perfect spot with his fingertips, forcing me to buck my hips…fuck I’m so close already. How did he do this to me?
“Please…”
Everything comes to a halt. “Please what?”
“Fuck, Yeonjun, don’t do that to me.” 
“Don’t do what to you? Get you to talk to me?” I look down, defeated. How am I supposed to respond to that? Is that the only reason he’s doing this? Because I’ve been avoiding him and this was the only way he could think of to get me to talk to him? “Tell me what you want. What are you asking for?” Oh. It’s like that. Okay. 
“Please…” It’s already unbelievable that we’re doing this in a closet with a party going on outside. Prince Yeonjun is on his knees for me. And he’s making me beg? I can hardly take it. “Uh…” I stutter, trying to close my legs instinctively. He backs off, eyebrows furrowed. He’s worried about me. I didn’t mean it like that. “You’re not finished yet, are you?” I ask, pushing him back closer with my heel. 
“I’ll finish when you tell me what you want.”
Gracing my finger under his chin, I force him to look at me in the eye before saying, “Make me come. I need it so bad. Please.”  
Cocking his head to the side, he says, “I’ve always wanted to hear you beg for me.” 
My chest heaves as he dives back in for more, flicking his tongue the way I love, thrusting his fingers in and out of me. 
“Fuck, you feel good.” 
“You are delicious.” I’d love it if he could talk to me the way I—and hopefully he—likes. Dirty, up close and in my ear, but this’ll have to do for now. He can get to the real good stuff later. Will there be a later though? 
A white-hot feeling that someone hasn’t made me feel in quite some time quickly approaches. Deep in the pit of my stomach, it bubbles as my body tenses, breath shallow and quick. It builds and builds until all I want to hear him say is Come for me, darling. I know you’re so close. But I know he won’t. He has to stick to the matter at hand. 
With a sharp inhale, I moan and whimper, euphoria washing over me as my thighs tighten around his head. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this good. He’s incredibly talented—like I said, he’s an all or nothing kinda guy and I love that about him. 
“Fuck. Oh my god,” I gasp, my hips rolling needing more, more, more. Goddamn, I’m in trouble. “Holy shit.” I trail off, my breathing shallow. My eyes squeeze shut as my head drops back before my body starts flinching. “Thank you, Sir.”
My body goes slack as he slows down. Once I catch my breath, my eyes flutter open to see him looking at me with a cheeky smirk. He’s so fucking smug. 
“Sir?” 
Shit. That is just about the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been correcting myself for weeks, reminding myself to call him Prince Yeonjun, Your Majesty, Sir. I know he hates when I call him that, even in normal scenarios. I can’t imagine how mad he is now that I’ve called him that while giving me an orgasm. Not just any orgasm, though. One of the best I’ve had in months. All while wearing our formal wear too. Fuck, he looks so sexy in his uniform. Especially with it slightly disheveled, hair messy, gloves off. 
“It must’ve slipped.”
He simply stands, darkness and lust still in his eyes as his hands grip my hips, squeezing harshly before moving them up further to my waist. His right hand trails up even higher, cupping my face to force my ear to line up with his lips. “Call me that again next time.” Next time? There’s gonna be a next time? “Got it?”
Speechless, I compose myself before whispering, “Yes, Sir.”  
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cw. cunnilingus, mentions of previous bjs and hand jobs, mira is described as chubby/fat/curvy in a good way, hickeys, biting, masturbation.
YEONJUN'S POV
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“Mira,” I say simply as she walks by me looking gorgeous as always. Since our little rendezvous in the butler’s closet last month, we’ve “seen” each other several times since, each meeting ending with at least one of us coming. Nothing beyond oral and hand stuff—we still haven’t kissed or seen each other fully naked yet—but even so, it’s been amazing. She’s so good at it all. The teasing, the touching, the talking, all of it. I don’t think I can pick a favorite moment.
Maybe when she asked me to give her hickeys on the inside of her thighs. Her whispering, Give me hickeys, please…wanna look down and imagine you’re there after you’re gone. Oof. Chills. 
Or maybe when she laid her back against my chest and I rubbed her clit so perfectly, she dug her nails into my forearm for dear life, so hard it broke skin. I had to wear long sleeves for three days. 
Perhaps her seeing my cock for the first time, eyes wide as she said Oh my god, Sir. You have a beautiful cock. No one’s ever called me beautiful before, let alone my dick. That made me giddier than I even thought possible. 
“Yeon—Sir,” she quickly corrects herself in case anyone’s listening. Glancing around, we’re the only ones nearby. “You look nice. New uniform jacket?” I nod. 
Tonight’s occasion is much less grand than our first night together. A simple gathering with a few royals. It was the high-stakes donors I was hoping to get some money from tonight, but they’re all donationed-out it seems. 
“You look…” I look over her, never subtle about ogling her. “Absolutely stunning. New dress?” She subtly tilts her head. I stuff my hands in my pockets. What’s the point of delaying it any more? “I need to taste you again.”
“Already? You ate me out yesterday.”
“What can I say?” I chuckle. “I’ve got a craving.” She takes a deep breath before nodding at me, not changing her facial expression. “Closet, five minutes?” 
The closet isn’t the only place we’ve had our meetings but it is definitely our most frequented spot. Honorable mentions include the library, the sunroom, and under the willow tree where she laid back against me. That was only once but it was magical. 
As she turns away, I can’t help but wonder what the rest of her looks like. She’s got what feels like the most perfect ass, but I still haven’t gotten a good look at it. And her tits…good lord what I’d give to bury my face between her bare tits. 
“Prince Yeonjun?”
“Ah, Prince Sipho,” I say, returning his bow. “Nice to see you again.” He holds his hands behind him and maintains his intimidating eye contact. “I hope you’re enjoying dinner.”
“Can I ask for a favor?” He asks, almost urgently. 
“Sure.”
“I saw you were talking to Charlotte,” he says. “I danced with her last month and I never got her phone number.” His expression softens. “I realize how awkward and potentially inappropriate this is considering she’s on your staff. Would you mind providing me with her phone number?”
“I’m sorry,” I begin. “I don’t think I know a Charlotte.”
“You were just speaking with her,” he says matter-of-factly. “Right over there.” He tilts his head in the direction of…Mira? Happily prancing off in the direction of the closet. Our closet. Oh no. 
I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. Someone was bound to be interested in her at some point. I just didn’t think my competition would be another handsome prince. What am I saying? Competition? Stop being such an ass.
“You can ask her yourself, you know.” 
“Fair enough.”
“I don’t think now’s a good time though,” I rush to say, stopping him in his tracks before he turns around. “She’s busy. I just sent her to do a task.”
“Then I suppose you should give me her number now, then?”
After a few seconds of awkward silence, I finally speak up to say, “I’ll talk to her first. You know, make sure she’s comfortable with me giving out her phone number.”
“Of course.” He tilts his head and walks away. My mind races with questions. Did he sweep her off her feet? Have they slept together? Or worse: have they kissed? Why does he think her name is Charlotte? But I’ve gotta get back to the matter at hand.
“You’re already ready for me, hm?” I ask, seeing her proudly sitting on the countertop, waiting for me. She nods cutely, wiggling her feet back and forth. Locking the door, I take my gloves off one finger at a time before stuffing them in my pocket for safe keeping. Then I loosen my collar a bit, something I know she thinks is hot, so I always make a show out of it just for her. 
As I step closer, she grips the edge of the counter so tightly the veins on the back of her hand pop out. She crosses her ankles and looks down briefly but puts on a brave face to stare me in the eye. Wrapping my arms around her, I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. 
“You smell so good.” I’ve noticed she’s started wearing a specific perfume for special occasions—the gala last month, dinners like these, she even wore it once when she shyly asked me to eat her out again on a random Tuesday. 
“Thank you, Sir.” Never taking my lips off her neck, I feel all over her, albeit over her dress, but she feels lovely. Dropping to my knees, I lift her skirt up to access her thighs with my lips, placing kisses everywhere. And there they are—those gorgeous hickeys I gave her last week. Still there. I swipe my thumb across one before biting her skin gently.
“Can I ask you something?” She hums as I move closer and closer to her center. Glancing up at her, her eyelids have fluttered shut and her hands are in my hair. “Do you know Prince Sipho?” Her hands stop.
“I know of him,” she says plainly. “Why?”
“No reason,” I say, nudging her thigh with my nose to encourage her to open wider. I add, “Said he danced with you and I guess he likes you.” I place a kiss on the outside of her thong right between her pussy lips. “Asked me for your phone number.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
“...Oh.” She leans back, resting her hands behind her back for support. Is that a good oh or a bad oh?
“He thinks your name’s Charlotte though.” I chuckle. “What’s that about?”
“I don’t know,” she says awkwardly while I dig my fingers into her thong, pulling it down her legs, still watching her body language carefully. “That’s weird.” 
“Mira.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, but still welcomes my lips around her pussy. “I dunno—I wasn’t interested so I gave him a fake name. Doesn’t everyone do that?”
“Mm…I suppose,” I say, spreading her lips to flick my tongue against her clit. Fuck, she tastes amazing. Every fucking time. Her hand flies to my hair again, taking quick breaths. “Why wouldn’t you be interested in him?” 
“Can we not talk about Prince Sipho while you’re eating me out, please?”
“I was just curious.” 
Why wouldn’t she be interested, though? He’s definitely her type—tall, handsome, smart, royal. 
Images of them dancing together, arms wrapped around each other, his hand sliding further down her back make my vision red. 
Maybe she’s interested in someone else with those same qualities, perhaps even more devastatingly handsome than him. And hilarious, might I add. 
But thinking about her dancing with Sipho while thinking about me makes me giddy. When else does she think about me? When she’s eating breakfast? Doing her chores? Getting ready to go to bed? In the shower? When she touches herself? Oh. That sends shivers down my spine. 
“How often do you think about me, Mira?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, when do you think about me?”
She takes a deep breath, letting her head fall back against the wall, the slightest smile flashing over her lips before she says, “When I’m horny.”
“So you think about me when you touch yourself?” 
Her fingers stop again and she looks up, eyes wide like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been. I’d never let her see it, but I’m giggling on the inside. She’s so cute. 
“Um,” she clears her throat. “I guess, yeah.” There’s a looming awkward silence while I keep licking her. She’s trying not to react to how good it feels. Trying not to give in. 
“Well, go on.”
“What?” Mira asks. 
“Tell me,” I say. “Tell me exactly what you think about.” She takes a deep breath to collect herself, like she’s trying to hold back her noises and movements. I don’t like that she feels the need to do that with me. If anything, I crave hearing and feeling them. “It’s okay, you can tell me anything.”
Her breath hitches, eyes flitting away before locking back to mine. "I think about you touching me," she admits quietly, but I can tell she’s gaining confidence. "The way you did the first time.” She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "I think about your hands on my body," she continues. "The way you knew exactly where to touch me, how to make me feel..."
"How to make you feel what?" I prompt, my hands gently caressing her thighs, urging her to keep going while my mouth is nowhere near her pussy.
"How to make me feel good," she breathes out, her eyes closing as she loses herself in the memory and the feeling of my tongue on her clit. 
“Do you miss it? ” I ask, my breath hot against her skin. "Do you miss me when I’m gone and can’t make you feel good?”
She nods, her breath sharp and quick. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice trembling with desire. "I miss it so much." My hands continue to explore her body, relearning every curve and contour, desperate to rip this dress off her, but we haven’t crossed that boundary yet. 
"What else do you think about?" I ask, my voice a gentle command.
“The way you taste.”
"And how do I taste?" I ask, my lips ghosting over her skin, teasing her with the promise of more.
"Salty," she whispers, her voice hitching. I can’t tell if she means— “That’s a good thing.” I smile against her skin, relieved while my hands squeeze her thighs. “But I mostly think about your mouth. How good you are at this. Those hickeys you gave me have certainly come in handy.” 
“How so?” I slide two fingers inside her and her breath gets quicker. 
Groaning, she says, “Looking down at them turns me on so much.” She swipes her hand across them. “Thinking about us sneaking around like this. It makes me feel…dirty.” She giggles. “Is that cheesy?” I shake my head and start licking her clit again. “They need to stop assigning me tasks while you’re around.” I hum in question. “The other day they made me clean the studio while you were in your pottery lesson—why it couldn’t wait, I don’t know—but it was too much,” she says. “Watching you with your sleeves pushed up, your hands on the clay, oh my god, you were so hot. You had me hot and bothered all day long.”
I genuinely had no idea. She does a great job of hiding that. Little does she know, I was stealing glances of her that whole lesson—I don’t remember a single word my instructor said. The only thing I was looking at was her body, her curvy thighs, full breasts, squishy tummy, the greatest ass I’ve ever seen and I haven’t even seen it bare yet. “What did you do afterward?”
She hesitates, tensing up, holding back. “I don’t wanna say.”
I stop in my tracks. “Tell me.”
“No,” she whines. “Don’t make me.” Refusing to speak or look down at me, I pull away from her, looking at her like, I’m not gonna keep going until you tell me. With an insatiable eye roll, she finally speaks up, “I thought about you.” I look at her again like, That’s not enough and you know it. “Fine,” she says. Of course, if this truly bothered her, she knows our safe word. Tapping her fingers on the counter before bashfully looking away, she admits, “I thought about you while I touched myself.”
Satisfied, I give her a kitten lick on her clit, making her gasp. 
“I, uh…I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, at the hickeys you gave me.” I start licking more and more, rewarding her for talking. “I thought about what it would look like if someone walked in on us while you did this to me. Or what someone would think if they saw the hickeys you gave me.”
Her hips start to roll and I know I can’t speak anymore. Because that would mean taking my mouth off her pussy, which neither of us want. Instead, my grip on the fat of her thighs gets harsher and I stay steady with my mouth, knowing this is the exact speed and pressure she needs. 
“I thought about you ripping my dress off but then slowing down to take my thong and bra off,” she says. Well, that’s new. We’ve never mentioned anything further than this. Does she want something more than this? 
“About you pressing your bare chest against mine,” she adds breathlessly. “You licking my tits.” Her thoughts and words start speeding up, like she’s telling me not to stop no matter what. “You tapping my clit with your cock.” Oh my god. She wants to do things like that with me? Fuck. I can’t show how giddy that makes me, not right now at least. 
Her hands hold onto my hair for dear life. Her moans pitch up and increase speed, like a chant, getting louder and louder. “You fucking me from behind,” she says. “Fucking me so good I can hardly take it.” She’s so close. “Until—until…” She's panting, clearly right on the verge of reaching her orgasm. “I’m coming so good for you,” she whispers breathlessly. I can feel it when her thighs tremble, when her clit pulsates against my tongue, when her nails dig into my scalp. 
Catching her breath after she comes, she finishes off with a sweet, “Thank you, Sir.”
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cw. more yeonjun environmental activist, suggestive, cheesy idk. 
MIRA'S POV
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“I can’t believe you did this,” I spit at Yeonjun, messily packing my old beat up carry-on. He refolds one of my t-shirts and hands it to me. 
“I thought you’d be excited to go.” 
Scoffing, I put a fist on my hip and face him. “I’m going as your servant.” He rolls his eyes before shoving his hands in his pockets. “All the other servants already think there’s something going on between us. Requesting me for your dumb business trip is gonna look suspicious.”
“Dumb?” He’s visibly offended. “This is an important business trip for me.”
“Still. They won’t shut up about this for months and you know it.”
“I thought you said there was nothing to talk about,” he says smugly, but I ignore him. “Look, I knew you wouldn’t act all servant-y the whole time, okay? Mother insists I take someone, but I’m a grown-up. I can do things on my own,” he says. “I knew you would be…normal, I don’t know. You wouldn’t curtsy, be on edge, or call me Sir.”
I stop in my tracks to look him in the eye and ask, “Except for when you want me to, right?” I hadn’t thought about what we might do at the hotel while we’re gone. Would he invite me to his room so he could taste me? Would he surprise me with a knock on my door? Would he text me to meet him somewhere else? I don’t know but I admit I’m excited to find out. 
The next morning, I hoist my suitcase into the trunk of the town car while the chauffeur, Eston, opens the door for me. I’m greeted with a sleepy “Morning,” from Yeonjun as he hands me a travel mug full of coffee that I didn’t ask for, but I’m definitely grateful for. 
“We’re taking the same car?”
“Of course,” he says. “Less cars on the road.”
Oh my god, he looks so cute with his sleepy eyes and messy hair. Although he flies commercial everywhere he goes, he wears every disguise possible: hat, face mask, hoodie with the hood up, you name it. We get to go through security privately though, which is nice. 
After our long flight, I want nothing more than to crash into a nice, warm bed—actually, any bed will do. It’s still light, but it’s evening and I’m ready to go to bed early. While he handles check-in, I scroll through my phone—international data plan paid for by the Queen, thank you very much. 
On the elevator, I ask , “Which floor am I on?” 
“Seven.” I nod, reaching for the seven button on the elevator, but it only goes up to six. There’s only one above it, which is labeled ‘Penthouse.’
Wait. “Did you only get one room?”
“Well…”
“Yeonjun!” I scream-whisper. “What is wrong with you? What did you think—”
He holds his hands up to clarify, “It has two rooms, okay? I wasn’t trying to…I dunno, make anything happen. It seemed easier.” 
The room is truly magnificent. Luxurious gold silk drapes frame the windows to let light flood the room. Sofas and armchairs surround a marble fireplace—cozy yet regal, just how Yeonjun likes it. An intricately carved coffee table sits in the middle of the room holding a vase of fresh flowers. There’s even a piano sitting in the corner. 
The view from the terrace takes my breath away. The gorgeous blues of Lake Geneva and the snow-capped alps are gorgeous. The air is crisp and clean and refreshes my lungs from the inside out. I lean on the railing, letting the cool breeze brush against my face as calmness washes over me.
“Gorgeous, huh?” Yeonjun asks as he stands beside me, his eyes scanning the horizon. 
“This is fucking incredible,” I say, my gaze never waiving from the beauty of the landscape. 
“I knew you’d like it,” he says. I glance over at him and he gives me a warm smile. 
“You’ve been here?”
“I’ve never stayed in this hotel, but I’ve been to Geneva, yes.” 
There’s a silence. Like we both know we want to do something, but we’re unsure of exactly what. Go in for a hug? No. Let him wrap his arm around me? No. Kiss him? Absolutely not. We can’t fall into that relationship space. The tension presses down on us, unspoken but palpable.
“Well, I’m exhausted,” he says, breaking the silence. “Did you wanna take a shower first or…?” 
“You can go ahead,” I say as I walk through the room, planning to unpack a bit first. Extending my suitcase’s handle, I ask, “Where’s the other room?” He grimaces, avoiding my gaze. “What?”
“Don’t be mad,” he starts, but I’m already visibly mad. “I must’ve looked at the website wrong.” I brace for the inevitable while he braces for my reaction. “This is it.”
“Seriously, Yeonjun? One bed?.” This is not gonna turn into a cheesy only-one-bed-left story. Nope. I won’t let it. “You better get me another room.”
“I already called and they’re out.” I’m fuming. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says. My face softens. I didn’t necessarily want that. “Really, it’s okay.”
“Yeonjun,” I say, guilt in my voice. 
“Mira, it’s fine. Really. It was my mistake, so I’ll take the couch.” 
“Okay,” I say. “I guess you can’t do stuff on your own, then, huh?”
-
The next morning, I wake up in this giant bed. Alone. The smell of coffee is already wafting through the air. Stretching under the covers, I sit up to see Yeonjun on the terrace, reading a newspaper. Not on his phone—a literal printed newspaper. I don't even know where he got it. 
An adorable little prince sitting there with his luxurious silk PJs, fuzzy slippers, messy hair, and the cutest pair of glasses anyone’s ever seen. Before joining him, I pull a hoodie over my tank top.
“Aren’t I supposed to get you your coffee?” I ask, admiring the view of the lake. 
“When you wake up on time, yes,” he says, not looking up from his paper while he pushes up his glasses. 
“I…I’m sorry,” I say, forcing myself back into my professional persona. 
“No, it’s okay,” he chuckles, sitting his coffee on the coaster and looking at me. “I wasn’t trying to be bossy. You seemed like you needed sleep. And I can get my own coffee,” he says. “Besides, today is a day off. You can get me coffee tomorrow.” I nod. “Did you have plans today?”
“I dunno…maybe I’ll draw by the lake or something.” 
“I’m kayaking on the lake and having a picnic lunch if you want to join me,” he suggests. “You can bring your sketchbook.”
-
The lake shimmers like a bed of gems, crystal-clear waters reflecting the sunlight in brilliant shades of blue. As we paddle alongside each other, our rowing is rhythmic until we reach a small pebbled shore on the other side of the lake.
Yeonjun jumps out first, standing up in the water to pull his kayak to shore. He’s so charming with his crocs and shorts short enough to expose his muscular thighs. The t-shirt he’s got on is somehow the hottest thing I’ve ever seen him wear, perfectly accentuating his pecs and clinging to his biceps. And the cutest lake hat sits on his head, making me absolutely giddy. 
Without having to ask, he pulls my kayak in so I don’t need to step in the water or pull it up myself. He offers his hand to me with a smile, my fingers lingering a bit too long after I stand to my feet. 
While I set up the blanket on the pebbled shore, I ask, “What’s tomorrow’s meeting about?”
His eyes light up while he unpacks our picnic. "Tomorrow's meeting is with the Global Environment Facility," he begins, settling back against the kayak, pouring some juice into two glasses. "We're discussing several things, but we’ll be focusing on keeping our water clean.” He tilts his head toward the sparkling Lake Geneva in front of us, its pristine waters a reminder of the importance of this endeavor. "Access to clean water is a fundamental human right," he says passionately. “But there’s so much…crap in them. You know 26% of the world doesn’t have access to safe drinking water?” My eyes widen. “And so many beautiful oceans and rivers and lakes like this one keep getting trashed.” 
His dedication is contagious, and I find myself leaning in, captivated by his words. "It's more than policies and proposals," he continues. "It's about creating real, tangible changes that will protect our planet.” He smiles, a mix of determination and hope in his expression. "I mean, I dunno…it’s a big goal I guess,” he says, glancing down in embarrassment. 
“Seems like you’re actually doing something about it.”
“We’re at least trying to make change happen.”
Sitting on the blanket, I fest my legs out in front of me with my hands supporting me from behind. He hands me a glass while he sits criss-cross next to me. “You seem really passionate about it,” I say. 
“I am,” he nods.
A comfortable silence settles over us as we enjoy our meal. Afterward, he takes his book out of his backpack, reclining back to rest his head against the kayak. I take out my sketchbook and pencils, setting it up against my knees and thighs. 
I try to focus on capturing the serenity of the lake, but my eyes keep drifting to him. His presence is so comforting and I’m reminded of that every time we’re alone like this. Watching him, I can’t help but think about what it would feel like to rest my cheek against his chest. Warm. Strong. Safe. 
“Yeonjun?”
“Hm?” He looks up at me from under his hat, but I don’t know what to say. After a few seconds of silence, he sits up completely and asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I stutter, returning to my drawing. 
An hour or so passes—I’ve made great progress on my drawing and it seems like he made a nice dent in his book, but the sun’s setting fast. 
“We should probably go soon,” he notes. “We shouldn’t kayak in the dark and it’ll probably take an hour to get back.”
-
“Everything okay?” Yeonjun asks, startling me on the terrace. I hum, avoiding looking at him. He looks too good after showers—hair damp and skin pink from the hot water—so I better not take a peek. I’ve clipped my wet hair up—it holds its waves better that way. 
“I’m finishing up this drawing I started at the lake. Adding some watercolor.” 
“Is that me?” He asks, pulling the other seat around to sit next to me. 
“Yeah,” I nod awkwardly. “I just drew what I saw.” I say, giving in and glancing at him while he smiles to himself as he examines the art. 
Seconds pass before he adds, “I had a lot of fun today.”
“Me too,” I say, my arms crossed. He’s so, so close to me. 
“Yeah?” I hum. “Since you showed me this,” he says, gesturing to the drawing. “I’ll show you this picture I took of you,” he says, reaching for his phone in his pocket. Leaning even closer to me, I feel his warmth. I must say I look pretty. My hair’s windswept, I have a nice pink in my cheeks, and I look genuinely happy looking out over the water. His fingers mindlessly touch mine while he looks at me. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says. “You know, on the picnic.”
“No worries,” I say. 
“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he says, not moving an inch. Oh my god, he looks so kissable right now. I can’t believe how long we’ve gone without kissing each other even once. I didn’t think we’d last one week after we started…whatever we’re doing. Hooking up? 
Regardless, I’m relieved. We should not be starting something right now. He’s my boss. My boss and my ex that broke my heart. 
But we’re leaning in closer and closer, like we’re about to—don’t you dare. I catch myself first. 
“You can, uh…you can sleep in the bed with me if you want,” I whisper. He shakes his head and starts to protest. “Really, it’s okay. Swear. It’s a huge bed.”
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cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, yeonjun environmental activist, eating food.
YEONJUN'S POV
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As I make my way toward the grand conference hall, the weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. Today's meeting is a pivotal moment in my advocacy work and I need to be right on. I love this though. Speaking for what I believe in. Convincing people. And admittedly, sounding smart, which I am.
Glancing over my shoulder, Mira follows close behind me, which is what she’s meant to be doing. It still sends shivers down my spine. Our return to our professional roles after our idyllic kayaking excursion feels strange, but duty calls and we both have our parts to play. I square my shoulders and quicken my pace, the marble floors echoing under my feet. 
With a final glance back at Mira, she offers an encouraging smile and asks, “Ready?” I take a deep breath. “You’re gonna be great.” She opens the door and I step into the grandeur of the conference room. The air is charged with energy, a palpable sense of purpose radiating throughout the room. 
Taking my place at the head of the table, pride and excitement surges through me. This is it—the moment I’ve been preparing for, the chance to make a real difference.
-
Coming back home—hotel room—I’m exhausted but exhilarated. As I’m about to collapse onto the couch, a knock at the living room entryway wakes me up. 
“You hungry?” Mira asks, flipping through the room service menu. 
“Order whatever you like.”
“What would you like?”
“Anything’s fine. I’m not picky.”
After she places the order on the phone, we chat about the meeting a bit, but it isn’t long before the conversation gets lighter. We laugh about our kayaking adventure yesterday, recalling the near-disaster when I almost tripped into the water face first. The room service arrives promptly, and we dig into our meal. 
"So, tell me," she says between bites of her spaghetti, "what got you interested in environmental advocacy in the first place?"
I lean back, chewing the bite of pizza in thought. "I guess it started when I was a kid. You remember how much I loved nature even back then.” She nods. “Whenever I got stressed, I’d go outside—you know, for a walk, camping, whatever, and one day, I looked around and only saw wealthy people and it was one of those moments where I realized how lucky I am,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “Access to nature is a fundamental human right. It’s already inaccessible to many and it’s only getting worse.”
She nods. “It's easy to take it for granted.”
“It was something I’d never thought about,” I chuckle. “I was a fucking prick back then.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, a little too easily. She’s not wrong though.
“As I got older, I started to see the impact of pollution and climate change. I knew I had to do something, even if it was just a small part."
We continue talking late into the night, sharing stories and dreams, discovering new facets of each other's personalities. It’s in these quiet moments I cherish that I get to see some real parts of her, like in the garden, when she painted my portrait, when we went kayaking. 
“What’s something you’re passionate about?” I ask. She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nah, come on, you gotta be passionate about something.” Shrugging, she shakes her head. “How about your art?”
Smiling to herself, she asks, “What about it?”
“Why are you an artist?”
She leans back, tracing patterns of the fabric on the couch with her finger. "This is cheesy but when I look around, I see colors, shapes, emotions. When I draw or paint or whatever, it's like I'm putting pieces together, creating something whole. It’s not about making something beautiful, but capturing a moment or a feeling, things I can’t say out loud,” she says, glancing around the room bashfully. “Or whatever.”
“Not or whatever. You need to give yourself more credit.”
She nods shyly, looking down with a grin. "I remember this painting I did. It was of an old barn, you know, out of town a bit. Everyone thought it was just a pretty picture of decay. But it was about resilience, how even in decay, there’s a story that refuses to be forgotten, even if it can’t speak for itself or if no one’s listening but me.” I nod. “That’s what I really love. Finding those moments that only a few people notice. It’s like saying, ‘Hey, I see you and I feel this too.’” That’s amazing. She’s never spoken so candidly like this with me before. “Like when you asked if I was gonna paint your freckle and your birthmark, like, of course I am! That’s a part of you and I see you, you know?”
I chuckle with her. “Do you have a favorite piece?”
She thinks for a moment. “Probably a painting I did of my grandmother’s hands. She was a seamstress, and her hands were always so busy, always creating. When she wasn’t sewing, she was sketching, measuring, creating patterns. It was my way of honoring her, capturing her essence. Her hands have so many stories to tell.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “She was the one person in my family I really wanted you to meet back then.”
“Invite her over for dinner some time,” I suggest. 
“She, uh,” She clears her throat. “She passed a couple years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” She waves her hand. “I would’ve loved to have met her.”
“It’s okay.” But her eyes are tearing up just a bit. She blinks them away and adds, “She meant so much to me, but I guess that’s…how things go.”
“Where’s that painting now?”
“It’s back home, like, my home home, not the castle.” 
“I’d love to see it.”
“I’ll find it the next time I go back home and bring it back with me.” As the conversation winds down, we sit in comfortable silence as the city lights cast a soft glow through the window. "I should probably let you get some rest," Mira says, breaking the silence.
I nod, feeling a pang of reluctance. "Yeah, we have another busy day tomorrow."
She stands up, but before she leaves, she turns to me, her expression gentle. "Goodnight, Yeonjun. And thank you for tonight. It was nice to just...talk."
"It was,” I reply. “Let's do it again sometime."
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cw. cunnilingus, protected sex, mira’s body is described as squishy/chubby in a good way, mention of moles and vvv brief mention of armpits, toys, body worship, masturbation, pet names (darling, love, babe, baby).
YEONJUN'S POV
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After another grueling meeting, I’ve ditched my tie and unbuttoned a few of my shirt buttons while Mira has completely changed into lounge clothes back at the hotel room. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense her watching me, leaning up against the wall. But I let it slide. I don’t think she realizes how often she does it. 
“How did today’s meeting go?” She asks. 
“You were there.”
“I know, but how did it go from your perspective?”
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events fresh in my mind. "It was intense," I start, a mix of relief and excitement in my voice. "We covered a lot of ground. Like I said, we talked about keeping waters clean.”
“Did you all come up with any new ideas?"
"Actually, yes," I say, a spark of enthusiasm igniting. "We talked about implementing advanced watershed management and enhancing wastewater treatment technologies. But what really stood out was the proposal for a global initiative to reduce industrial runoff. It's ambitious, but the potential impact is huge."
She nods, clearly intrigued. "Was everyone on board?"
"For the most part," I reply, recalling the lively debates. "There were a few moments of contention, especially when it came to funding, so I’ll be doing a lot of fundraising for awhile, but everyone agreed they seem like good ideas.”
Mira's smile is warm and encouraging. "I'm glad it went well.” Her words, simple yet heartfelt, warm me up. She finally pipes up again to add, “You looked hot up there.” 
I chuckle. “Yeah?” She nods. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she starts, walking closer to me. “How smart and passionate you are. That’s hot.” That is exactly what I was hoping she’d say. I kept catching myself stealing glances of her during the meetings. It was hard to tell if she was looking at me to look at me or because that’s technically her job. Even if it is her job, I can tell between her different looks—her checking in look, her secretly admiring me look, and her I need you and I need you now look, which might be my favorite.
The look she’s got on her face is starting to lean toward that last one, but she’s not quite there yet. I only observe, let her fall into that place if she wants to.
“Well, thank you,” I tilt my head in her direction before the piano behind her catches my attention. “You know, I’ve been taking piano lessons.” She hums. Sometimes I forget it's also her job to know everything about me—everything about my schedule and activities at least. “You still like classical music, right?” She nods gently, a slight smile constantly on her lips. 
I’m not the best at piano, so I start fumbling through Moonlight Sonata. Giggling through every wrong note, she brushes some hair away from my face. 
“Ah, I need the sheet music,” I say quietly. Wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs, I know she’s still staring at me with look number three: I need you and I need you now. All professionalism has gone out the window. The biker shorts she’s wearing outlines her stomach perfectly, her thighs barely bulge at the hem, and her tank top accentuates her breasts beautifully. She’s a stunner. 
I reach for her hand and drag my thumb across her knuckles. My hands rest against the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer so she steps between my legs, my hand moving to her backside, squeezing her so deliciously. Her hands rest on my shoulders as I bury my nose between her breasts, taking a deep breath. She always smells so goddamn amazing. 
“I need you,” she whispers as her fingertips drag across my scalp. 
“I know, darling.”
“No,” she chuckles. “I need more from you this time,” she says breathlessly. I stand up straight, looking down at her as she looks at me through her eyelashes. “I need you inside me. Please.” 
“Of course,” I say, diving straight for her lips, but she turns her head, so my lips crash into her cheek. 
“Did I say you could kiss me?” Picking her up, I let my face rest in her chest again as I carry her to the bed, praying I don’t trip over anything along the way. As I sit her down on the mattress, she says, “Kiss me everywhere but my mouth, okay? Everywhere.” 
I don’t wanna argue with the no kissing rule right now, so I simply nod, covering her neck with kisses while I tug her shorts off her legs. Holding her leg by her ankle, I press my lips to it, trailing it all the way up to her thigh while her hand slips under her thong. I’m looking over her body, closing my eyes for a few seconds at a time, but I can feel her eyes on me. 
“Everywhere, babe,” she reminds me. Babe? I decide not to mention it—don’t ruin the moment. I slowly lift her shirt, but she gets impatient and takes it off herself, throwing it somewhere before tugging at the hem of mine, hinting at me to ditch it. 
My lips land right above her bra, kissing and nipping the tops of her breasts. I literally can’t wait to see her completely, so I waste no time in snapping it off and taking a second to admire her. Then, I gently kiss her neck and feel her whole body with my hands. Warm, soft, welcoming, curvy, squishy, perfect. 
When I squeeze her tit for the first time, she moans, arching her back while I sloppily stamp her collarbone with my lips. I want nothing more than to lick her nipples—it’s all I’ve thought about for the last few days—but…I dunno. I’m nervous. 
“Jjun…please,” she starts. There’s that nickname. It made my heart sing when she accidentally called me that a couple months ago. It used to slip past her lips so easily when we were together all those years ago, but now she stays so formal. “Lick my nipples, please.” 
Tongue flicking her nipple, her eyes roll back as her body follows. As I kiss further down her body toward her tummy, she reaches for my hair and pulls, making both our breath quicken. She takes the liberty of taking off her own thong and I get rid of my pants. 
We’ve been desperate for this. Desperate to actually feel each other’s bodies. Not clothing-clad bodies, but bare, vulnerable, warm bodies that want each other. And I can’t get enough. I thought I could taste her forever, but now that I’ve gotten my hands on her, on her squishy, chubby body, I’ll never be able to keep my hands off her.
She starts to get impatient, but I’m not finished with her yet. Landing back on top of her, I say, “Lemme just…kiss on ya for a second, okay?”
“Not my—”
“Not your mouth, I know,” I say, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, trailing down her jaw and sneaking in to nuzzle her neck. Whispering into her ear, I tell her, “I love making you gasp like that.” She chuckles, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, but I grab them and put them over her head to continue kissing her everywhere, tasting each bit of her with the tip of my tongue before pressing my lips to her. Her collarbone, her shoulders, her underarms. Everywhere.
She’s got the cutest mole on her side of her breast I kiss three times before moving on. 
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips when I gently kiss under her breasts. I lick a stripe up her chest between them, making eye contact with her, followed by a harsh bite of one of them. Reaching for her arm, I kiss her palm, then gently suck on the tip of her pointer finger. 
“Remember when you painted that portrait of me?”
“How could I forget?”
“When you put this pinky on my face,” I say, sucking on the tip of it. “I thought I was gonna explode. Feeling you so close to me like that. You looked so pretty that day too. With the sun shining in through the window and the plants around you.” Okay, shut up dork, too many feelings. I squeeze her tits harshly, burying my face in them. “Fuck, you’re so sexy.” 
Rubbing up and down her sides, she scrunches her shoulders, letting out a giggle. I kiss and bite her tummy—I’ve always loved her stomach, but especially so when she wears biker shorts. The way the fabric pulls, creating an outline of her tummy with rays of fabric going toward her hips. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. And to finally see her bare tummy right here in front of me, there’s no way I’m not gonna cover it in kisses. 
“Why are you being all touchy?”
Why wouldn’t I be? Spreading her lips, she looks absolutely delicious. I lick her clit, earning one of the most gorgeous moans I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth. 
“I told you, Sir,” she says. “I want all of you this time.” 
“I know. I’m just tasting you, darling.” I glance up at her. “You thought I was gonna fuck you and not taste you first?” 
Grinding against my mouth, she can hardly take it before she starts begging. “Please, please, please, Yeonjun. I need your cock inside me. Please. I need it so bad.” 
“You’ve never had to beg like this before, hm?”
“Nope,” she says. “People usually do what I ask.” Standing, I leave her briefly for a condom that’s in my toiletries bag in the bathroom. When I come back, she asks, “Prepared, huh?” I nod awkwardly. “Wait, wait,” she stops me from rolling the condom down myself. “Let me see you.” I stand back, letting her look at me in awe before she reaches her hands out, rubbing all over my chest and stomach, kissing my hips, squeezing my balls and licking my nipple, making me gasp. 
Taking a deep breath, I admit, “I want to fuck you so bad, Mira.”
Sitting up on her knees, she reaches for my hand and places it on her breast before leaning into my ear to whisper, “Then fuck me, Sir.” Then, she takes the condom and rolls it down my cock, drawing out the process as long as she possibly can. “Your cock is so fucking beautiful,” she says. “I’m still not over it.”
She lays on her back and spreads her legs while I think of all the things I wanna do to her. I really wanna kiss her, but I can’t. She’s right. We shouldn’t. Resting between her legs, I rub my hands over her body again, taking my time contemplating, even if she protests, claiming I’m teasing her too much. But she teased me, so now I get to tease her. 
Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we’d never get past oral in the closet. I line myself up with her entrance, bending to press my lips to her neck and whisper, “Are you sure?” 
“Yeonjun,” she says, placing a hand on my cheek to force me to look at her. “I’m sure. Are you sure?” 
“Absolutely.” 
As I push into her slowly, my whole world comes crumbling down around me. She is perfection. The way she wraps around me like a warm blanket, her eyes full of pleasure sparkling up at mine, the noises she’s making. Nothing else matters anymore but her. 
She breathes out like she’s relieved and says, “I’ve been waiting for this for seven years.” My head reels. Our arms wrap around each other as I find a slow and steady pace. Everything is her. She fits right in my arms as her nails claw at my back and her legs wrap around my waist to make sure I won't go anywhere, which I won’t. But I need to see the way her body moves. 
Sitting up, I stare down at her, pumping in and out, her tits bouncing with every move I make. Finding her clit with my thumb, the noise she makes in response is intoxicating. She arches her back, squeezing her own tit, which is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
“That’s my girl.” Can I call her that? I don’t care. I’m going to. 
She giggles and scratches my thigh, whispering, “You feel so good. Faster?” And I can’t help but comply, speeding up my thrusts but maintaining control. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up though. I want…need to go faster and she’s asking me to, but I also want to take things slow, be with her forever. “Faster, please,” she almost sounds like she’s in tears. 
I don’t go much faster, though. This has to be perfect. I can’t be too much. But—
“Hey, stop for a second,” she says genuinely and I oblige, slipping out of her to sit back on my knees. She sits up and reaches for my hands. “Come here,” she says, pulling me closer so our chests are grazing each other’s. “Are you okay?” I nod enthusiastically. “It seems like you’re holding back.” 
“I just…you feel so good and I don’t wanna get carried away. And I don’t know your, like, limits.”
“You can fuck me so hard—no, I want you to fuck me so hard. You don’t have to hold back, okay?” She reaches down and squeezes my cock, waiting for a reaction from me. “I’ve been waiting for this cock and I need you to fuck me and don’t stop until I’m begging you to.” She smiles. “Unless you ever wanna stop, of course.” I nod. “Did you wanna take it slow?”
Without giving my brain time to process, I flip her onto her stomach, yanking her up by her hips so she’s on her knees, ass up. I gather her hair in a makeshift ponytail before thrusting into her so hard it takes her breath away. She feels indescribable—a radiating ache overcomes me and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let her go after this. 
My thrusts reach a speed finally fast enough for her as she’s whimpering on my cock, shuddering from the feeling of me buried deep inside her. The room fills with the sound of my thighs smacking her ass, making ripples roll down her cheeks. My hand tingles wanting to spank her, but that’s a bit much, no? But she said not to hold back.
I decide to indulge myself, spanking her harshly, my hand making a loud smack, earning an irresistible moan from her. She whispers, “Thank you.”
“Thank you, who?”
“Thank you, Sir,” she whimpers. I spank her again, rubbing it to soothe the sting. I’m fucking her so fast and hard that we’re both sweating, skin getting sticky and slick. Pushing on the small of her back to deepen her arch, I find an even deeper spot inside her. “Ohmygod—” Mira gasps. 
“You sound so sexy,” I groan. I don’t want her to hold back either. I want her to be as loud as she wants to be. No one else is on this floor anyway. Pulling her up by her shoulder, I reach in front of her to rub her clit, her head dropping back and onto my shoulder. 
Slipping out of her, she shudders and whines at the sudden loss but I turn her around so she’s on her back before I land on top of her again, pinning her hands above her head. Her knees fall open and I hook my hands under her thighs before thrusting back into her, earning an incredible eye roll from her. 
“Fuck, Yeonjun.”
“I know, darling,” I say lowly. I wonder if she actually likes it when I call her that. Should I call her something else? Baby? Babe? Love? 
The speed of my thrusts increases again, while I massage her tit. She grips her legs by the back of her knees, holding them wide open for me. “Look at you…being such a good girl for me, hm?” Using my body, I push her legs down gently, letting me in even deeper. Our faces are so close to each other, her lips are just begging to be kissed, but I resist. 
She takes a deep breath, her eyebrows stitch together and she looks up at me before saying with the most genuine sounding voice, “You’re so pretty.”
That makes me absolutely gush. My shoulders scrunch as I run my fingers through my hair before I bend to lick one of her nipples so slowly she can hardly stand it. Kissing up her chest, I whisper, “You’re fucking beautiful, Mira.” Her arms wrap around my neck to pull me closer. 
“Wait, Yeonjun,” she says. I stop in my tracks. “Can you, uh…” she asks, pushing me out of her before getting up off the bed. 
“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Did I hurt you?”
She’s rummaging through her bag and replies, “No, Sir.” Returning, she hands me a small clit vibrator. Oh. “Can you, um…can you use that on me?”
“Whatever you wish, darling,” I say, watching her lay on her back again, spreading her legs open for me. I switch her toy on to the lowest setting. “Do you think about me when you use this to make yourself feel good?” Before she can answer, I place it onto her clit. 
Gasping and nodding, she says, “Yes, Sir.” Her fingers grip the sheets before she admits, “I think about you every time.” She sighs. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”
“Of course.”
“What do you think about doing to me?”
“I think about licking all over you. About making you feel good,” I say. “About you screaming my name.”
“You like making me feel good?” 
I nod and we’re both desperate as ever now. Desperate to feel each other. To come together. I thrust back into her, quickly reaching a speed we both like, increasing the intensity of the toy along the way. Her mouth drops open as she furrows her eyebrows, her moans getting higher pitched and quicker. 
“Mira, I wanna see you cum.”
Dropping one of her legs, she wraps it around my waist, grabbing my forearm, clearly close to losing it. “Don’t stop, babe,” she whimpers. I shake my head. “Please, Yeonjun, don’t stop.”
“I’m not gonna stop, darling.”
I reach the deepest part of her, and she finally lets go—eyes rolling back, thighs trembling, clit shuddering under the toy. She’s fucking stunning when she cums. Her other leg falls to the bed while she moans out loud, the corners of her mouth curving upward. “Babe, fuck,” she says breathlessly, “You’re making me cum so hard.”
My thrusts get sloppier and I bury my free hand in her soft waves, groaning and whimpering in her ear as I cum inside her, collapsing on her shoulder. That was truly the best I’ve ever felt. 
Forehead glistening with sweat under the moonlight barely shining through the bedroom window, she looks fucking gorgeous. Her post-sex glow would make anyone swoon. My stomach swirls with emotions. I need her. But I just had her. But I need more. No, I need something else. 
“I wanna kiss you,” she says. Fuck, don’t do this to me. “Please?”
I think about it for a second—I really do. That’s what I want, no, that’s exactly what I need, but— “You told me not to.” 
Shaking her head, she admits, “I don’t care.” She looks absolutely kissable right now. I need to feel her lips on mine again. Passing by each other in the hallway and pretending not to be fucking has been miserable. Every time I see her, I refrain from running up and wrapping my arms around her to give her the best kiss she’s ever had. Not being able to do that has been bad enough, but not even kissing her when I’m literally still inside her? Now that’s torture. 
The way she looks at me too—up through her eyelashes, eyes glistening from pure pleasure, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen and utterly plump.
She hooks two fingers under my necklace to pull me closer, tilting her chin up toward me. Fuck, don’t do that. My heart races. “Please,” she says. “I need to kiss you.” 
No. Don’t. She’s the one that initiated the no kissing rule. And for good reason. We shouldn’t get involved right now. I let her tug me a few inches closer, but I dodge her lips and turn to my side to lean on the bed before clearing my throat.
“Let’s go take a shower, yeah?” I suggest. 
She sighs and says, “Okay.” Standing up silently, I watch her walk slowly to the bathroom, her body moving so beautifully, but I can tell she’s upset even from behind. I plop down on my back. Did I do the right thing? I want to kiss her more than anything but she’s told me over and over again not to. I didn’t want her to regret something because of the heat of the moment. I don’t want her to feel like I took advantage of her but I also don’t want her to feel like I don’t want her. 
The shower turns on, making me stand up. I catch her looking at herself in the mirror before she glances down. Without speaking, we both get in the huge shower that luckily has two shower heads. She wets her hair then smiles at me sweetly. 
“Can I at least have a hug?” She asks. I chuckle, opening my arms up to her. She wraps her arms around my waist. We wash the day off each other—stressful meetings, long walks to and from the conference center, the amazing sex we just had. The room is mostly silent with the occasional Can you hand me my soap? 
After drying off, we crawl back into the shared bed. I’m sitting up with my back against the headboard while I flick through the TV channels. Half laying down and half resting against the headboard, she keeps awkwardly moving closer to me, opening her mouth and breathing in like she wants to say something but never does.
I slouch a bit to get to her level before opening up my arm up to her and so she can lay her head on my chest. As she snuggles into me, I swear I could die happy right here. The air is calm and sweet and warm, her presence provides an overwhelming sense of comfort and I can’t help but graze my fingers up and down her arm until she falls asleep. 
As predicted, insomnia is my enemy tonight. Questions swirl around my mind. 
Should I have kissed her? What does she want after this? What’s she gonna be like tomorrow morning? How should I act tomorrow morning? After eating some almonds and a banana to try and induce sleep, I go for a walk around the hotel, trying to tire out my body and mind. Eventually, I lay back down thinking about what I really want between the two of us.
Normally, I’d squeeze my eyes shut to picture her lips and eyelashes, but the real Mira is lying right next to me. But I probably shouldn’t stare at her without her permission. With the warmth of thinking of her, there’s also a tug of uncertainty. What if she doesn’t feel the same way I do? What if she just wanted sex? I couldn’t really be mad at her for that, though. That’s what we both wanted at the beginning, even if there may have been some underlying feelings. That’s at least all we were expecting. 
Sighing, I turn away from her, thoughts tangling into each other, emotions pulling on the threads in every direction. I count my breaths, slow and steady, but each breath is full of her scent, making things worse, the adrenaline of unspoken feelings keeping me awake. 
Time stretches out and I look at my phone, the clock glaring back at me—4:37 AM. Another sigh escapes me, heavier this time. My meetings are done for the week, but I don’t like massive changes in my sleep schedule, even when I'm abroad. 
Pulling the covers over my head, I block out the world before quietly whispering her name, like it’s a confession I hope she may hear. I’m answered only by the faintest of snores that have been steady for hours. Finally, my thoughts blur, exhaustion pulling me into a restless sleep. But even in my dreams, she’s there, a shadow at the edge of consciousness.
-
“Hey,” I say groggily to Mira. “What happened to you?” Mira’s already dressed in her work clothes with her hair neatly tied back. The smell of the coffee she’s pouring wafts through the air and warms me up. I start to hug her from behind, but—
“I made coffee,” she replies, her tone professional and clipped. 
“Why’d you get out of bed?”
“To work. That’s why I’m here.” Her voice is detached and she finally turns to look at me. 
Searching her face for the warmth I’d seen last night, I say, “Yeah, but I thought after—”
“We shouldn’t have done that last night.”
“What?”
“Sex,” she says matter-of-factly. “We should not have had sex last night.”
“I know what you meant, but why not?” I ask, my heart pounding. “We’ve been practically having sex for months now.”
“Last night was different.” 
“So?”
Mira takes a deep breath before sitting the coffee pot back on the table. “Because, Yeonjun, I’m your servant and we used to date and now…”
“And now what? We pretend it didn’t happen?” Anger and frustration bubbles inside me. Whether I consciously knew it or not, I’d made my decision last night. I want to be with her for real and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, as long as she’ll have me. I was hoping she felt the same way, but she’s still not willing to admit the depth of our relationship out loud. “Mira, last night was…it was real. You can’t just ignore that.”
She looks away from me, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t do this anymore.”
My heart races faster with each step I take toward her. “It’s okay to have feelings.”
“No, it’s not,” she spits, twisting her head back to look at me. “I cannot do this again. We cannot do this again.” I start to interrupt. “I don’t wanna hear it, Yeonjun.”
“Mira, please—”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking. “We have to end this before it even starts.” Her words bring a finality to us before she walks out of the kitchenette and onto the balcony. I suppose that’s it then. 
The silence left in her wake is deafening. I slump into a chair, running my hands through my hair, the weight of every unspoken word heavy on my shoulders. The morning light filters through the window, casting long shadows across the room. It’s surreal. 
No. This is not how we end.
Following her out onto the balcony, she stands with her back to me, staring blankly at the lake. The same lake we kayaked on together a few days ago. I envy the serenity of the water. “Mira, you can’t just walk away,” I say softly, hoping to reach her through the wall she’s built around herself. 
She doesn’t turn, but her shoulders tense. “You said it yourself, Yeonjun. I’m nothing. We couldn’t even be together even if we wanted to.” 
“Is that what this is about? You’re still upset about something I said seven years ago?” She shakes her head. “Then what is it?” She keeps turning away from me. And ignoring me. “Talk to me. Please.” 
“There’s nothing left to say.”
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cw. crying, kissing. 
MIRA'S POV
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The rest of our trip to Switzerland was business as usual. I made sure of it. I woke up on time, got his coffee, did everything a servant does and in the manner a servant would do. No smiles. No anger. Just business. 
“What’s been up with you recently?” Hyomin shakes me out of my daydreaming—or daynightmaring, perhaps—replaying that morning with Yeonjun. How hurt he looked. How it felt to break my own heart. How it felt to break his heart. “You haven’t been acting like yourself. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say, glancing over at Yeonjun sitting at the dining table without even realizing it at first. 
Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Did something happen between you two?”
“No,” I say harshly. 
“You can’t be serious.” I shrug. “You went to Switzerland together for a week and nothing happened? Not even a kiss or a not-so-platonic hug?”
“I have work to do, Hyomin.” Shaking my head, I stomp away in the direction of my room. Slamming my door shut, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears from coming but it's no use. My phone buzzes but I already know who it is. 
Yeonjun 3:52 PM Are you ever gonna talk to me again?
It’s been four days since Switzerland but that’s the twelfth message since we got back. 
Can we talk? Can you meet me in our closet tonight? Just to talk, nothing else. I’d really like to talk to you. Please stop ignoring me. 
I have sent zero. I can’t bring myself to. Tossing my phone on my mattress, there’s a black dress bag and a note on my bed. 
For Saturday. –Y
Are you fucking kidding me? He’s buying me gifts now? What kind of relationship does he think we have? We make each other come a few times, have sex in Switzerland once and now he won’t stop texting me and buying me dresses? Fuck this. 
Me. 4:01 PM Closet. Now.
-
“Hello, darling,” Yeonjun says smugly as I slam the door shut. 
“What the fuck is this, Yeonjun?” I scream-whisper, shoving the dress bag into his chest as his face turns horrified. 
“A dress,” he says defensively, trying to not let the dress bag fall to the floor. 
“Don’t patronize me,” I spit. “You think you can buy me or something?” He shakes his head nervously. “Taking me to Switzerland, staying in a fancy hotel, buying me food, now you’re buying me an expensive dress?”
“I took you to Switzerland as a member of my staff,” he reminds me.
“If you think for one second that I’ll just come running back to you because of this—”
He grabs me by my forearm and gently yanks me close to him to stare down at me hungrily, like he wants to take me right then and there. I know this look very well by this point. 
“You’re cute when you’re mad at me.”
“Shut up.” I throw the dress down and attempt to turn away from him. “Leave me alone, Yeonjun.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firmly enough to prevent me from going anywhere. 
“Why are you so angry, really? Is it the gifts, or is it because you’re scared of what this means?” I glare at him, feeling the anger bubble up again. 
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes. He sighs, letting go of my arm but not stepping back. 
“I’m not trying to buy you, okay? I just...I like you. And I want to do things for you.”
I cross my arms, trying to maintain the obviousness of my anger but I can’t help I’m shocked. He likes me? Like that? I mean, I was hopeful but I never thought he’d ever say it out loud. Should I say it too? I almost think about it, but instead, I ask, “You think throwing money at me will make me like you more?”
“No,” he says softly, surprising me. “I just don’t know what to do, Mira,” he raises his voice. “You’re ignoring me and I want to show you I care about you.”
“I know you care about me, Yeonjun. I’m telling you to stop caring about me,” I say sternly. “It’s over.”
Over the next few days, he stops texting me, talking to me, I don’t even catch him glancing at me like I usually do several times a day. He must be avoiding me—or doing exactly what I asked him to do, I guess. Which pisses me off too. 
Saturday rolls around and we have yet another fancy dinner to host. The Queen pulled out all the stops for this one too—amazing food, open bar with fancy drinks, great music, even greater decorations. It’s gorgeous. I’d realized I should probably stop being such a bitch and make amends with him. As a gesture, I show up wearing the dress he gave me. 
“Prince Yeonjun?” I ask, watching his ears perk up as he turns around, a clear smile on his face at the sound of my voice. “Can I have a dance, please?” His face relaxes as he nods before he extends his hand to take me to the dancefloor. He performs his customary bow, followed by my curtsy. My tummy tingles a bit at the formality of it all. I feel like a princess. 
As my hand falls into his, nothing matters. Not our history. Not our future. Not his title. Not the lack of mine. I’m with him. We’re together. The soft music from the chamber orchestra is perfect accompaniment for us. 
I’d thought about the idea of us for so long. What we could be, what I want us to be, what I think he wants us to be. I don’t think it’ll ever work, but at least there’s tonight. There’s this dance. 
We sway together, hand in hand, my other hand on his shoulder while his rests around my waist. Eyes locked. His jacket catches the flicker of the chandelier while my gown flows down my waist and onto the floor gracefully. 
Expertly turning me, I can’t help but think back to the first night he broke my heart. Would he do that again? Pressing his hand firmer against my waist, I welcome it by pressing my body more securely against his.  The warmth between us grows stronger by the second. We’re falling in love again. Or maybe we already did. 
He towers over me, much like he did the night of our first kiss. Returning from a night where we’d once again snuck out to see each other, he walked me home. Standing on the front porch of my cottage, we refused to wish each other a good night. The moon was the only light source, but it was enough to see how handsome he was, even back then. 
“Yeonjun…” I whisper as he continues to lead us through a casual dance that lets us focus on a conversation. “I’m sorry.” He looks at me questioningly. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset about the dress. I felt…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I just felt so used, I dunno.” Horror crosses his face. 
“Mira…I didn’t mean—”
“No, I know,” I say. “But I felt like we could never be together, not really anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
I take a deep breath and say, “Keeping secrets, never being able to tell everyone…we should probably stop…you know, what we’ve been doing.” I look up at him through my shaky eyes and he frowns but forces himself to nod. 
“If that’s what you want.”
“I just can’t,” I sniffle. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you again.”
“You won’t. I’m right here.” He presses his hands even firmer against my waist to prove it. 
“But where were you seven years ago? I’ve—” My eyes can’t hold my tears any longer, breaking free to run down my cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.” 
“I know. I’m so sorry.” Brushing the apple of my cheek with his thumb, he lifts my face to meet his eyes. “I’ve missed you too.” Pressing my lips together, I blink a tear out of my eye and I shake my head in protest. “Mira…listen.” He never lets me go. “I am so sorry for what I said that night. If I could take it back, I would.” I smile. “You know that doesn’t matter to me. You mean so much to me,” he says genuinely. “That night in Switzerland meant so much to me.” Everything halts. Our eyes meet. “But if you want me to stop, I will. I’ll never bring us up again.” 
“Us?”
“You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.” The wind’s knocked out of me. My heart races as he inches closer and closer. So close I can see each individual eyelash. “Tell me to stop.” 
“No,” I say, welcoming his lips on top of mine. His lips meet mine softly, a whisper of a kiss that feels like a promise. It's gentle, tentative at first, like we’re both terrified to lose each other. But then, the years of longing we've kept hidden surge forward, and the kiss deepens.
The room around us fades away, the music, the murmurs of the crowd, the flickering candlelight—they all dissolve into a hazy backdrop. All that exists is us, bound together in this moment of rawness. His hands move from my waist to cradle my face, his touch tender yet insistent. My hands rest against his chest. 
His kiss is everything I've ever dreamed of—sweet yet passionate, comforting yet electrifying. It speaks of forgiveness and second chances. The saltiness of my tears mingle with the softness of his lips.
It's as if we're communicating without words. Each movement, each touch, each breath shared between us is a declaration of our feelings for each other. His arms encircle me, holding me close, and I feel safe, cherished, and utterly adored.
When we finally part, breathless and overwhelmed, our foreheads rest against each other, our eyes closed as we savor the moment. The world starts to come back into focus, but it's different now. Everyone’s eyes are on us. The room has come to a halt. Glancing around the room, there isn’t one person that hasn’t stopped what they’re doing to stare at us. Not us. Me. 
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Excuse me.” I scurry off quickly, leaving him there alone.
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cw. unsupportive parents, classism, crying, love.
YEONJUN'S POV
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Everyone watches as she runs off like it’s a movie. She’s picked up her skirt to avoid tripping, and her head hangs low as she searches for the nearest exit. I awkwardly look around the room, excusing myself with a few head bows.
Running through the castle hallway, I catch up to her right outside my bedroom door. Her forehead’s pressed against the doorframe, arms wrapped around her body while she waits for me. She’s waiting for me. That gives me hope. At least she’s not running from me anymore. 
“Hey, hey, hey,” I whisper, grazing my hand across her shoulder blade. “C’mere.” I pull her into my chest, wrapping one of my arms around her while I open the door with my free hand. I lead her to my bed where she sits awkwardly scrunched into a ball while I rush to flick on some lamps. Then, I sit next to her, my hand resting on her shoulder blade for comfort. 
“I can’t—” she can hardly speak through her tears. 
“It’s okay.”
“I can’t do this, Jjun, I can’t.” She’s shaking her head, tears running down her cheeks. “I really want to but I just…” She trails off. Before I can speak up, she adds, “Your mother—” 
My heart sinks. “My mother? Did she do something to you?” Pressing her lips together, she nods. “Take some deep breaths, love, and tell me what she did.” She does as I say, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, attempting to compose herself. 
“After,” she starts hiccuping and I encourage her to take more deep breaths by modeling the breathing technique she was using earlier. “After that night in Switzerland,” she begins, but it’s too difficult for her to speak. Pulling out her phone, she silently thumbs through her phone to her voice mail box. My mother’s voice, cold and stern, plays from the speaker. 
Mira Ashenrose, the audacious servant who dares aspire beyond her station, it has come to my attention that your eyes linger far too long on my son. Your actions are not only bold but also insolent, as you seem to have forgotten your place within my castle walls.
Let me be clear: the Prince's future is one of sovereignty and grandeur, a path predetermined by bloodline and duty. Any attempts to disrupt or divert his focus with your insignificant presence will be met with severe consequences.
You are a servant, a role you should embrace with humility and gratitude. Your duties do not include entertaining fantasies of a life beyond your given position, especially one involving a royal whom you are unworthy to even address directly.
Cease your imprudent behavior immediately. Should I find even the slightest hint of your infatuation resurfacing, you will discover that my patience is not to be tested. Your continued employment—and indeed, your very well-being—hangs by a thread of my tolerance, a thread that I am fully prepared to cut.
Do not mistake this warning for mere words. You will find that I am a queen of action. Refrain from crossing boundaries that were never meant for you, and remember your place. It is only in your compliance that you will find any semblance of mercy from me.
Consider this your only warning.
By this point, her crying has subsided to sniffles but I’m speechless. How could she have done this? “I woke up that night after we…were together. You were still next to me. I was just checking the time and I had that message waiting for me.” 
“Mira, I don’t care what my mother thinks.”
“I care,” she says. “I can’t be with someone whose mother thinks of me like this,” she says, gesturing to her phone. “And you used to think of me that way. What if you start thinking like that again? Or do you already think of me this way?”
“Of course not,” I say, grabbing her hands. “Look at me.” She puts on a brave face before looking me straight in the eye. “Do you wanna know what I think of you?” She hums. “Perfect. Beautiful. Kind. Caring. Talented.” Smiling to herself, she looks down at our hands. “That’s what I think of you.” She nods gently and I brush some hair back. “You should have told me.” She shakes her head. 
“I decided to quit anyway,” she sniffles. “I already put in my two weeks. That’s why I asked you to dance. I wasn’t gonna leave without dancing with you at least once.” She glances down at my lips. “Or kissing you at least once,” she giggles. 
“Or twice?”
She chuckles again, glancing down at the floor, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “Sure.” I peck her lips gently. 
“Three times?” I ask, barely backing away from her. 
“How about you kiss me over and over until I tell you to stop?”
I don’t waste any more time playing silly games with her. I crash my lips into hers and we melt together, she groans against my lips and I deepen the kiss, my hand against her cheek. But she soon breaks it to ask, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why didn’t you kiss me? You know, when I asked you to.”
“Because I thought if I did, you’d do exactly what you did the next morning,” I say. “I didn't wanna lose you.” 
Nodding, she runs her thumb across my knuckles. “What are we gonna do?” She asks. 
“About what?”
“Us.”
“There’s an us?”
“Ah, shut up,” she laughs, nudging my shoulder. “You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.”
-
“Yeonjun, what is it? I’m very busy,” Mother says, not bothering to look up from the many papers that are shuffled across her desk. 
“Mother, we need to talk,” I say, my voice steady but firm.
Sliding her glasses off her nose, she drops them on the desk and turns in her chair to make eye contact. “You’re right,” she says and I look confused. “What are these policy proposals you wrote?” Why is she reading those? How did she even find them? “This Freshwater Sustainability Proposal,” she says matter-of-factly. 
“What’s wr—”
“This is some of your worst writing. Half of it doesn’t even make sense,” she says, my stomach dropping. Those were drafts. “I mean, what is this part about ‘aquatic ecosystem revitalization through bioremediation techniques’? You think the council will understand that jargon? And this section on ‘community-based water stewardship programs’? It’s laughably naive. Who’s going to manage these programs? Volunteers?”
“That is a well-researched proposal meant to—”
“Well-researched?” She scoffs, flipping through the pages with a dismissive hand. “It’s idealistic drivel, Yeonjun. We need practical solutions, not fanciful ideas that belong in a classroom.”
“These ideas could make a real difference.”
She waves a hand, brushing off my words. “Idealism is pointless. We can’t gamble on untested theories.”
“Untested theories?” I can’t help but let a note of disbelief slip into my voice. “They’re proven methods many other countries have successfully implemented.”
“Our priority is status and stability.”
“What good is status and stability if our environment collapses?” I challenge.
She glares at me, her eyes cold before she lets out an evil chuckle. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.”
“Is that why you feel the need to control every aspect of my life?” 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I take a deep breath, preparing for the moment of truth. “When did you find out about Mira?”
The question hangs in the air, catching her completely off guard. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, but she quickly masks her surprise. “Who? Oh, that servant that quit last week? I did see you two kiss at the party.”
“Don’t play games with me, Mother,” I say, my voice hard. “I know you knew about us before that. That voicemail you left her? Where you threatened her, told her she was nothing but a servant, and to stay away from me.”
She recovers quickly, her expression turning cold. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”
“How dare you do such a thing?” I shoot back. “Mira is someone I care about and you had no right to interfere with our relationship,” I say.
“Relationship?” She rolls her eyes. “Your relationship is a shallow, pleasant distraction at best. She’s simply a way to blow off steam, to indulge in sexual frustrations.”
Ew. But okay. “It’s more than that, Mother. Mira means something to me.”
She sighs, a mix of impatience and disappointment in her voice. “Yeonjun, you’re too young to understand the complexities involved here. You have a duty to this kingdom, to your people. Mira is not part of that equation.”
“If you can’t find a way to accept the woman I love, then…I don’t know if there’s anything else for us to say to each other.”
“You’ve known her for three months, Yeonjun. You’re not in love.”
I shake my head. “We’ve known each other for seven years.”
“What?” She asks, shocked. “You’ve been seeing her behind my back for seven years?”
“No,” I say. “We used to date a while ago and then we…I dunno, started back up after she started working here.” 
“You think you love her,” she counters sharply. “But what you feel is temporary. It’s not sustainable. And you’re all for sustainability, right?” I roll my eyes. “I will not allow you to jeopardize your future and duty for a fleeting infatuation,” I say. “Your choices affect everyone,” she says, her tone unyielding. “Including the stability of this kingdom.”
“You’re trying to control me,” I accuse, feeling the weight of her authority pressing down on me.
“I’m trying to protect you. You must think beyond your own desires.”
Eventually, I say, “Mother, mind your business.” I storm off, headed in the direction of the garden to get some air. I don’t stop walking until I find myself sitting under the willow tree that Mira and I love so much. She’s always loved it here. 
Maybe Mira’s right—I don't know if it's such a great idea to be with someone whose mother thinks of them like mine does about her. Fuck, this is so unfair. Regardless, Mother’s getting what she wants. Us not together. 
Quiet footsteps approach me. Not now, please. I can’t argue with Mother anymore. 
“The woman you love, huh?”
“Mira,” I say, happiness evident in my voice. “Hi.” She smiles, holding her hands behind her back before she walks closer to me. “Um…” She sticks her hand out for me to grab and helps me to my feet. 
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear,” she says but I wouldn’t care if she were to be honest. “I was getting some water from the kitchen and overheard.” 
“Mira…” I say, an undeniable smile spreading across my face, my hands running down her arms, wrapping around her waist to bring her closer. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Why’s that?” She asks with a sweet smile. 
“I’m always happy to see you,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to hear what she said about you.” She shakes her head. “I do by the way,” I say. “I love you.”
“Fucking finally,” she whispers before reaching her arms around my neck to pull me closer to her, crashing her lips into mine. They move over each other passionately. She tastes so fucking delicious. She feels so fucking warm. She smells so fucking good. “Oh, I love you too,” she giggles, breaking the kiss. “Sorry, I should’ve said it sooner.”
“I love you too too,” I say between kisses. “So much. You have no idea.” She looks so sweet. “I guess we should probably talk about—”
Shaking her head, she says, “Not yet. Let’s just—” She gives me another deep kiss. “We can think about that later, okay?” I nod and press my lips to hers again. 
Everything is so perfect. The way her laugh echoes in my ear like nothing could ever go wrong, the way her body slowly but sensually grinds against my own, the way we know we love each other and can finally say it out loud, even if we don’t know what the future holds for us. 
Breaking the kiss gently, she’s absolutely stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as gorgeous as her. I brush my thumb across her eyebrow and say matter-of-factly, “You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “So are you.”
The air shifts. We’re alone and we’re hyper aware of that fact. I doubt anyone could even hear us. Our eyelids get heavy as we lean into each other, our lips touching in a fiery kiss that leaves me needing more. Holding her cheek in my hand, it grows deeper and hotter until a tiny moan leaves her mouth. “Fuck,” she says under her breath. “You’re such a good kisser.”
“That’s all you, baby,” I say, sliding my hand down to squeeze her amazing ass. 
“Yeonjun,” she whines. “You can’t tell me you love me and then not immediately fuck me.” 
“I can’t even imagine doing such a thing,” I chuckle.
“You think…” she glances behind her. “Think we can sneak into your room together?”
“Absolutely.”
Walking back to the castle makes us all the more giddy. Hands touching each other playfully, giggling and flirting in hushed tones all the way back to my room where I lead her to my bed. 
Landing on top of her, she’s so pretty. Covering every inch of her bare skin with kisses, I can’t stop whispering compliments to her. Real compliments I’ve always wanted to say. 
You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’m so lucky I get to love you. I love every inch of you and I’m gonna show how much I mean it. 
“Please, Jjun, I need you.”
“You know I need to taste you first, though, right?”
“Of course.” She lets me slip her sweatpants off her legs, the cool air making goosebumps prick her skin. Her maroon thong is so sexy. Desperately moving her thong to the side, I take a deep breath, wanting to take my time with her. Letting go of her thong, it snaps back into place, covering her back up. I press my lips to her tummy, peppering her with soft and slow kisses. 
“So perfect,” I whisper against her skin. And I mean it. Every time I say it. “I could worship your body for hours.” 
“We’ve got time, my love.” 
All I know is by the time I’m done covering her body in kisses, the sun has completely set and she’s illuminated only by the lamp on my bedside table. But I can absolutely still see how beautiful she is. I could see her beauty in the pitch black. 
“Yeonjun,” she starts, pulling me up to look her in the eyes. She brushes some of my hair back and says, “Whatever happens after this, I want you to know—” I start to protest. What does she mean? I know what’s gonna happen after this. We’re gonna find a way to be together. “I want you to know that I love you, okay?”
“Mira…I love you too.”
“Just know that…” she takes a deep breath. “I’m yours.”
I give her a long, lingering kiss and say, “And I’m yours.”  
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@aduh0308 request a tag :)
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sketchy-tour · 9 months ago
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ALRIGHTY! Time to formally reintroduce yall to my silly idiot OC Dandy!
and by that I mean, I redid their ref art, tweaked their bio, and finally made a ref for their stupid pajamas! Wanted to do other fits for them but aa another time. Brain is mashed potatoes.
Anyway, Dandy is my silly WH oc who's main theme is self care/self love messages shown through the imagery of gardening! Meant to be a sort of "garden of the self" sort of deal. They go by ANY PRONOUNS! She/her or He/Him, or They/Them are all correct and okay to use when talking about them! (I just tend to default to they/them) Putting their full bio under the break!!! So you can read it all there!
"Resident gardener of Welcome Home, Dandy Leon is a curious but careful presence among the others in the neighborhood. They enjoy the quiet and spending their time tending to their various flowers. While a little shy around their fellow neighbors, they open up quickly when asked about their garden. Despite their more introverted disposition, they're always determined to make every day just dandy!"
It’s presumed that Dandy makes appearances only in the later episodes of the show’s run. But in old scripts found with them, it's shown that they moved to Home specifically because they were interested in the local plant life there. The episode that featured their move in seemed to focus on them slowly warming up to the others in the neighborhood, as their shy nature made it difficult for them to properly meet everyone. When asked as to where they lived before moving to Home, Dandy mentions living in a farm town far away, simply deeming it "far more south from here!" A lot of their dialogue also mentions their father, though he's never named but instead mentioned passively as Dandy would often use phrases like "Well it's like my pop always said-" when speaking to the other puppets.
During their short time on the show, Dandy's segments seemed focused on care for their garden, the language hinting that the flowers were more a metaphor for taking care of oneself and well being. Other characters can be found pointing out how much better Dandy’s garden looks when they’re feeling happy, but also comment how wilted it becomes when they’re shown to be a bit more downtrodden. They feel strongly about how important it is to be kind to yourself, even if it’s a skill they’re shown to still be working on themselves. Their confidence is something they also struggle with, seemingly a character meant for shyer audience members to attach to and grow alongside with. Dandy is often depicted in illustrations with Frank, getting along quite well in the show, often joining him and Julie on small escapades. Before the show's end however, most of Dandy's screen time is with Wally as he tries to get Dandy out of their shell more to spend time around others.
Interestingly, what pronouns were used for them seemed to change between the show's episodes and illustrated materials. While neighbors would refer to them as 'he' during the show, most art pieces seemed to refer to Dandy as a 'she'. Whether this was simply a miscommunication between teams or a printing error is unknown.
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botboots · 1 year ago
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Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!
im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)
-----------------
Optimus:
he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times
values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded
has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all
so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text
he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :] 
Ratchet:
while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)
he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you
like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic
you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)
while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having
Bulkhead:
the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects
he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort
too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds
Arcee:
similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness
she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels
but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots
she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to
will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you
rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad
Bumblebee:
one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around
super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet
he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it
will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own
you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall
he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong
while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words
will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything
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genericpuff · 5 months ago
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Are there any things you like about LO? Or is it all shit to you. Personally, I think it could be a great storyline with the right execution, but a lot of the stuff and plot is unnecessary (I.e. Hades being thousands of years older than Kore and making characters fall in love with people they are racist/classist towards 😨😨)
Oh there are LOADS of things that I liked and still enjoy about LO despite all the shit I've thrown at it. I love love LOVE a lot of the older art-
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Like, damn, that shit is so charming! I swear I had that Tower 4 panel as my phone background for like, 2 years LOL
Rachel had a really strong understanding of shape language, composition, color theory, and expressive linework in a way that was really appealing and unique at the time, but along the way it was just lost, undoubtedly due to her taking more of a backseat in the character art process and leaving it to her assistants.
That said, there's a lot of... not so charming, too.
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I think, on the one hand, there's a lot to appreciate in the old art that shouldn't be rejected as we criticize this series. At the end of the day, as much as we riff on it, many of us did love this series at one point in time, so we shouldn't cringe at what it used to make us feel or pretend like we were ever above it when we were very much lost in it for ages before it went down the tubes.
But there is a lot to be said about the effects of rose-colored glasses, and how LO was never perfect. The reality is that much of Rachel's work is exemplified by the odd beautiful thing that sticks in our memories, but when we actually go back to relive those memories, we find they're all strung together by some not so beautiful stuff that makes us go 'wait what???'
Case in point, with LO we remember beautiful compositions like this:
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But then within those same episodes we get:
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And it's like oh. Yikes.
Aside from the art, there was also the SA plot as well as the Act of Wrath. The SA plot felt really special to me at the time because I was someone who was once in Persephone's shoes, being pressured into sex that I wasn't ready for but wasn't capable of saying no to. I can appreciate what Rachel was trying to do with that plot, but over time it became clear that she wasn't committed to seeing that plotline through and so I kind of just dropped my expectations for it entirely.
That said, it wasn't the SA plotline that set me off. I had good faith in that one still that it would be addressed eventually. It was the Act of Wrath plotline that did me in. The premise of it was totally my cup of tea in the way of "quirky character has a dark evil backstory!" which is shit that I absolutely LOVE, but then when the "twist" happened that Eris was the one to give her wrath, that was literally when I had my almost "canon event" moment of realizing "wait... I don't think Rachel knows what she's doing." And then it was just all downhill from there. The S2 finale sealed my fate LOL
All that said, as much as my brain is often defaulting to "ew! gross! bad!!!" in all honesty I do still appreciate what LO meant to be back when I still enjoyed it. It meant enough to me that I just couldn't let it the fuck go when it started to go downhill, so much so that I started making my own version of it! And that's something that sets it apart so much more from other comics I really don't like anymore (or comics I never liked to begin with) like Down to Earth, The Kiss Bet, Let's Play, etc. where I really can't even be bothered to think about them let alone talk about them to the extent I do about LO. I may be full of beans when it comes to LO, but I'd still rather be talking about it and all its failings and what it used to mean to me than about any of those other works. I loved it enough to still want it in my life and that's what Rekindled has accomplished for me.
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cellophaine · 4 days ago
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Chapter VIII: FOOT FAULT
Masterlist
Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader
Warnings: Major angst.
Author's Note: Strap in and enjoy the ride 🫡 there will be even more turbulence from now on
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Ever since that day, your contact with Art had been far and few between. Every time you texted him, he would respond much later and in brief sentences. The conversations would always start and end with your message, and often about Art trying to balance school, practice, and Tashi. You weren't on that list, even though he apologized for not being able to see you as much. Disappointment wasn't at the forefront of your mind whenever you reread the recent messages. Still, it had smouldered into something hard to ignore.
The surgery was over a week ago, and you hadn't seen Art since. You told yourself that he was being a good friend to Tashi like he was to you, but a part of you couldn't help but think there was more to it. Your mind had started to accumulate the evidence that had always been there: the lingering look at Tashi, the tempestuous shout at Patrick, and the lack of dialogue between the two of you. The underpainting had taken shape on the canvas, and the finer details began to fill in with your overthinking. You forced yourself to look away from the easel despite being the one holding the brush. To acknowledge it was to admit that Art was only using you, to accept the fact that you weren't enough to be a worthy person in someone else's life, only to be a temporary placeholder, was too much to bear. Your heart fractured, morsel by morsel, when you thought about how his affection wasn't even for you.
The very possibility of it occupied so much of your mind that you were consumed by the thought. Ravenous was its nature; it feasted on the fact that Art hadn't tried to stay in touch with you as much as you had. It revelled in the insecurities that had resurfaced in such a short time. The neverending cycle ran you haggard, and despite your conscious effort to take yourself out of it, it went on.
You barely left your room these days. When your roommates asked you to hang out with them, you would come up with excuses not to. Without Art, you felt like you didn't have anything to do or anywhere to be besides classes and work. And when you weren't at either place, you would be at the library, obsessively watching Art and Patrick's old tennis matches. There was undeniable chemistry between them, and they complimented each other, highlighting the best part about their respective skill set. Patrick was an extension of Art, and vice versa. A bond like that was hard to break, and from the exchanges you'd seen, one on the polar opposite of the other, you wondered if there was anything else underneath all of this.
/
On an unexpected night, while you perused the reading material for the following week's class, your phone vibrated with Art's name lit up the screen. A rush of excitement, tinged with a touch of nervousness, ran under your skin. You put the book down and let the phone ring three more times before picking up.
"Hey."
"Hey stranger."
You cheekily added. At that, Art chuckled softly. The low vibrato of his voice reminded you of just how much you'd missed him.
"Uhm– so, how are you?"
At your eager question, Art sighed. A muffled sound came from his end, the sound of him running a hand through his hair.
"I'm … alright. I'm sorry I haven't called much. Midterm was awful, and practices have been a lot, and, uh …"
He trailed off. You completed the sentence for him.
"… Tashi."
"Yeah."
His answer settled low in the air between you. It stalled the usual effortless flow of your conversations, rendered you speechless, and he, too. You prodded the fragile silence, and it gave away under the push of your careful voice like a shaky sigh.
"It's okay. I haven't had much free time either. Are you doing okay though?"
"I'm fine … for the most part."
The hesitation in his wording piqued your curiosity. Art wouldn't have said that if nothing was wrong.
"What's with the other part?"
A moment of silence stretched over the thinning air. You added.
"Art. You can tell me anything. I'm here to listen."
Another sigh slithered from the other end to the speaker.
"I don't know how to say it, but at the same time, I feel like it's so obvious. I … miss Patrick. But I'm also mad at him for what he's … done."
His incertitude on the latter part made you feel like he wanted to withhold the information itself.
"Hm, I see. From the sound of your shouting it must be something serious."
Art had gone so quiet that you couldn't even hear his breathing. Your voice was barely a whisper when you called out to him.
"Art?"
"Did you catch all of that?"
"Yes, I did."
You toyed with the hem of your shirt between your fingers before continuing with uncertainty. Unsure if you should pursue this.
"I've never heard you shout like that. You must've been really mad."
"Yeah, I was."
"What happened? Did they get into a fight?"
"Yeah, right before the match."
"What did they fight about?"
The nervous twists of your fingers had left fleeting creases on the fabric as you released it from your grasp.
"Tashi didn't say much, … except for the fact that Patrick might be seeing other girls while on tour."
"You're his friend, did he tell you anything about seeing other girls?"
From suspicion born uneasiness in the pit of your stomach as Art prolonged the silence. You tried again, your voice laced with resolution, unwavering.
"Art. How did Tashi come to that conclusion?
"… I don't know."
"Did you say something to her? To both of them?"
"I might have mentioned Patrick's… tendency to have multiple options at the same time."
"Well, it doesn't mean he's not serious about Tashi."
"But he's my friend. I know him. He's always been a player. And he's… you never know with him. Whether he's genuine or not."
"He's your friend. Don't you think he deserves more grace than what you give him? What if it was different with Tashi?"
"I was just trying to look out for her!"
"That's not looking out for your friends. That's meddling and you know it."
"If my meddling could make them fight so easily then they'd never been good for each other in the first place!"
"That's not up to you to decide!"
You couldn't believe that you yelled at him. You exhaled sharply, trying to regain some control and wishing you hadn't said anything at all. But it was too late. It was like putting back a broken vase, but it was splintered in so many tiny fragments that the more you tried, the worse you hurt yourself.
"Look, it's late, and I'm tired. Can we pick this up another time?"
There was an edge to his voice, and somehow, you knew that this conversation would never be brought up again.
"Sure."
You swallowed your fighting words, knowing if you persisted, it wouldn't end well, even though it was too little too late. After saying goodbye, you hung up with a heavy heart. The heavy fog of your argument closed in on you, turning the air you breathed into suffocation.
For days after, your contact was reduced to none. You abandoned the ongoing draft in the notebook Art gifted you and directed your attention to something else. The inspiration you'd drawn had become a withering reflection of the past, of everything good in your relationship. Nothing could revive it; the only thing left was the dwindling hope that things would be alright between the two of you again. You buried yourself in all the other aspects of your life, hoping you could, at the very least, not think about Art so often. But it was impossible. His imprints on you were branded marks, a thing of permanence on your mind and skin.
/
In the quiet hour of the afternoon, the rhythmic sound of a pen hitting paper sounded louder than the whispered small talk from the only two customers in the cafe. The sentence was left like an unfinished thought, and you were searching for the words to wrap it up. The literary competition at Stanford was announced two days ago, and you immediately got to work. For the prized money and a feature in the school's newspaper, you weren't going to pass it up.
The bell above the door rang. You pulled your eyes away from the half-written page to settle on the new customer with a smile on your face.
"Welcome …"
Art stood there, holding the door open for Tashi. She walked in with a pair of crutches, thanking him. His eyes trained on you for a moment before tearing away. His brief gaze was enough to draw heat to your skin. Tashi slowly and carefully made her way to the counter with Art's arms hovered around her. She smiled at you.
"So, this is the place. My friends have been raving about the drinks here. Him, too."
She inclined her head at Art. He only smiled and said nothing in return. You realized then he wasn't going to introduce the two of you. You maintained a polite smile and what you hoped to be a friendly manner.
"Do you want any recommendations?"
"Yes, please. I love anything with berries in it."
"Then I have the drink for you."
You explained what went in it, and Tashi approved with a nod. Only then did you turn to Art.
"Do you want your usual, Art?"
You looked at him pointedly. His face warmed as he pretended to consider the options, even though, up until two weeks ago, he knew the menu inside and out. Tashi's gaze travelled back and forth between you and Art.
"Do you guys know each other?"
You fixed him with a look, daring him to own up to it. He finally conceded and introduced the two of you.
"I think Art mentioned you once or twice."
"Did he?"
"Yeah, you're his friend. Were you the one who came to check on me after …"
She trailed off.
"I did."
Tashi gave you a rueful smile.
"Thank you for that."
"Don't mention it. How are you doing now?"
She looked down at her knee brace briefly.
"Slowly but surely recovering."
"Take care of yourself. You'll be back to playing again in no time."
"I hope so."
Tashi gave a sad smile, and you mirrored with more assurance. You wanted to dislike her, but you felt nothing but sympathy for her. Art watched the whole exchange wordlessly. You broke eye contact with Tashi to address Art.
"Do you want your usual, Art?"
He nodded, and you told them the total. You watched as Art paid for Tashi despite her refusal. Jealousy flared hot and heavy in your chest, yearning to take back Tashi's place that used to belong to you. But who were you to him to feel this way?
You dropped the change into his hand and pulled away quickly as if you were burned by the thought of your skin touching. You didn't make eye contact and walked away quickly, and though you knew it was rude, you couldn't help it. Your bottled-up feeling was barely contained now; it bubbled and wanted to break free of its confinement. The sound of their soft-spoken exchange churned your inside, making you sick with envy. You made the drinks, and like a habit, you grabbed a marker to put a heart on Art's. But you caught yourself and set the marker down.
You pushed the drinks towards them. The smile on your face felt strained now, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up. You settled for a small wave as opposed to a verbal goodbye, but Tashi interrupted your thought.
"It's very nice to meet you."
You reciprocated her smile.
"You, too."
You looked at Art briefly before wordlessly turning away, making yourself busy with an inane task. With their backs to you, you discreetly stared at their closeness. Despite knowing your problem wasn't with Tashi, you couldn't help but feel envious. You wished you could be her. Beautiful, talented, and doused in Art's attention. With a conscious effort, you tore your teary eyes away from them and set your sight on the open notebook on the counter. If you lingered for a moment longer, you would have caught Art's eyes looking back at you with a longing that you were all too familiar with. Only this time, unbeknownst to you, you were on the receiving end.
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Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!
For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives
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whyse7vn · 9 months ago
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KIM NAMJOON
RANDOM 01:
!gc namjoon who has never experienced peace since joining the group
!gc namjoon who feels like being in the group has aged him 50 years
!gc namjoon who despite this would rather drop dead than have not met all of you
!gc namjoon who knows every single member like that back of his hand
!gc namjoon who often worries his members find him boring
!gc namjoon who forced everyone to download life 360 while on tour because you all wouldn’t stop getting lost and it was stressing him out
!gc namjoon who has a fun fact about everything like fr everything its kinda crazy
!gc namjoon who still to this day checks the life 360 app (that thank god none of you have deleted) every morning afternoon and night to make sure everyone is safe
!gc namjoon who has now reconsidered his position on having kids if parenthood is anything like looking after his members you can count him out actually!
!gc namjoon who on one random night in 2017 went to an equally random art gallery on his own “impulsively” and definitely NOT because you briefly mentioned you needed “artsy guy” in your life
!gc namjoon who after the “impulsive” art gallery trip which he actually did enjoy way more than he expected to seemed to have a complete personality shift finding interest and beauty in the smaller and simpler things in life
!gc namjoon who won’t admit this out loud but one of the reasons he hasn’t learnt how to drive yet is because he enjoys the fact that you drive him everywhere, you’ve even given him the silly little nickname of “number one passenger princess” that makes him feel all giddy inside
!gc namjoon who always puts his members first
!gc namjoon who wouldn’t of minded having you as his roommate but when 21 year old jungkook came to him all puppy eyed and nervous asking namjoon if you would like the idea of living with him all joon could do was smile “that’s a great idea kook! i’m sure she’d love it”
!gc namjoon the most patient man you know
!gc namjoon who buys you flowers for every single major holiday without a fail
!gc namjoon who once set you and jungkook’s kitchen on fire
!gc namjoon who has almost asked you to be his girlfriend a total of 5 times so far
!gc namjoon a true gentleman and romantic at heart
!gc namjoon who gets so upset when you refer to him as RM whether it’s a joke or work related it’s joon to you always and forever
!gc namjoon who for every piece of artwork in his home from paintings to poem books can relate said artwork to one of his members, he finds comfort in collecting pieces that remind him of his favourite people
!gc namjoon who genuinely freaks out if the group chat isn’t active at least once everyday
!gc namjoon who went through a really intense gym phase and would genuinely force all his members to wake up at 6 am and go on runs with him. however the whole group run thing only ended up lasting around 3 days turns out yoongi is really not a morning person and jimin surprisingly was (at the time) and that does not mix well !! long story short yoongi punched the shit out of jimin while tae recorded, you and jin laughed, hoseok was on the brink of passing out, jungkook was crying… for some reason? and namjoon was stressed safe to say group runs or work outs never happened again after that and namjoons intense gym bro lifestyle slowly mellowed itself out
!gc namjoon the groups designated decision maker no matter how small all large the issue what joon decides is right and final an unspoken agreement between the members
!gc namjoon who often wonders how you all put so much trust in his words and decisions honestly it scares him a little a LOT
!gc namjoon who hates boba
!gc namjoon who allows you to meal prep for him, he thanks the lord you do this for him actually saving him from having to cook for himself most days
!gc namjoon who is really good a board games
!gc namjoon who talks in his sleep
!gc namjoon who is quite a traditional man
!gc namjoon who doesn’t believe in hookup culture, flings and friend’s with benefits
!gc namjoon who prefers cute dates, long walks and sharing interests
yet !gc namjoon who lets you lead him into an empty room away from the obnoxiously loud party thrown for jungkooks 24th(?) birthday
!gc namjoon who from then on lets you steal kisses from him
moments with him
!gc namjoon who doesn’t believe in “casual”
!gc namjoon who can’t do “casual”
!gc namjoon who is aware of his feelings and of everyone’s feelings
!gc namjoon who knows his members like the back of his hand
he knows their realising their own feelings
each others too
he knows jaehyun was a wake up call not just to him but to everyone
!gc namjoon who knows he’s running out of time
!gc namjoon who wishes he was selfish
wishes he was an asshole
a self serving piece of shit
who wishes he could just shout from the rooftops how utterly obsessed and fuck he’ll admit it at this point in love with you he is
he wishes that he could love you without hurting others
!gc namjoon who has become a casual in your life
a casual kiss
a casual fuck
a casual dinner
casual moments
!gc namjoon who has become accustomed to being your romantic casual because despite initially not believing in the concept namjoon is more than willing to throw away all his morals and beliefs if it means he gets to have you hold him for a night, kiss him for a night, be with him for a night
namjoon is willing to do pretty much anything and everything to be a part of your life, a temporary go to, name it and he’ll fill that role no questions asked
kim namjoon is willing to be
your casual.
tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @sopebubbles-replies @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp
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wise-tortoise · 11 months ago
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Hi! i’m new to chengxian. so i was wondering, do you have any recs please? preferably long one shots (10k+) and set in the original location (i don’t like modern aus mostly as they are based in the us or uk). sorry for all the stipulations!
HELLO ANON AND WELCOME TO CHENGXIAN!!
I am DELIGHTED to be a source of fic recs, and I have JUST the fics for you.
First of all, I highly recommend checking out the various ao3 collections of past chengxian events, such as Chengxian Happy Ending Fest, or Chengxian Minibang 2023, Chengxian Week 2020, Chengxian Week 2021 , Our Meeting is Inevitable or The Chengxian+ Collection, which are a goldmine of wonderful fics. I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding something to your taste among them!
Now, on to my personal recommendations, under the read more because this got LONG.
Based on what you said you'd prefer, the fic all my dreams have come and gone a half a million times by iri_vail sounds like something you'd enjoy. It's a lovely post-canon shuangjie reconciliation fic, 10k words, with wonderful art. There's frogs too!
consider rivers by Lirazel, 9k, canon divergence fic with no war that rewrote my brain chemistry. Jiang Cheng wants Wei Wuxian to marry Jiang Yanli: lots of yunmeng trio feels, lots and lots and lots of pining.
after the sun sets by Artemis1000, 12k words, it's an amazing fic set during sunshot campaign, lots of hurt/comfort, lots of love and understanding and softness between our two favorite miscommunicators.
electricity between both of us by zyprexd is an absolutely incredible series of two fics that make me go feral. Past w4ngxian, tentative shuangjie reconciliation with long overdue communication, lots of feelings aknowledged and accepted, Wei Wuxian introspection.
Turn Back, Dull Earth by groundwiremantaray, 8k, canon divergence, a whole lot of fluff (with a delightful twist). Though not a oneshot, if you like to read happy times with chengxian, this is absolutely the fic for you.
this love that I most fear by Runespoor, 25k words divided in three chapters, in which a coreless Jiang Cheng has to aknowledge Wei Wuxian as his bastard brother in order for him to become sect leader, with all the relative implications. An angsty delight!
Little Sesame by Rurtle, which is an absolute must read. In which the summoning ritual goes wrong and Wei Wuxian reincarnates into a dog. Shenanigans ensue.
born of waters like blood by Artemis1000 (same Artemis as before) which is one of my absolute favorite fics of all time. Chengxian baby made of resentment and lake waters! Chengxian being dads! An unspecified number of eyes!!!! This fic is a bit shorter than the others I've recced, but absolutely worth reading.
letters from inside the storm by serein, in which everyone has a very bad time (not me though, I enjoyed this IMMENSELY), double whump with a very tentative reconciliation.
if tomorrow would ever come... by Midori_99, 17k, a reincarnation fic in which Wei Wuxian after his death reincarnates into a playful little fox and, despite his best efforts, finds himself once again in Lotus Pier, beside Jiang Cheng (and, really, there's no better place for him to be). The good, GOOD, cathartic angst right here, good food for the soul.
If you'd like EVEN MORE chengxian fics, my bookmarks are open and the fics are all ready to receive lots of love (and of course, if you like, there's my fics too, but they're only open to registered users)
Alright, that's definitely not all the fics I would like to rec, but that's about all I can fit in a single post before it becomes too long.
I suggest of course that you check out other works by the authors I listed, as they are all incredibly talented (and I really really wish I could put more of them here but I tried to contain myself with word count and setting as per your request)
Thank you for the ask anon, I hope you'll enjoy your stay in the chengxian side of fandom and I wish you a wonderful day!!
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pinkroseblooms · 10 months ago
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Birthday Wishes
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Summary: Uramichi may not like birthdays, but he might like you. 2.5k A/N: Official art from Gaku Kaze; Uramichi Omota/F!Reader, lots of fluff and some humor. TW: Mentions of depression and self esteem issues (kinda a given considering it's Uramichi, but still) Enjoy!
Working on Together with Maman was one of the most thankless, tedious jobs you’ve ever been underpaid to do. While the director got to lord over the staff and the actors got some praise and respect, you were just one of the many unsung heroes behind the scenes. Editing out Uramichi Omota’s regular mental breakdowns and existential crises from the show’s footage was a full time job in and of itself, but you did it every week without fail for the past three years. At this point you could practically do it in your sleep; sometimes Uramichi’s strained, desperate attempts to keep a cheerful expression on his face made regular appearances in your dreams. You suspected the void that was his stare would haunt your mind long after the time came for you to leave Together with Maman .
You did feel a bit guilty at the twinge of resentment you had toward the cast when they got the lion’s share of the glory. After all, they all had their good points: to start, Kumitani was fairly considerate of the staff, particularly those on the lowest rungs of the workplace hierarchy. Speaking of hidden kindness, despite Utano’s complaints, she was a devoted and thoughtful girlfriend. Iketeru’s childish wonder and joy was infectious; he hardly ever complained and was very appreciative. Even Usahara with his bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth, was still committed to a certain level of professionalism and was quick to amend for his mistakes. When everything was said and done, you had a fondness for them all.
Last but not least, there was Uramichi. One works with many different types in the entertainment industry and you were no stranger to washed up, jaded, regularly drinking their weight in booze performers putting on a show off and on camera but Uramichi was the worst.
Needless to say, you were crazy about the man.
Today was Uramichi’s 32nd birthday and though he no doubt would prefer to ignore such a day all together, you couldn’t help yourself. This was the perfect time to do something to show your appreciation for Uramichi and not just as a gymnast oniisan. With any luck, he might not hate it. In fact, you were certain he was going to love what you chose to do.
After making up an excuse to get his attention, Uramichi dutifully trailed after you, grim faced and changed out of his costume. You intercepted him just as Usahara and a somewhat less enthusiastic Kumatani were going to usher their colleague to a bar for a night of begrudging celebration. As unlikely as it was that Uramichi would rather spend any evening doing more work, you thought he seemed a bit relieved to be taken away. 
“Sorry, this won’t take long.”
“It’s fine.” Uramichi assured you in the most unconvincing attempt you ever heard. “Your job is editing, right? What do you need me for?”
“I wanted to get your approval on a few things. I wanted to work in some parts of what you were saying to the kids before.”
“From the segment about labeling?” 
That particular sketch was meant to teach the children about putting their names on their school things. Doing this would help them keep track of their positions, as well as teach them about personal responsibility. It could even be a good chance to allow children to practice their spelling and penmanship. It all went about as well as it could have.
“The bit where you warned the children about adhering to the labels others will try to assign to you and how the pressures of society are designed to slowly crush any trace of individuality that doesn’t help them go with the flow was a bit long winded, but I think we can keep in bits and pieces.”
“You…want to keep it in?”
“I mean, it’s not a bad message.” You type in the passcode to the staff room. “The script is good, but you have a way of talking to kids so they can understand without talking down to them. Not everyone learns at the same pace; it helps when adults can get on a kid’s level. Most are too proud.”
“You,” Uramichi followed you into the room. “Are you saying I lack pride as an adult?”
“What? No.”
As you pull out a seat for Uramichi to use, his face says he doesn’t believe you. Seeing how despondent he is makes you want to call the whole thing off, but then you would have to come up with an excuse as to why you requested his presence in the first place. 
Anyone would be justified in feeling insulted at Uramichi’s knee jerk reaction to assume the worst; it’s hardly charming, but you get it. How much of Uramichi’s attitude is natural or something he uses like a shield is anyone’s guess. 
“I guess it makes sense. It’s not like we know each other that well. Besides, this is our first time speaking one on one and I had to lie to you.” 
Uramichi was glancing around the room; there wasn’t any projector or cameras or a computer. 
“Wait, so you don’t think I have any pride?”
“Hey, are you even listening to me?” You stare in disbelief. “I meant about looking over the footage. Hold on, I need to-”
“So then…was all that other stuff you said just to get me to come here?”
“No, it wasn’t. I’ve already got someone editing that segment anyway.” 
In the corner is an easel, like one of the props they use for presentations in the show. Instead of a whiteboard or a display of cartoon images, there’s a sheet covering up the project you’ve been working on just for today. 
“That’s good.”
“Huh?”
“I thought you were going to lecture me about being more professional so you didn’t have such a heavy workload. I’m sure most of your time is taken up erasing the evidence of my family unfriendly fits of despair. My bad.”
“Even hearing you apologize is bumming me out.” You sigh. “Listen, it’s not that much trouble. Besides, it’s really not my place to scold you or the other cast members.”
“Why not? You have to make up for our screw ups. Don’t tell me it can’t be stressful. You look tired just being here.”
“That’s not really something you should say to a woman. Well, anyone really.”
The blank stare widens as Uramichi realizes what he implied, but you cut him off. Things have gotten awkward enough without dragging on this conversation. Besides, you brought him here to cheer him up, if that’s even possible.
“I hope you like this. I made it for your birthday. Well, I put it together. The kids made it.”
You unveil the display with a smile, hoping you had this right and Uramichi wasn’t going to walk out. Or worse, put on his fake smile to spare your feelings. You prefer an honest reaction to your efforts.
“These are all the drawings kids have sent in for the past year. I got the idea to save them up and make a collage.”
The board is covered in crayon doodles, rough sketches, and messy paintings. There’s some postcards and pages ripped from coloring books. Almost all of them are of Uramichi-oniisan in various costumes, mainly his tracksuit: in some he’s frolicking with Kumao-kun or Usao-kun or holding hands with Utano and Iketeru. Some illustrations are of Uramichi surrounded by children or animals or just random scribbles. There’s also a decent amount featuring Kotori-san but you try not to think about that too hard. 
“I thought maybe we could show the board in a show, but I wanted you to see it first. We could keep it safe in the studio, if you don’t have room for it in your place. It’s your birthday present.” 
Uramichi stands up to get a closer look; he doesn’t look appalled and you choose to take this as a good sign. You step to the side, trying not to seem too nervous when he stands by your side; after a minute, Uramichi still hasn’t said anything. Even so, you’re feeling more worried by the second.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Good.” You smile, but don’t feel too relieved. “You’re not just saying that, right? It’s okay, you can be honest. Is it too cheesy? Maybe I should have left out the ones with Kotori-san.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I hate that demon, but the kid’s probably worked hard to draw it. I don't mind so much. You said this took a year?”
“More or less. Uramichi, whatever you think, you’re appreciated. The kids see you do your best. It’s more than a lot of people bother to do. I figured you wouldn’t want a staff party, but everyone here sees it too. We’re glad to have you as our gymnast oniisan.”
Uramichi was still looking over the pictures. “You work a lot harder than I do.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Our jobs are just different.”
“But no one gives the behind the scenes crew much credit. I’ve never been especially considerate to your job before, but you spent a year making me a present?”
“I only collected the drawings. It only took a couple hours to actually put it together.” You replied. “Is this too much?”
“Yeah. I don’t deserve this.” Uramichi told you bluntly. “I don’t get it. Why did you do this?”
For a long time now, you’ve watched Uramichi drag himself through the day; as much as he professes going through the motions, you know that’s not exactly true. 
“The thing is, I wish I could do more. I want you to have a nice birthday.”
“I don’t like celebrating my birthday. It just reminds me that I’m a year older and I’ve wasted more time. Which is strange, since I don’t even know why I feel that way. I can’t even imagine what else I would be doing if I wasn’t an oniisan, so why do I feel like I’m wasting time at all? I can’t do this forever. I’m already 32, but I don’t have anything planned for when I get too old for Together with Maman. ’’
“You could probably still find work on another show. It doesn’t have to be physical. Unless you want to leave the industry for something else entirely. I bet you could do something with your physical education degree; you’ve had experience with children, then maybe you could work that into whatever you go for next.” 
“That…sounds like a lot to think about.”
You can’t help laughing a little at how defeated Uramichi looks just from the prospect of having to start over. It’s oddly cute, like a sad puppy being told they have to go to the vet.
“It is, but if you do it one step at a time, it won’t be so daunting. That’s why I like birthdays: I see them as a chance to, well,” You scratch your head. “It’s like, yes, I made it another year! It wasn’t easy, but I’m here and that’s enough. It’s something to celebrate.”
“Hey, you should be more careful with how you phrase things.”
“What did I say wrong?”
“You’re going to make me think you have feelings for me or something.” Uramichi chuckles dryly, turning his back on you to head toward the door. “If I was Usahara, I would take this as a proposal. But anyway, thanks. I can’t remember when someone tried so hard. I guess I should return the favor. I’m being emotionally blackmailed into going out tonight: if you want, you can join. Or not. Do you drink?”
“Yes, to both.”
“Both?”
“I wanted to tell you this now, before I start taking classes full time next month. Uramichi, I like you. I do, so,” You clear your throat. “Happy birthday. I hope you’ll still accept the poster. It’s more from the kids than me anyhow. I was going to bake you something, but I wasn’t even sure if you liked cake or-”
“You talk a lot. Hold on, I need a minute.”
Uramichi has his head in his hands; he looks pale and visibly disturbed. It seems like your confession wasn’t appreciated, but you could have guessed as much. Maybe you’re too different or maybe Uramichi just isn’t interested in dating.
You can respect that, no matter how much it hurts you. In hindsight, it would have been better to keep quiet or just wait until your time was done at the studio, but you naively assumed Uramichi might like hearing someone cared. Not everything comes with conditions or ulterior motives; sometimes the pay off is as straightforward as making someone else’s day a little easier to get through. 
“I’m sorry. I should go.” You make your way past him to the door. “I hope you enjoy your night!”
“Wa-wait don’t just leave! You can’t drop a bomb like that and just breeze past like-like-!” Uramichi stumbles to get to you before you rush outside. “You’re serious? Did Usahara put you up to this?”
“No.”
“Well, are you, like, sure? You didn’t mistake me for someone else?”
“You’re Uramichi Omota?”
“Yeah.”
“If this makes you uncomfortable, you really don’t have to worry, I never said anything to anyone else.”
“It’s not that. I’m just…processing. Do you really?”
“You know, maybe the next segment we do should be on active listening skills.” You cross your arms. “Uramichi, this isn’t rocket science. If you’re not interested, okay. I’ll live. I don’t mind being single, but I wouldn’t be bothering you with this if I wasn’t serious.”
Uramichi seems calmer, but no less baffled; it’s probably the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emote at once that wasn’t irritation or exhaustion. Surely he has had other girls confess to him before; you heard he was pretty popular in school. You don’t see why he’s having a hard time handling this one. 
“When I was drunk, I said I thought you were cute. I wouldn’t put it past that damn bunny to try to rope you into one of his pranks.”
You grin. “You did? When?”
“Come on, I’m embarrassed enough. I’m too old for this.”
“For what?”
“To act this way.” Uramichi sighs and drags a hand over his face. “I hate it. It’s like I’m back in high school or something. It’s awkward and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Don’t you already feel that way?”
“That doesn’t help.”
“So then?” You shrug your shoulders. “Am I cute enough to date?”
To your surprise, Uramichi’s cheeks flush slightly; you wonder if your own nervousness is showing. Truly, adults pretend as much as kids do. 
“Is that offer for a drink still valid? Unless you don’t want me flirting with you in front of everyone.”
“No way.” Uramichi objects. “I don’t want to deal with that headache. Let’s not say anything until after you’re done working here.”
“Oh, now who’s making big plans for the future?” You can't resist a little more teasing. "I thought looking that far ahead was too much to handle?"
“That was when I didn’t have something to look forward to.”
Uramichi might not have meant it to sound like a line; he said it with the same bland, borderline monotone that he usually spoke with, but you feel butterflies all the same. 
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majimasleftasscheek · 1 year ago
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Hihi! Do you have any minedai headcanons? (Idk how to write aAAAAA)
hmmm I had to give this a good think cuz I normally don't obsess about them too much (compared to a certain other pair lmao) but here's what I got 👀
*note! gonna be a mix of silly and more realistic ideas. my interpretation of minedai is pretty unserious
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Daigo
genuinely enjoys mine's company, as uptight and neurotic it may be. because daigo was given the chairman position, a lot of people don't respect him other than mine so it's nice to hang out with someone who, despite being overly respectful, is kind to him. he feels a lot at ease with mine, able to be more himself n all that. it's not much but it means a lot to daigo
that said, he totally goes out in his casual clothes when able and is still very goth coded. Mine makes intense but silent notes about every little thing in those outfits and thinks it's very cute when there's little details like tiny skulls n things
likes to do go out spontaneously when he can and takes mine along. mine thinks something like that is way too dangerous for a chairman to be doing but daigo confides that he's not worried if mine is with him (with an ulterior motive to loosen the giant stick up mine's ass to get him to live a little). cue mine choking on his heart
I like the idea of daigo being oblivious to mine's obsessive behavior to an extent. he becomes so used to mine's quirks that he writes it off as oh he's just like that lol. but he's not wholly dumb to it. he'll be lowkey flirty and that's when mine's questions daigo's actions like "why is daigo smiling at me? is he sick? I should call an ambulance..."
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genuinely has zero idea what type of things mine likes. tho daigo grew up in a bougie type of life and mine currently lives it, he can assume things like fine arts and fancy shit tho personally he removed himself from that sort of thing as he got older (to avoid being anything even close to his dad lol). comparatively, daigo lives more modestly so gift giving is up to guessing but mine accepts literally anything from him and frankly refuses to give him hints as not to place expectations accidentally
likes to spar with mine and was surprised to see that daigo was decently capable of protecting himself and finds his informal style of fighting very charming. he's seen daigo fight before, but it's a bit of a different intensity when it's just to two of them trying their hardest to impress
has a network of friends/allies like kiryu, kashiwagi, etc that mine keeps a closer than needed eye on. daigo does get frustrated that he has to explain he trusts these people wholly and it's often a point of contention between them
very much likes slow days when they can just chill with each other, however that may be. cuddling is prime even if mine gets mad hot and sweaty so daigo keeps a full body towel handy. it's not unusual for daigo to go out of his way to prod mine for reactions as it's the highlight of his day
Mine
definitely has a shrine dedicated to daigo. for funnies: has weird shit like used napkins, articles of hair, etc just funky stuff someone wildin' would keep. realistically I think he'd be a lil more modest - having photos and baubles, typical normie shrine shit
absolutely has a folder on his phone/computer of "selfies" with him and daigo. most of them are just regular photos you'd find in like newspapers, half of them are blurry as hell, and there's a few he's taken himself but poorly done because he did it under a table or something. and of course there's many photos of just daigo, doing all assortment of things from working hard to hardly working
he's caught by daigo occasionally but mine attributes his behavior to "trying to find better phone signal" as he aims it coincidentally at daigo's spikey heeled boots. even when they're together together, he still does this on the sly
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insists on paying for everything whenever they're out but with enough convincing, he'll back down and internally melts when daigo tells him he's just happy to have his company. has a habit tho of "making up" for what he didn't pay for such as ordering lunches n things before daigo can refuse
obvs very violently protective of daigo tho avoids being so in front of him as much as possible. it's very common for someone who's spoken ill of daigo to get their ass beat or thrown into the Tokyo Bay some days later. has a network of people dedicated solely to routing out daigo haters
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is often confided to by daigo about the stresses of running the clan and it takes a lot out of mine for him to not be cold and calculating with an answer. has had to learn sometimes people just want someone to listen
at first, mine thought such confiding was some limp dick shit but over time realized that daigo never wanted anything out of such confessions which is unexpected. to have someone be so trusting and vulnerable with him is incredibly valuable
would have "sounds of daigo talking about stuff" recorded and sleeps to it every night. be assured clips of daigo sneezing are in there too
if he was in dead souls, he would be going turbo murder throughout the city just to dent the population of zombies that could even potentially get a whiff of daigo's darkness allure™ cologne. if infected, I imagine he'd have the will to remain loyal cuz the power of simp compels him
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twohearts-hs · 2 months ago
Text
Always & Forever Twenty (Finale) - Marshall Mathers x Reader Series
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Words: 6.9k
Pairings: Marshall Mathers x Fem!Reader Series
Synopsis: They loved each other with every fibre and being. They knew that they were meant to be together, but it seemed like every obstacle came in the way. She was twenty-one, he was forty and they knew that it would be hard. Therefore, they promised forever and always as they were meant to be together despite every turmoil that came their way.
Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, & Angst.
|| Masterlist for Series ||
Hope you enjoy :)
Y/N parked her car in front of the cozy little bistro where she was meeting Alaina and Hailie for lunch. The morning was slow, Marshall refusing to let Y/N go but eventually she got out of the house on time. He made her breakfast and she stopped at her hotel to change. However, she was about five minutes late to meeting the girls.
Y/N took a deep breath before adjusting her sunglasses as she stepped out into the warm sunlight. The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, and she knew this lunch would be anything but a simple meal. Alaina and Hailie wanted her back with their dad and they would do anything for that to happen. They did see her leave the wedding with him, therefore questions will arise.
As she walked into the bistro, she spotted the two sisters already seated at the corner table. They sent a wave and Y/N smiled, waving back before walking over.
“Y/N!” Alaina greeted her with a hug. “It’s been so long.”
“Tell me about it. So long,” Hailie agreed, giving her a warm embrace as well.
Y/N sat down, and the waiter came and they ordered a round of cocktails before they go into a conversation.
“I’ve missed you both. How have you been? I have meant to reach out but-“
“Life, I get it,” Hailie said.
“I have kept up on Instagram though,” she said.
“Good, life has been good,” Hailie said before going in about her studies and graduating then talking about her new partner. Alaina talked about her relationship with Matt before they asked about New York City.
“Tell us about New York,” Alaina said, her eyes lighting with interest. “How’s the city treating you?”
Y/N smiled, her mind drifting to the bustling streets and towering skyscrapers of New York. “It’s amazing and overwhelming at the same time. I am working at the Museum of Modern Art as well as a gallery owned by a friend named Geneva. I have been doing a few shows for my art. It’s a dream come true. I have everything-“
“But dad,” they finished.
Y/N heard those words and sighed. “What do you want to know?” she said.
“Everything,” Hailie said. “Spill.”
Y/N took a sip of her cocktail, gathering her thoughts. “Well…”
“He took you back to your hotel room,” Hailie said. “What happened? If I ask dad, he will get all grumpy and states that this is none of my business and I need to stick to focusing on my own relationship,” she chuckled which Y/N joined.
“Yeah, he took me back to my hotel. We had a good discussion. Then he stayed over which was nice.”
Hailie and Alaina looked at each other and smiled.
“I went over for dinner yesterday which was nice. I stayed over…again. Basically, we have agreed to work through things. It’s been emotional, but we both want to give it another try,” Y/N admitted.
“Thank god,” Hailie said. “I knew there was something going on at the wedding.”
“Dad looked different, happier when he saw you and you two talked,” Alaina said.
Hailie agreed. “Yeah, we’ve never seen him like that in a long time. He missed you, Y/N.”
Y/N felt a pang of guilt mixed with warmth. “I’ve missed him too. It’s just complicated, you know. We’ve both changed a lot and have gone through different relationships-“
“Dad has dated no one since you. Have you dated since dad?” Hailie asked.
“I had a partner. Three years. We broke up in January. Your dad knows about her,” Y/N admitted. “We had long discussions.”
“Her?” Hailie said.
Y/N nodded. “Let’s not talk about it. Your dad is not a fan of talking about it too. However, we have been honest with each other, learning the five years without each other. We are different people, but we are learning one another again.”
“Well, we’re glad you’re back,” Alaina said, reaching to squeeze Y/N’s hand. “But we need more details. How did it happen? What did you talk about?”
Y/N sighed, knowing they would not let her off easy. “We’ve had a lot of honest conversations about our past, our mistakes, and what we want for the future. It’s not going to be easy, but we’re both willing to try.”
Hailie leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Come on, Y/N. Give us something juicy. Did you guys…you know, get together in other ways?” she hinted.
Y/N chuckled and blushed. “Not yet. I wanted to but we’re taking it slow. We want to make sure we’re both ready and that this what we really want.”
The sisters seemed satisfied for the moment, but Y/N could see the wheels turning in their heads.
“You did not hear all of this from me. If Marshall finds out I am giving you information about our relationship, I will get a talk.”
They chuckled. “Promise. Secret is ours,” Alaina said. “However, you know,” her tone more serious, “Dad was really lonely after you left. He put on a brave face, but we all could see it. He was really heartbroken and choosing those bracelets…he would begin in December looking at them, pondering for months on what to buy, what would the note say…should he reach out? You promised a two-year break and it’s been five.”
Hailie nodded in agreement. “He threw himself into work and tried to be strong for us, but we knew he was hurting. He’d talk about you sometimes, wondering if you were happy or if you’d come back ever.”
Y/N felt a lump in her throat. “I never wanted to hurt him. I just needed to find myself, establish myself and to figure out what I wanted. I was twenty-one when I got with him. I was younger than you.”
“I met the love of my life and I am willing to do anything for them,” Alaina said.
Hailie agreed. “I would do anything for Evan.”
Y/N sighed. “I never wanted to hurt him. I do love him. I still do. I want us to be together and to have a future and we talked about that. However, I just came from a relationship where we talked about marriage and picking out a sperm donor. Your dad will never marry again, and he does not want any more children.” They stayed quiet unsure what to say. “However, I am willing to sacrifice that for him,” Y/N announced. “We are going to make it work. We are going to do long distance. We are…dating,” she whispered. “Every relationship is different. The thing about Marshall and I is we are in different life stages which makes it that much harder.”
They nodded. “I did not think about that,” Hailie admitted. Alaina agreed. “We just want dad to be happy.”
“I hope I can make him happy. It’s going to be a challenge as I will be in New York. It’s a two-hour flight. Your dad is going to come out in a few weeks for my show. I am excited as I can show him my city.”
“Just remember he is Eminem,” Alaina said. “Paparazzi especially in New York…once they know he is there. It’ll be a frenzy.”
“Then I am fine with us just hanging out in my apartment and doing nothing. Now, catch me up on the last five years.”
They grinned and began to chat more.
-
Y/N was exhausted as she got into her hotel room that evening. She had a lunch with the girls which went on forever, then she had her meeting with the art gallery and now she finally laid on her bed. She was still clothed in her day clothes, but she was so tired. Y/N flies at one tomorrow and Marshall wanted to come over tonight, but Y/N admitted how tired she was therefore, he would come for breakfast in the morning.
However, when she finally got herself to shower and crawl into bed, Marshall texted her.
10:23 p.m.
From Marshall <3: I don’t like sleeping without you.
To Marshall <3: I need to get my monies worth at the hotel.
From Marshall <3: Ok. I’ll be there for eight tomorrow.
There was a knock on the door at exactly at eight in the morning. Y/N ran to the door, a necklace in her hand as she opened it. Marshall stood there dressed down but his chain on display, sending her a smile.
“Hey,” she said. “Can you help me with this? I have long nails, so it does not work,” she told him handing him the necklace.
“Sure,” he said as she turned around, letting the necklace hit her chest as he clasped it. “There. Pretty,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. Y/N turned around smiling up to him as he pressed a kiss to her lips. “Hi, beautiful,” he hummed. “How was the lunch yesterday?”
Y/N chuckled. “Your daughters are very nosey. They wanted to know everything about us,” she stated as she walked around grabbing the menu for the hotel.
“What did you share?”
“The truth,” she stated as she looked at the menu before handing it to him.
“Which is?”
“That we are taking it slow and seeing where the relationship goes,” Y/N said as she sat on the bed. “What do you want to eat?”
“Let me look,” he said as he looked at the menu.
They fell into a conversation as they ordered their food and ate together. It was a good hour and a half of conversation before Y/N announced she had to get to the airport. They bid their farewells and shared a passionate kiss before Marshall helped carry her bags.
He put them into her rental car before standing in front of her. He watched as she placed her handbag in the front and walked over.
“I will see you soon,” he stated, leaning and kissing her. Marshall held her hip as he pulled away, tucking her hair. “I booked my flights last night. I will send you the information. I will do a few work things in New York, but mainly I will be there to see you.”
Y/N smiled, kissing his lips again. “Ok, I will see you then.”
He nodded, dropping his hand from her hip. “Bye, Y/N. It was a good few days. Thank you.”
She smiled, kissing his cheek before waving and getting into her car. Marshall watched as she left the hotel parking lot before making her way to the airport. All he did was smile…she was back. Back in his life.
-
Y/N did not own a car. Why would one own a car when they live in New York City? She only took transit or walked. Therefore, when the few weeks went by and it was time for Marshall to visit New York, she told him she could not pick him up as she had no car. He was fine with that and instead took a cab from the airport to her apartment in Manhattan.
Y/N spent the day prior cleaning her apartment and making sure it looked perfect. Therefore, when she got the text that he arrived. She grinned so widely. Y/N walked out of her apartment going down the steps to see Marshall getting out of the cab with his bag.
“Hey, handsome,” she mused standing on the staircase up to her apartment. He looked up and saw her and he smiled instantly. “Let’s get inside.”
Marshall followed, taking his duffle bag and throwing it over his shoulder. He wore jeans and a tee with his chain and a hat as they entered her place. It was beautiful, modern but rustic with brick walls and naked wood panels. Marshall placed his bag down at the door and took his hood and sunglasses off.
Y/N wore jeans and a black tank with some heeled boots. Her hair was slicked back into a low bun with gold hoop earrings. However, when he looked over her apartment all he could see was art.
Several easels with paintings on them, trolleys with paints and materials sat in the corner. It was artistic, art deco like and so Y/N which brought a smile to his face.
���Come here,” he said walking up to her and grabbing her hips, pulling her into a hug.  Y/N face curled into his neck as she breathed in his cologne. She popped her head as he leaned in and pressing a kiss to it. “Good to see you.”
Y/N pulled away and grabbed his cheeks, kissing his lips again. “Good to see you, M. Welcome to my flat,” she said. “Welcome to the Big Apple.”
He smiled. “Thank you,” he whispered, kissing her lips again with a little more passion.
“Let me show you around,” Y/N said, her hand slipping into Marshall’s as she led him through the apartment.
They wandered through the cozy living room with its eclectic mix of modern furniture and antique pieces, past the kitchen with its gleaming countertops and finally her art studio. Marshall was particularly drawn to this space, where canvas lined the walls and a faint smell of turpentine lingered in the air.
“This is amazing,” he said, taking in the vibrant colours and bold strokes of her latest work. “You’ve really made a name of yourself.”
Y/N blushed, her fingers tracing the edge of a nearby canvas. “It’s been a lot of hard work, but I love it. It’s my passion.”
Marshall turned to her, his eyes softening. “I’m proud of you.”
She smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Thanks, M. It means a lot to hear you say that.”
As Marshall continued to look around the room, he stopped in front of an easel covered by a cloth. His curiosity piqued, he glanced at Y/N for permission. She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.
He carefully pulled the cloth away, revealing a large, striking painting. It was a portrait of himself, capturing in a moment of deep contemplation. The detail was exquisite, every line and shadow meticulously painted. His blue eyes seemed to look right him, full of emotion and intensity.
Marshall was in awe, speechless for a moment. “Y/N…this is incredible. I didn’t know you painted me and for it to be like this. I look,” he rose a brow, “just amazing.”
Y/N stepped closer, her eyes on the painting. “I did it a few months after we broke up. It was my way of coping, of keeping you part of you with me. The day I could not paint you, I knew that I would get over us and it never came. I painted or drew you a lot. I could not sell them, with the details of tattoos and that mesmerizing face, people would know it was Eminem.”
Marshall turned to her, his heart swelling with emotion. “I don’t know what to say. This is amazing. I had no idea you felt this way.”  
“I was also hurt with us ending. It was a hard time,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft. “Painting helped me through it. And having you back now, seeing you in my life again, it’s like coming full circle.”
Marshall pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I’m glad we are together again."
"Me too.”
Y/N wandered to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on before bringing his bag to her bedroom. Marshall smiled as she placed it on the bed and came out. She wanted to sleep with him, wake up next to him and just be with him.
“Just milk, right?” she said as she handed his coffee to him. He nodded. She remembered how he took his coffee.
Y/N walked to the couch, sipping on her coffee as Marshall’s eyes wandered around YN’s apartment, taking in the details he had not noticed earlier. He walked around the living room, seeing the shelves and television. However, his gaze fell upon a framed photo on a nearby bookshelf. Curious, he stood and walked over to get a closer look.
In the photo there was Y/N dressed up with sparkles and rainbow eyeshadow with a woman smiling up at her holding a flag. They looked happy, carefree. However, the woman who looked at Y/N had this look in her eyes. She loved Y/N. Marshall felt a tinge of jealousy twist in his gut.
“Aemma?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral as he picked up the frame to show it to Y/N.
“Yes. That was the pride parade last year,” Y/N said.          
Aemma who was taller than Y/N was beautiful. She had a short mullet and a broad smile. Her eyes were green, and she looked at Y/N as if she was the one.
“She looked at you with this love in her eyes,” he stated. “Like you’re the one for her.”
Y/N sighed. “I told you. We were in love.”
“Why do you still have this?”
“Why do I still have the painting of you?” she said. “I collect things I love. I have had that painting for five years.”
“It was covered in your studio. This is sitting in your living room just screaming that you love her and that you’re gay.”
Y/N took a deep breath, setting her coffee cup down. “Marshall, I told you about Aemma because I wanted us to be honest with each other. Yes, I loved her, and she was a significant part of my life. But that relationship is over. This photo is a memory of a time I was happy. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
Marshall’s eyes softened, though the jealous still lingered. “I get that. I do. It’s just…hard to see someone else looking at you like that.”
Y/N stood up, walking over to him. She gently took the frame from his hands and set it back on the shelf. “It’s in the past, M. I chose to keep it because it was a part of my journey, just like you are. But, look we are here now. That is what matters. We’re here together, trying to rebuild what we had.”
Marshall nodded, his tension easing as he pulled her into a hug. “I don’t mean to make it a big deal. I just…we are trying us again and I know you have a past and I do to.”
“It’s ok. I am here with you now. Let’s focus on that.”
Marshall pulled away and began walking throughout the apartment. Every corner seemed to tell a story, and as he moved though the space, he felt a sense of connection to Y/N’s life. It was a reminder of the woman he fell in love with and the journey she’d been on. He stopped in front of a wall adorned with frame photographs. Mostly travel pictures and a few of people. There were photos, paintings and all types of memorabilia. His eyes scanned the collection, lingering on each piece. Suddenly, something familiar caught his eye. There, hanging among other frames, was the vinyl he signed all those years ago. The Eminem Show with his autograph hung.
Marshall stepped closer, a smile spreading over his features.
“To Y/N, with all my love. Marshall.”
He remembered the day he signed it. They were friends, jumping through hoops to not admit their feelings. It was her mother’s record that she stole, and it looked like it hadn’t changed besides the love from all the years ago.
Y/N saw him look at it. Then his eyes looked over to the next framed photograph, it was them at Y/N’s first art show and another one of them together. She had pictures of him in her apartment…the apartment she shared with her ex-girlfriend. Y/N still had pictures of them hanging.
“You remember that?” she said coming up to stand in front of the wall.
“We were just friends when I signed that,” he whispered, looking over. “I didn’t think you would frame it.”
“Told you, I keep things that I love. It’s a reminder of how we started. Even with everything that’s happened, those memories are still important to me.”
“You had these pictures hung for five years and you still never reached out.”
Y/N sighed. “That’s a lie. I emailed you to thank you for the birthday presents.”
“That does not count. You walk past this wall few times a day and you still never talked to me.”
“I look at that wall every day and think about how we will be together. Look at us now.”
He nodded. “You thought about me every day?”
“Every single day. There was not a day that goes by that don’t think about you. You’ve always been a part of my life, Marshall. That’s never changed even when we were apart.”
He leaned in and kissed her softly, feeling a surge of gratitude for the second chance they were giving each other. “Thank you for that.”
“Want to go for a walk around the neighbourhood? Get some lunch?”
“Sure,” he said.
-
They spent the day in domestic bliss. They made dinner together, ate together, showered together and went to bed together…domestic bliss. They were almost back to their old selves. Sharing laughs and stories as they fell back in love with one another.
The following day they spent hanging out before getting ready for the art event. Y/N was wearing a two-piece suit that was risqué but elegant at the same time. It was black with dress pants that were flowy with a vest exposing her arms. Her hair was pulled in low bun as she applied heavier eye makeup and a chain necklace that was a gift from Marshall from years ago.
He commented on and she smiled telling him it was one her favourite pieces to wear. She looked amazing with her heels and elegance. She was masculine, but feminine at the same time.
Marshall wore black pants, a tee with a leather jacket and chain. He was dressed down compared to her but that Marshall. He wore what he wanted when he wanted.
Y/N came out of the bathroom, seeing him sitting on the couch. He had a Red Bull in his hands as his knee bounced.
“Wow,” he said with a breath. “When did you trade in dresses for a suit?” he chuckled.
"When I became a feminist,” she stated, “twenty-six years ago. It’s nice. I hate wearing dresses to these events as you either look too elegant or too slutty. Therefore, I pretend I am a man, so no one cares what I dress in.” He chuckled as she grabbed her clutch off the counter.
“You ready?” he asked, his voice low.
Y/N nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “Yeah, let’s go.”
They arrived at the gallery, the place buzzing with energy and excitement. The red carpet was rolled, and photographers were already snapping pictures of the arriving guests. As soon as Y/N and Marshall stepped out of the car, the flashes intensified.
It could be due to Eminem showing up to an art gallery exhibition party or the fact that Y/N was a big name is the art word these days. However, the photographers were having a field day.
“Just ignore them. Let’s go,” Marshall whispered in her ear trying to get them to walk down the carpet to the entrance, but Y/N stood still.
“They are here for me, Marshall. Not you.”
Right…it hit him. She was a celebrity in the art world. He wrapped his arm around her waist, posing together as they smiled for the cameras. He was not a fan of the scene but did it for her. Eventually, they got into the gallery.
The atmosphere was even more electrifying. Guests mingled, admiring the art that adorned the walls. Y/N’s pieces were prominently displayed, and she felt a surge of pride seeing her work appreciated by so many.
“Y/N!” she heard her name, and she turned around, spotting Geneva. She wore a beautiful Vivienne Westwood dress. Her long silver hair was down, and she wandered over to Y/N. Geneva was tall with an air of elegance and authority. She hugged Y/N warmly and turned to Marshall.
“You must be Marshall,” she beamed. “Y/N has said so much about you.”
Marshall shook her hand. “We met about five years ago-“
“Yes, the one who would not let me buy her art,” Geneva said.
Marshall chuckled. “Yeah, anyway Y/N has been so successful, and I am so proud,” he said looking down to his girl.
“Yes, she is an incredible artist. We have been planning this event for weeks and Y/N has been so excited especially with you visiting,” she said.
Y/N chuckled, and they began to chat about the art around them. Marshall stayed quiet, knowing nothing about art as he glanced around. Y/N and Geneva continued to chat.
“Look at this sexy motherfucker,” a voice said from their left. They turned their heads and Marshall instantly recognised the woman walking up. Mullet, green eyes and she was tall and muscular…she was masculine in her own two-toned suits that was less sexy than Y/N’s and definitely was titled as man’s suit. However, as Aemma wore it, she looked amazing.
Her voice was low and British, sultry and rustic but beautiful. She grinned at Y/N and walked past Marshall, hugging his girl.
Y/N took a step from Marshall, eloping the female in a hug.
“How are you doing, love?” she whispered in her ear pulling away, squeezing her hand.
“Good! I am good,” Y/N said. “How are you?”
“Good. Look at all this art. So beautiful,” she said as she looked around.
Marshall looked at Y/N, unsure what to do and Y/N looked at him. “Aemma, this is Marshall. Marshall, Aemma,” she introduced.
Aemma put her hand out and Marshall took it. “The famous Eminem,” she stated. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said lowly. However, Aemma looked back at Y/N and smiled.
“Gosh, look at this suit. Sexy, sexy, sexy. I just want to eat you up,” she hummed with a chuckle.
Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re a doll, thank you. How’s London?”
“Busy, but good. I am writing away about the celebrities and the fashion. Hot gossip is all I know these days. It’s different from the political side and news side. It’s a lot more fun. Freeing too, ya know. Like, I can have my opinions and be free with my work.”
Y/N nodded, smiling. “Glad to hear. I know you worried about the drama and all.”
“It’s not too bad. British pop culture is less dramatic than American.”
“You write about celebrities?” he asked, breaking his silence.
“Yes, you must hate me,” she joked. “However, this world loves drama.”
Marshall awkwardly laughed and nodded his head. He did indeed hate journalists and now he hated Aemma just a little more.
“Funny,” Y/N said, and Marshall shoved his hands into his pocket. “I hate drama.”
“Well, that makes you unusual which I love,” Aemma said as she took two flutes of champagne off a tray a waiter had and handed one to Y/N.
Y/N accepted the champagne flute with a smile, her eyes briefly meeting Marshall’s before she turned back to Aemma. “Thanks, Aemma.”
Aemma raised her glass. “To your amazing exhibit and all the success that’s coming your way.”
“To the future,” Y/N echoed, clinking her glass with Aemma’s. She then turned to Marshall, who was watching the interaction with a guarded expression. “You want something to drink, M?”
“Sure,” Marshall said. “I’ll go get something.”
Marshall walked off but kept glancing back to see Aemma and Y/N standing together. Aemma watched him leave, then turned to Y/N with a wistful smile. “He’s really protective of you, isn’t he?” she commented.
Y/N nodded, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “Yeah, he is. He’s been through a lot, and I think it makes him more guarded.”
Aemma’s eye softened as she looked at Y/N. “I can see that. He really loves you though.”
Y/N smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I know. I love him too.”
Aemma took a step closer, her voice gentle as she leaned into her ear. “I miss you, you know. We had something special.”
Y/N looked down, feeling a pang of guilt. “I miss you too, Aemma. You were a big part of my life.”
Aemma reached out, her hand brushing against Y/N’s arm. “It’s hard seeing you with him. But I can’t deny that he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.”
Y/N’s eyes met Aemma’s, and she could see the genuine emotion in her eyes. “Aemma, I never wanted to hurt you. Our time together meant so much to me.”
Aemma smiled sadly, her fingers tracing a pattern on Y/N’s sleeve. “I know. And I don’t regret any of it. But seeing you with Marshall, I can tell me truly loveS you. It’s written all over his face.”
Y/N swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been difficult, trying to balance everything. I care about both of you.”
Aemma nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I get it. And I want you to be happy, Y/N. Even if it means being with him. I want the best for you.”
Y/N felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes. “Thank you, Aemma. That means a lot.”
Aemma took a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” Y/N asked, her voice trembling.
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” Aemma said, her voice sincere. “And that you’ll let yourself be happy.”
Y/N nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I promise.” Aemma wiped the tear.
“Don’t cry. You’re too pretty to cry.” Y/N smiled give Aemma a warm hug before pulling away. She rubbed her back before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I will always love you in some way.”
Y/N nodded. “Likewise.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history hanging in the air. Aemma finally stepped back, giving Y/N a small, sad smile. “I should go mingle. It’s your big night, after all.”
Marshall watched the whole interaction, and he could tell that Aemma still loved Y/N a lot. However, he grabbed his drink from the bartender before turning back to see Y/N in front of him.
“Hey,” he hummed, and Y/N wrapped her arms around him. “Everything ok?”
“Just had a moment with Aemma, but its all good. She just means a lot to me as a friend and a person I shared a life with.”
He nodded. “You good then?”
Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with determination. “I am. I love you, Marshall. I really do and I am here for you always.”
Marshall smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, Y/N. Its all good. Let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”
-
Aemma was affectionate. Absolutely, over the top affectionate to Y/N and as the night went on Marshall’s patience was wearing thin. She did not leave her alone and she would find any excuse to touch Y/N. Marshall was affectionate and he loved Y/N, but he would never display that level of PDA in front of people. Sure, he would hold her hand and lean in for a kiss on the cheek but Aemma…Y/N would tell a joke and she would grip onto Y/N’s arm, or she would lean super close, brushing her lips to Y/N’s ear.
Marshall had to trust Y/N. However, he was getting angry. Y/N warned him that Aemma was a flirt. She had the looks and the confidence, and she had a history with Y/N. They were once friends just like Marshall and her.
However, as the night continued, Marshall’s patience wore thin. He could feel his temper rising with each passing minute. Aemma was there…constantly, giving no time to Y/N and Marshall. She was always around Y/N.
He leaned into Y/N. “I am going outside for a breather,” he said, and she nodded.
“Everything ok?”
“Just overwhelmed.”
Y/N nodded as he walked away. Aemma watched Marshall leave and turned to Y/N.
“You can’t keep touching me like that, Aemma,” Y/N stated as she looked at her old friend. “As much as I love it, Marshall gets weird with that especially now that we are back together. He is insecure about us. Always have.”
Aemma nodded, taking a step away from Y/N. “I did not realise. However, is that healthy?”
“I don’t know if anything about Marshall and I is healthy, but I want us to work.”
Aemma sighed. “You two were so toxic though-“
“We aren’t anymore. We went through trauma and needed each other more than anything-“
“He loves you more than you love him.”
“Aemma,” Y/N sighed. “I love him.”
“I will lay off the touching,” she said with a smile. “Which is going to be weird.”
“I know but do it not for him but for me.”
“Anything for you,” she hummed, winking at her.
Marshall came back in walking to Y/N and wrapping an arm around her waist and she looked up. “I told Aemma to stop touching me,” she told him. “I know its bothering you.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
-
The night was a success and Y/N was a little tipsy but she was fine as they got home. Marshall opened the door as Y/N came in, taking her heels off and rolling her head back to crack her back.
“Heels really fuck your back up,” she stated as she walked to the kitchen to grab a drink of water.
“I don’t know how you wear those,” Marshall said as he followed her and leaned against her counter. “Aemma,” he began, “was affectionate,” he decided on a word.
Y/N sighed. “I know. Are you ok?”
Marshall nodded then sighed. “She was really close. Like she,” he sighed, “fuck, Y/N it was clear she is still in love with you.”
“Marshall,” she tried.
“I’m not ok,” he finally came to the conclusion. “How could I be? Watching her all over you like that…it’s…it’s too much.”
“What do you want me to do?” Y/N whispered. “She is not leaving my life.”
“Move to Detroit. Put us first. Move in with me. Let us have a life. Fuck,” he said. “I want us to happen. I want us to be serious. If this fucking chick is here, visiting you, touching you-“
“So, it is about Aemma?”
“Why can’t we have a happy ever after? I want someone to grow old with and I am fucking old already. Do I need to wait another five years? It just…I looked at you and Aemma and she was just there and you allowed her-“
“Marshall, she is part of my life.”
"And I want to be part of your life and I want you part of mine.”
“I am,” she said leaning closer to him. “Marshall, you can’t get all territorial of me. You need to trust me.”
“I just want you in Detroit. Call me selfish, but I can’t do this flying constantly. Will you ever move to Detroit?”
“Yes.”
“When?” he begged. “Another five years? Ten? When you’re ready to retire…I’ll be dead.”
“Marshall,” she said pinching her nose. Taking a deep breath she looked up. “I don’t want to sacrifice my career on something that I don’t know will last. We weren’t even together for a year.”
“Because you chose Columbia. You are choosing this job. You are choosing this city, this apartment, this life. Chose me for once as I am sick of being on the bottom of your list.” He then shrugged. “Do you even fucking love me? Because this is not love.”
Y/N felt a wave of pain and frustration wash over her. How could he say something like that? She placed her glass of water down on the counter and took a step closer to Marshall, looking him straight in the eyes.
“Marshall, I do love you. More than you know. But asking me to give up everything I’ve worked for is not fair. My career, my dreams – they’re a part of me…of who I am. I can’t just throw them away.”
Marshall shook his head, clearly still upset. “So, what am I then? Just an option?”
Y/N was getting exhausted by all of this. She rolled her head back and took a loud and obnoxious big breath before whispering, “I agreed to get back together if we didn’t fight like we used to, that we would not be toxic and that we would be ok with long distance.”
Marshall’s expression softened, but the tension in his eyes remained. “I know, I know,” he quietly said. “But it’s so fucking hard, Y/N. Seeing Aemma with you tonight just brought all my insecurities to the surface. I don’t want to fight, I just…I want us to work.”
“And we will. We need to trust each other, and we have to work through this together. Long distance is tough, but it’s not impossible.” She took another step, closing the distance between them. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath her fingers. She looked up. “I love you.”
“I want us to build a life and not just visit you in another city.”
“I understand that,” Y/N softly said. “I want that too, someday. But, right now this is where I need to be. For my career, for my dreams. It does not mean I love you any less.”
He sighed, rolling his head back. “I need you. Home. With me. In Detroit,” he said it very bluntly.
Y/N saw just how much he’s hurting. She did have Daniel with the job opportunity. She could move to Detroit. She could but that could end everything with Geneva and the gallery. She was well established in New York and if she moved to Detroit, her income could be heavily impacted. There was a inner debtate.
Y/N patted his chest a few times and cleared her throat. “Marshall,” she tried.
“Just tell me. New York first.”
“I think you’re being dramatic and you’re being very controlling. You’re set on your own ways. You’re putting your happiness first. However, I will contact Daniel and see what the opportunity in Detroit would be like. I don’t even know if he would hire me.”
What did she want? New York City…her life, her reputation, her career…or Marshall? A life with him. Y/N had no idea what to pick. However, she pinched her nose and whispered, “I am going to take a shower.”
Marshall watched as she walked away. How could he take her words? She was right…he was being selfish, he was putting his needs, wants, desires and happiness first. However, he could not move to New York City. He could not leave Detroit.
“Why do we fight, Y/N?” he said after a while. “Why doesn’t the universe allow us to just be happy?” he said moments later. “Why can’t we have happiness.”
“I don’t know, Marshall,” she whispered turning around in the apartment. “All I know is that I love you. I want you. I need you. I desire us. I adore us. I want us to be end game.” Then Y/N turned to look at him and he stood a metre apart and she sighed. “I will move to Detroit. I will rent this apartment out until I can sell it. I won’t move in, but I will live close. I will chase the job at that gallery with Daniel the owner. I will put us first because you’re you and I am me and we are meant to be together,” Y/N admitted.
“I can’t give you marriage or babies,” he stated. “However, I promise I will love you until I take my last breath. Then I will find you in our next lifetime and I hope it will be easier. In that lifetime, I will meet you, I will fall in love with you, I will marry you and give you as many children as you want, and we will grow old together and be buried next to each other. However, in this lifetime we are just two people trying their best to love and I don’t know why we deserve that because we are good people.”
Y/N ran, she ran across the room and wrapped her arms around his neck before her hands grasped his cheeks, bringing his lips to hers. Marshall allowed it, leaning down and giving all his will power and love to her as their kiss became passionate, needy and wanting.     He walked backwards, pushing her as they walked to her bedroom. Their hands moved effortlessly through one another, ridding clothes and stepping out of them leaving them naked in front of each other. Y/N pulled away as the back of her legs touched the end of her bed. They stared at one another with such love, adoration and devotion. She cupped his cheek, looking up at him through her lashes. Her eyes glimmered with hope and need as she pressed a kiss to his lips.
“Forever?” she whispered.
“Forever and always,” he agreed. Then she kissed him with everything she had.            
Till death do them part.
-
Yay! The series is over. Hope you all enjoyed it. I had so much fun writing it. I am thinking of doing a epilogue, but we shall see.
Additionally, I would like to say that I am opening my inbox to requests as I would love to write more Marshall Mathers/Eminem fanfiction. Let me know your thoughts!
Thanks!
Much love,
Ava <3
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artsycrapfromsai · 1 year ago
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Random details on Amaryllis as my Tav and my BG3 playthrough with her:
🌸 she's romancing Astarion, and has no idea. She just thinks he's neat. He thinks she's an insane, weird, bleeding heart, yet somehow that's getting to him. (It was the embroidered art of him). I imagine he falls for her first, and he has no idea what to do about it bc none of his experience works for her. That said, she's going to eventually return his feelings and be a lot more awkward/shy when she does
🌸 she and Gale are nerd buddies who talk for hours and hours about nerdy magical shit, or history stuff, or gods and goddesses, whatever can be found in a book. Probably end up discussing how to send a bear flying at mach speed with stackings of haste and other magical items
🌸 Amy likes Shadowheart and wants to braid Shadowheart's favorite flowers into her hair and have a like a spa day together
🌸 Karlach and Lae'zel both, ah, very bluntly propositioned her and spooked Amy senseless (this is what happens when you have a demi-sexual n demi-romantic OC who gets aggressively flirted with)
🌸 Amy has decided to run, hide, and avoid them for a while bc of this. I imagine when Karlach specifically propositioned Amy at her bedroll, Amy was so startled she immediately started rolling away and right over the campfire, completely ignoring the fact that she was now on fire. (She just misty stepped away from Lae'zel)
🌸 (i imagine Amy ran to Astarion after this, wide eyed and frazzled and going "HELP" lol and after, they hung out in the woods doing embroidery to relax, while Astarion mused on how it's probably a good thing she didn't realize he tried propositioning her too, or else she might have been scared away. Also him musing on how she enjoys spending time with him enough that she'd rather just embroider stuff with him than have casual sex with people)
🌸 Despite that, she does genuinely like Lae'zel and Karlach a lot, and enjoys sparring with both, and making cute plushies with Karlach
🌸 Amy thinks Wyll is kinda silly and goofy, but earnest. She thinks his horns are funny and wants to make decorations for them
🌸 Halsin deeply reminds her of one of her dads (who, coincidentally, was also an 8ft tall, beefy, middle aged nature loving elf)
Speaking of-
One way I'm viewing the playthrough is that Amaryllis from her main campaign got bonked on the head into a coma and got isekai'd, with amnesia, into the game story
A lot of the characters are hilariously very similar to characters she knew in her OG campaign
I think those initial similarities are what drew Amy to everyone, and they're why she was so immediately comfortable around people that she should have probably been more wary of (Astarion), but as time passes that all fades as she gets to know everyone more personally
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kenzirr · 5 months ago
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The bar buzzed with life, its energy palpable as patrons mingled, danced, and enjoyed their drinks. Amid the vibrant atmosphere, Spencer Reid found himself unable to take his eyes off of you. There was something about your presence that captivated him entirely. Your confidence and grace stood out, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to you.
As the night wore on, Derek Morgan noticed Spencer's fixed gaze. He leaned in with a teasing grin. "Come on, pretty boy. You've been staring at her all night. Go talk to her."
Spencer hesitated, clearly nervous. "I don't know, Derek. What if she doesn't want to talk to me?"
Derek laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll never know unless you try. Besides, you’ve got more charm than you realize."
Spencer took a deep breath, mustering his courage. He made his way through the crowd, his heart pounding with each step. As he approached you, the words he'd rehearsed in his head seemed to scatter. "H-hi," he stammered, his voice barely audible above the music. "I'm Spencer. I, um, couldn't help but notice you from across the bar."
You turned to him, a warm smile spreading across your face. "Hi, Spencer. I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you."
Relief washed over him at your friendly response. "It's nice to meet you too," he said, his confidence bolstered slightly. "I don't usually do this, approach people, I mean. But there’s just something about you that made me want to take a chance."
Your eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, I'm glad you did. It's not every day someone like you comes up to me."
Spencer's cheeks turned a faint shade of red, but he pressed on. "So, um, what brings you here tonight?"
"I’m out with friends," you said, glancing towards a group that was deep in conversation and laughter. "We needed a night out to unwind. What about you?"
"Same here," Spencer replied, feeling a bit more at ease. "We just wrapped up a tough case, and this seemed like a good way to relax."
You nodded, interested. "A tough case? What do you do?"
Spencer's eyes lit up, his passion for his work shining through despite his nerves. "I'm with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. We profile and catch serial offenders. It’s challenging but rewarding."
"Wow, that sounds intense," you said, genuinely impressed. "And here I thought my job was stressful. You must have some fascinating stories."
Spencer chuckled softly. "It has its moments. But enough about work. What do you do?"
"I work in psychology," you replied. "It's a different kind of challenge, but I enjoy it. It’s creative and always changing."
"That sounds interesting," Spencer said, his curiosity piqued. "I’ve read a bit about psychology strategies. It’s impressive how you can understand and influence people's behavior."
You smiled, appreciating his genuine interest. "It’s definitely an art. So, do you come to places like this often?"
Spencer shook his head, laughing lightly. "Not really. I'm more of a homebody. I like researching a lot. What about you?"
"Same here, actually," you admitted. "But it's fun to go out every once in a while and let loose."
The conversation flowed easily between you two, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. As the night progressed, you realized you wanted to see him again.
"Spencer, I’d really like to continue this conversation another time," you said, pulling out your phone. "Can I have your number?"
Spencer's face lit up with a mix of surprise and happiness. "Of course," he said, handing you his phone. You quickly entered your number and gave it back.
"I’ll be looking forward to your call," you said with a smile.
"I will definitely call," Spencer replied, his smile widening.
As he returned to his friends, Derek shot him a thumbs-up, clearly pleased. Spencer couldn’t suppress his grin for the rest of the night.
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whatyadrawin · 8 months ago
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The Fruit After the Flesh 18+ -Chapter 9-
Minors DNI!
Masterlist
Approximately 4,872 words
Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Headcanon) x AFAB reader
This chapters Warnings:  Sexual language, foul language, scary moment. This is Slasher smut, be mindful of that and use your discretion.
A/n: This chapter took me so long to complete! I had to read over it and edit like four times. I took 48 hrs to make all the art pieces starting from 3pm march first until 6am march second, took a nap, started back up to finish the art at 2:30pm and finalized EVERYTHING for upload at 6am March 3rd. I'm tired bro, I got so carried away with the art I really should have cut it down to just 3 images but artists always suffer for their passion, it's our curse. Let me know if you want to be in the tag list. I update chapter progress on the masterlist whenever something changes.
Please enjoy this chapter! I worked very hard on it so reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated very much.
Tag List: @fan-goddess , @artxasa
Chapter 9 
               The days at the Hewitt house went by slow as molasses, within these dragging days a construction crew had arrived and began repairing your home. They worked quickly and made a lot of headway which is unusual for contractors, the team seemed eager to leave for some unspoken reason. The foreman said that in one month, you would get your home back; you were excited to have your life get back on track despite enjoying your time at the Hewitt house. You made sure to water and trim the fruit trees so that they didn’t overgrow or die, since Dover was still missing, all the responsibility was left up to you. There was so much work to do but you were happy to be able to contribute your time to the property. In the passing days you didn’t see much of Tommy, he seemed preoccupied and was frequently away from the farm which only made the days last longer for you.
Half past 4pm, the day was really wearing on you and the sun was getting low in the sky so you decided to leave the orchard and head back to the Hewitt house to rest. On your walk back, you think about Tommy’s room and what it must look like, when you saw the door under that menacing red light it was simultaneously both frightening and intriguing.
The basement was such a dark and quiet place, so spacious and empty; You remembered that room with hooks that Tommy swiftly prevented you from exploring, your curiosity grew when he spun you around and slammed the door shut. This family has a mysterious history to you, the mention of them allegedly eating people weighed heavy on your mind -can I really get past the fact that they might have been cannibals? – it felt easier to gaslight yourself into thinking everything was fine, so you ran it out of your head.
When you arrived at the house, you make your way through the parlor and see Luda Mae sitting on the couch in the living room. She was reading a romance novel with a muscular, golden-haired man on the cover, it was reminiscent of the classics you had seen in your grandmothers closet as a kid. She sees you and places the book down to the side hurriedly as if she was ashamed of what she was reading,
“I-uh-ahem” She stuttered,
You smile politely “Reading anything good?”
She laughs, “Yeah, this one’s real saucy too. Thought I might get lost in it for a while.”
You felt bad for interrupting her, “Well don’t let me stop you, I’m just heading over to my room for some rest before dinner.”
she replies, “Oh, shoot that reminds me, best get dinner started now.” Luda Mae gets up with a groan and starts walking towards the kitchen.
“Time really does fly by when you find a good book.” She laughs as she passes.
You go to your room and get yourself changed and freshened up before dinner, you didn’t want to be around everyone while having the sweat of farmwork still lingering. You put on a comfortable pair of black tights and a white tank top which matched the white walking shoes you slipped on your feet.
When dinner was ready, you left your room to meet with the Hewitts at the dining table. The scent of roast chicken and baked corn wafted into the room, you were starving from having worked all day. Charlie was already sitting at the table when you arrived, he looked at you and said,
“Didja see the progress on the house?”
You take a seat, “Yeah, it’s coming along really fast, I’m surprised.”
He laughs “Don’t be, that crew probably knows this area ain’t so safe for ‘em. They’re smart, gonna get their paycheck and fuck off.”
You furl your eyebrows, “Why isn’t it safe for them?”
“Ah- Uh...” Charlie stopped himself when he caught a glare from Luda Mae from the kitchen,
“Well, what if they were to get hurt hm? Ain’t no hospital nearby or nothin’” he looked pleased with his answer.
You reply, “That’s a good point I guess.”
You know there is something more to what he said, but you didn’t want to push him. Luda Mae brought in the food, placing it all on the table followed by a big jug of ice-water, she groaned as she sat down; Tommy however, was missing tonight and you were worried,
You ask, “Where is Tommy? Is he not eating?”
Charlie laughs “That boy not eat? Maybe when hell freezes over after pigs fly n’ the fat lady sings.”
A devilish grin forms on his face before he turns to Luda Mae and says,
“Hey Luda, get the ball rollin’ n’ start singin’, then when the pigs grow wings Satan’s ass’ll turn to ice and the boy won’t be eatin’ us outta house n’ home no more.”
Luda Mae just rolls her eyes, she turns to you and says,
“Don’t worry hun, Charlie brought somethin’ to him so he don’t starve out there.”
You push for more info, “He’s been so busy lately; I feel like I never get to see him anymore. Where is he anyway?”
Charlie grabs a chicken leg and bites into it, he starts speaking with his mouth full,
“He’d shred us in half if we toldja. He’s been workin’ real hard though, wants to show you what all he’s been doin’ tonight”
Charlie swallows his food and continues, “He’s got a big ole’ hard on for you girlie, you better not be trailin’ him along fer nothin’, or he might lose it.”
Luda Mae whips her dishcloth at Charlie, who just smiles and winks at you. Luda Mae looks at you and says,
“Hope you get used to this foul-mouthed pig here, I might die from having to apologize on his behalf all darn day.”
She shakes her head at him and follows, “Thomas wants to meet up with you after you’re done eatin’. He wants to show you what he’s been workin’ on.”
Charlie pipes in, “Yeah, I bet he wants to show you somethin’. Probably whip out the fuckin’ anaconda he’s hidin’ down there. For an ugly motherfucker he sure was blessed. God is a real shit heel for that one.”
You squint your eyes at him, and he continues,
“He used to bathe outside when he was a youngin’ but once he grew up a bit the bulls started feelin’ emasculated.” Charlie starts laughing hysterically.
Luda Mae hides her face in her hands, she yells out,
“Why’r you talkin’ bout my boy’s privates like that!? You tryin’ to make us all upset?”
Charlie is now red in the face from laughing, he gets a sick pleasure in making people uncomfortable, but if anything, it just made you unbearably curious. You caught a glimpse of his erection when you watched Tommy run from you at the pond, it was greatly obscured but from what you could see, it was huge; You were able to feel the size and firmness of it in the laundry room, which factualized Charlies words.
He looked over at you, his eyes were watery from laughing so hard, he says,
“I’m sorry honey buns, but you need to be warned before you let him stick that goddamn two by four in ya.” He continues to laugh while he shovels corn into his mouth. You were still not used to his outlandish way of conversation and it made you blush.
The rest of dinner was mostly just Luda Mae trying to keep the subject matter light and Charlie giggling to himself. Once you cleared the table and packed away the leftovers, Luda Mae guides you to the door and says,
“Go wait for him by the silo, he’ll take you to his surprise. I hope you like it dear.”
The sun was now deep on the horizon which was losing its rosy hue, twinkling planets were already visible and the moon was following the dark part of the sky. You see Thomas leaning against the silo, he had one hand in his pocket and the other was fiddling with some wheat from the field to check the progress of the crop. He was wearing a very loosely fit tank top that looked old and worn, his pants were a pale blue jean with dirt and other stains scattered all over, he was still wearing his working boots which means he must have completed this surprise only today.
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He looks up from what he was doing, when he sees you, he stood up straight, dropping the wheat to the ground. You could tell he was smiling, his deep blue eyes squishing upward gave it away, this made you smile wide as you felt knots form in your stomach. You felt like you hadn’t seen him in forever, time away really does make the heart grow fonder, it was agony not being able to spend time with him. He extended his hand to you and when you placed your hand in his and realized how small you really were compared to him, you felt like you could only hold onto two of his fingers while he could easily cover more than just your hand with his.
He looked at you and carefully pulled you toward the forest,
“Where are we going? It’s dark in there, sort of scary, isn’t it?” You were hesitant to be going into a dark forest as the sun was rapidly losing its light, he looked at you and tilted his head to the side,
“I’m here” he said calmly.
His voice was so deep and reassuring. You rarely ever hear him speak, so it felt like you won the lottery whenever he did utter out anything. He was walking slowly, he made sure to accommodate the vast difference in gait you both had by staying behind you, he guided you by gently moving you in the right direction with his hand on your shoulder. Even though you were nervous about the darkness of the forest, you felt safe with Tommy close to you. He was so large and unbelievably strong that there was no way harm could come to you.
Suddenly, Tommy stopped and turned you around to face him, he took your hands and covered your eyes with them, you couldn’t help but smile. He put his hand on the middle of your back to guide you further in, you trusted that he would ensure you don’t trip and fall. The ground went from dirt and crunching leaves, to soft grass, then a hard flat surface. Each step you took made a hollow wooden noise as if you were at a harbor. Tommy stopped you and moved your hands from your eyes. You looked around and gasped, you were on a dock that sat on top of the pond.
The moon was already shining a bright light on the water making it look like glass, the stars that now shone in the night sky were reflecting off the surface and turned the pond into what looked like a portal into space. The gentle croaking of frogs created a peaceful ambience, and as you walked further onto the dock you saw some wooden chairs to relax on, one was much larger than the other.
“Did you make all this?” your voice was exasperated with awe.
Tommy nodded again and pointed at you,
You smiled “You made this for me?”
He nodded again and went to sit on the largest chair, he tapped his hand on the other chair to get you to sit with him. You sat down and the deep seat forced you to recline which was relaxing.
“I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me. Thank you, Tommy, you’re such a thoughtful man.”
Tommy looked at you and nodded slowly, he made an approving ‘hmph’ noise, he felt good about pleasing you. The heat tonight was thick, it made your skin sticky with sweat, and you could see a slick shine on Tommy’s arms and chest. You get up from the chair to put your hand in the water, testing its temperature, small fish reveal themselves as they flash in the moonlight. You stand up and remove your shoes, Tommy stands up nervously and you giggle,
“Don’t worry, I won’t take off my shirt or underwear. It’s too hot to just sit down when we have the most immaculate natural pool right under our feet.”
You slowly take off your tights and fold them neatly on top of your shoes, the black thong you had underneath did nothing to conceal your feminine shape; Tommy turns away from you, staring off into the sky in an attempt to avoid gawking at you. It was amusing to you since he already saw most of your body the first time you were in the pond. You slowly lower yourself into the cool water of the pond, its cooling temperature feels like heaven.
Tommy heard you get in and slowly turns around to see you on your back, floating gently with the moon’s reflection circling your body, you looked like a goddess. You saw that he was just standing there watching you, you swim up to the dock and put your arms on the edge, you say,
“You know, you don’t have to just watch me.”
Seeing him act so shy was strange, a polar opposite of the last time you were both in the laundry room where he made no qualms of pushing himself up against your clothed pussy with his dick begging for entry. You watched as he took off his clothes, throwing them sloppily next to your neatly folded pile. You were annoyed that he was wearing black boxers which concealed the shape and size of his package too well, but being able to see his body almost completely unclothed was still enough to have you biting your lip in excitement.
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Tommy had very long legs which were complemented by his thick thighs, his butt was muscular from having to haul his hefty body weight all over the farm. His torso was exactly as you pictured it, he had heavy muscle underneath a layer of fat that softened any sharp edges and did nothing but add mass to his already impressive size. His pecs were large and heaved with every breath he took, a smattering of soft hair covered the base of his chest and ran down his abdomen leading towards his groin, getting less sparse the lower it went.
Seeing him so exposed was odd, most people would look vulnerable, but he only looked more intimidating and fearsome especially since his arm muscles were well defined despite his soft torso. His size was not a mirage from thick clothes or padded jackets like most men you encountered, he really was authentically a behemoth of a man.
He lowered himself into the pond and let out a sigh of relaxation when he submerged his torso under the surface. You smile, and swim over to him,
“You deserve to relax after working so hard. I hope we could make this a frequent thing, something we could do together.”
You waited for a response, he looked at you and then up to the sky, he let out a positive ‘hm’ and nodded. You felt like you were in a dream, nothing you experienced was ever this beautiful, and no man was ever as generous as Tommy, you wanted to live in this moment forever. Tommy stands up in the water, he turns to you and grabs your hand to pull you to another part of the pond,
“C’mere” he says.
He pushes past some thick reeds and you end up in a tiny alcove where the water comes up to your chin and tall grasses circle you both which made the area very intimate. Tommy sees you struggling to keep your head out of water, he bends over you and grabs the smallest area on your waist under your ribs with both hands and he lifts you out of the water effortlessly. You let out a short-excited scream as he pulls you up and holds you close to his body. You’re barely able to straddle him, your chest was now just under his chin, your tank top clung to your breasts exposing your now hardened nipples. You placed both arms over his shoulders to prevent yourself from smothering his face with your bosom. He was so strong that you were able to sit comfortably on just the one arm, he looks out towards the grass and says,
“Watch”
Tommy used his free hand to splash water across the grass around you and it erupted with whirring, a horde of fireflies sprung out from their hiding places and lit up the night. You were stunned,
“I’ve never seen fireflies before, this is… this is magical.”
Tommy laughs and slowly turns to let you take in the full effect of the display before you, the glow of the fireflies created a warm soft light that was bright enough to let you see his eyes clearly, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked up at you, his eyes half lidded and glossy, he drank in every inch of the enchanting sight before him. When he looked into your eyes it was like projecting his soul into your mind, you could feel his emotions and you felt a deep comfort from it, like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.
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You reach up and move his hair away from his face, he took your hand and held it to his cheek as he pressed his face into your touch, his eyes closing and letting out a deep breath. You smile at him and decide to be brave; you begin to slowly remove his mask but he abruptly stops your action with his hand, you could see his expression was full of worry, you say,
“If I keep my eyes closed will you let me take off your mask? I promise not to open them.”
Tommy looks off to the side thinking, he wasn’t scared of anything except losing you and he was worried that if you saw his full face, it would disturb you. He wondered what you were going to do, but the fear was stopping him from finding out. You see him deep in thought and speak again,
“Look” you close your eyes tightly, “I can’t see a thing, I promise I won’t peek.”
Tommy trusted you, and despite the anxiety running through his system, he removed his mask and let it hang down on one ear. He took your hand and guided it up to the left side of his face, which had no significant damage compared to the other side. You feel his stubble and softly move your hand down to his lips, they were smooth and parted slightly. You smile when your fingers reached his mouth, despite not being able to see his face, from what you were able to feel, you knew he was handsome. You slowly lower your head down and pause, hovering your lips over his and testing to see what he would allow. He didn’t resist.
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You pressed your lips onto his and immediately felt a jolt of hormonal chemicals race through you like an electric shock, he let out a muffled sound of surprise. He pressed back and slowly lowered your body so he could kiss you on a more equal level. You extended the kiss by opening your mouth slightly, parting his lips only to press in on them again passionately, Tommy reciprocated the motion and was now breathing heavily through his nose, you could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest as he groaned with arousal, it was so deep that it vibrated into your chest further exciting you.
You could feel some strange deformation on one side of his face, your lips didn’t quite connect with his fully on his right side. You stayed closer to his left side since it felt a little bit more intact, you wished you could see how unique his face was. Imagining the damage done to him at such a young age was upsetting, it only emboldened your feelings for him.
The kiss was long and passionate, you both couldn’t get enough of each other, it felt like a sin to stop. Every time you pulled back from his lips, he leaned into you to catch them again parting and closing your mouths to enhance the connection you both so desperately craved. You could smell the air from his nose washing over you, it was strangely intoxicating almost like it was fresh mountain air which aroused you further. His free arm was now trailing up your spine until his hand found a resting place on the back of your neck.
You wanted more of him; your emotions were getting so intense that you moaned each time the pressure of the kiss increased. You placed your left hand on his shoulder, and your right on his collarbone. You ran your fingers over the thick muscle tensing on his neck, his carotid artery was pulsating with his heart beat, you continued feeling upwards and reached his jawline where his thick stubble prickled your fingertips. His features were so far above a stereotypically masculine ideal, it made you feel a cautious excitement, as if you encountered the final product of evolutionary success aimed to create a monster of man.
You finally pull away, making sure to keep your eyes closed. You are breathing heavily, letting out a soft moan as you lean your head back to get more air. Tommy covers his face back with the mask and gazes at you still drunk off the kiss and feeling lighter than air. The fireflies have now dispersed to the point where it was very dim around you both. He carries you back to the shallow area of the pond so you could stand up.
You smile, “Thank you for trusting me.”
Tommy nods and smiles under his mask. You wade in the water around him as he sits in the water so his torso is once again submerged, his head leaned back and eyes closed. You look around at the leftover fireflies lazily floating over top the glassy pond surface, the water gently laps at your hips.
 A feeling of unease creeps into your body and raises the hairs on the back of your neck, you stop moving and a sudden wave of anxiety rushed over you. In this moment you freeze and quiet your breathing, you felt an instinct to try to listen to the world around you very carefully but you couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. The feeling of something being…off was now overwhelming and setting you on edge. You quietly move closer to Tommy to create a sort of protective border from the surroundings and hold onto his arm, he opens his eyes and looks at you with concern.
“Somethings wrong” you say in a hushed tone.
Tommy immediately got up from his sitting position and stood alert, he closed his arms around you and searched with his eyes to see what spooked you;
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He breathed out slowly and moved you back towards the dock. You were confused and frightened, a tense gut feeling was like an ancient ancestral alarm which you knew should never be ignored. He helped you up on the dock and followed behind after you walked toward your clothes. You quickly put on your tights and shoes and as Tommy got his clothes on you looked around, trying to find the source for this sudden dread. You slowly panned across the forest, until you see it.
In the distance, and shrouded in the shadows of night, a silhouette of a person stood still. It was too dark to make out any features and just as you saw them, they disappeared into the bush as if they were nothing but a hallucination. You get closer to Tommy who just finished pulling his shirt down over his body, you press your back into him to feel a sense of security. Tommy looks at you and bends his upper body over you as he looks around,
“Where” he says firmly,
You point to where the shadow was and whisper, “There was someone there, watching us.”
He didn’t need to see what you saw in order to know that the energy outside had shifted, all he wanted to do was get you to safety. He lifted you up into his arms and held you tightly, he took one look around to ensure the exit was safe and bolted; His movements were agile and fast, it almost felt supernatural. The trees whip past and you quickly lose sight of the pond, his footsteps reverberating thuds as he moves through the woods with expert agility.  Your eyes are wide with fear as you watch the forest behind you darken the further away you get; How Tommy was able to see things in the dark was a mystery to you.
Finally, you are out of the wooded area and coming up to where the silo was, the feeling of dread dissipates and Tommy slows his pace down, he wasn’t even huffing and puffing like most people would be doing after running so fast with a grown adult in their arms.
You hug him tightly, “Thank you for carrying me.”
You give him a kiss on his neck and continue to tighten your grip. Tommy brings you into the house and shuts the door behind you both, he gently lowers you to the floor, you keep hugging him as you stand on your tip toes. He felt very protective of you and was mad that someone scared you so much. His rage was building the more he thought about someone being on his property watching the two of you. He wondered how they would have been able to evade the multiple traps he set up around the pond perimeter.
Tommy grabs your shoulders and pushes you back slowly, he lifts your chin to have you look up at him. He sees the worried look on your face and it fuels his rage of the intruder,
“Go sleep, I gotta do somethin’.”
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His voice was rich in baritone, you could hear anger in his words. You didn’t want him to leave, but before you could tell him to stay, he was out the door. You made your way to the washroom to shower off the pond water and get ready for sleep, Luda Mae and Charlie were already asleep upstairs, unaware of the situation. You were disturbed by what you saw, but as long as Tommy was out there, you felt safe in the house. You went to bed that night worried, who was that shadow and what will happen if Tommy catches them? The morning couldn’t come soon enough.
Next chapter-
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tentakilly · 22 days ago
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Unpopular opinion but the SCP community thinks so objectively(as in one way) that a subjective(as in creative) explanation is immediately disliked or hated because it isn’t the normal sci-fi jargon.
(Rant/vent)
For being an extremely talented community of authors and artists and for being the world’s biggest collaborative writing project this community really, really hates a creative idea or observation that doesn’t fit a pre established cannon(just classic its always just classic).
A couple years ago on the SCP subreddit there was a kid asking how reality bending works there was over a hundred comments explaining the sci-fi world building and the op repeatedly responded to those comments with confusion they just kept explaining. When a commenter came in and explained it like it was an artstyle that comment and the ops comment thanking the commenter for helping them understand were downvoted into hell. You had to sort by controversial to find it.
A while back there was a post about how they didn’t understand SCP-3999 and wanted a little bit more explanation. All of the notes were filled with people explaining there hatred for the story and why it was bad. When the op kept asking for why the hate I other than it wasn’t scary they got shat on for it.
A while back on an old now dead account I commented on an SCP power scale meme(making fun of power scaling) that we could have them try and scale Darling Pink(and actual scp) because magical girls are allways a power scaler’s weakness(an actual problem in power scaling communitys). This joke was met with so many people going like “you can’t do that 682 solos” in a non joking way.
Speaking of 682 someone a while back said that there headcannon for it was that it was a thought experiment and that comment was met with so many people going “wrong 682 is an actual creature”.
One time there was a conversation about how there was this really good tale(forgot wich one) but a lot of people didn’t finish it because it was really long and wasn’t the kind of story they enjoyed. That conversation was met with “just finish it” and “if you don’t like it/understand it just read it better”.
Would you believe me if I said that all those examples came from my experience. This god damn “community” nearly killed my passion for art and writing on several occasions because I thought differently than everyone else.
Just like I’m belittled and looked down upon irl I’m mocked for thinking differently here no matter the site. It’s been like this since I joined the community at 10. No one bothered to ask if the questions came from an insecure child and mocked her relentlessly. Telling her, her art was bad and wouldn’t improve. Telling her she didn’t deserve to have her art seen by the world.
To this day I’m scared of posting officially on the wiki dot because i know my art and stories will get mocked relentlessly because they’re different. Because they’re mine. Because they’re a part of me. You guys nearly killed apart of me because you couldn’t handle a very obvious child’s questions about the story and world you built together. Because a child was looking for a place to hide from the world that was hurting her and you failed her and made her actively scared of participating in a community that’s supposed to be collaborative. The community that raised her.
My oc Toby Miller. I’ve posted about him only once compared to the rest of my SCP ocs and that’s because he’s so deeply connected to my struggles of being understood that I’m afraid of taking about him despite him being the main character because he will be called stupid. He will be mocked for being different than all the other official characters. He will be belittled and be nothing more than a dumb kids oc.
Yall can’t look beyond a surface level understanding and when people’s interpretations of a story vary vastly you get mad and kill there want to participate. It sucks.
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