#this is all I’m saying about the topic since it’s more attention than she deserves

[circular-bircular]

Anyways, since I can talk about her on this blog, and since the anon in my inbox wants me to stfu apparently:

Sophie’s response to the anon was worse than the anon imo.

That isn’t to say the anon wasn’t horrific. That was genuine homicidal wishes from the anon described graphically.

The adult response to that is to, at most, address the falsehoods of what they said in an isolated post, and then report the anon/block the anon for harassment.

Instead, she wanted to write a few paragraphs about how people like this should suffer mentally (a running theme more and more in her posts), how they should be completely isolated from everyone they’ve ever loved, and how she hopes they hurt.

Anyone who supports that behavior needs to get the fuck off my blog.

No, we do not need to engage bigots. Yes, we are allowed to ostracize them by not responding. No, you should not then give them the attention they desire by spreading their vitriol to your ridiculous amount of followers, followers who have already been shown to take your words and run with them. Here’s the scenario I’m seeing in my mind:

Anon now leaves this interaction having gotten the rage they wanted from the user they sent hate to

Anon also knows that the only people who will support them, to avoid the fate Sophie wants for them, are those who agree, helping anon fall further into the mentality they were in. (This has been seen time and time again, from Mormons to TERFs forcing people to remain in the community by showing the reaction others have to them)

Sophie’s Followers now see the message from a person they support, which is “You’re allowed to wish everlasting mental hellscape upon the people who deserve it.” The followers decide that People They Don’t Like are this. (Gee, I wonder where I got that hate anon from this morning that mentioned her name…)

Responding to hatred with more hatred rarely benefits anyone but yourself. Again — the anon was wrong. That was heinous. Nobody is supporting what they said in this current debate.

But two wrongs don’t make a right. And what you said was fucked up, Sophie. Stop downplaying it as “I just am saying to ostracize a bigot!”

You told someone who clearly is fucked up that they deserve to be completely, 100% isolated from every single person, space, and thing that makes them feel safe. And you based it around them being anti-endo in your post. You based it around fucking syscourse.

That’s not saying to ostracize a bigot. That’s wishing harm on someone — actual genuine mental distress, using an abuse tactic my own family used on me to keep me in their clutches for longer.

THAT is why people are pissed off. 👍 Just thought I would clarify.

[bookishfeylin]

I know you don't usually do these kinds of posts, but you're probably one of the most implicated in black history month people that I follow so I wanted to ask you, as I already value your opinions in Acotar, what do you think of the documentary where actual historians claim Cleopatra was a black woman? Lately, this has been a pretty active topic on my fyp on TikTok, and I wanted to know a black woman's perspective on this.

Thank you in advance, and if you usually don't answer these questions or don't want to answer this one, I'll totally understand, and there's no problem at all.

I didn’t know there was a new documentary out, but when I saw the name Cleopatra I automatically sighed because I knew what was coming. This is a subject a know a little 🤏🏾 about, actually, because I researched it a bit myself in my last year of high school (and stopped because of the uh. NASTINESS associated with this particular subject) and though it’s been a few years I remembered some main, basic things, and I wanted to check a few things first.

At best, in the most CHARITABLE interpretation as far as I in my limited knowledge can tell, it would be correct to say that’s it’s POSSIBLE that she MAY have been mixed Black because, though she was part of the GREEK Ptolemaic dynasty that ruled Egypt (Ptolemy being one of Alexander the Great’s generals who got the Egyptian portion of his empire after Alexander died), that’s on her fathers side; her mother’s exact ethnicity isn’t known. Not that this won’t stop the hoteps from running off and claiming her and all of ancient Egypt as Black though So some have ***speculated*** that her mother—and thus Cleopatra—may have potentially been part Egyptian (and that goes into the issue of deciding that the “Egyptian” in this instance had to have been Black rather than MENA but that’s again a whole other can of worms). BUT it’s more likely that her mother was Greek due to the uh, PRACTICE™️ of inbreeding and it not being common for the dynasty to marry Egyptians. So it’s more probable that she was fully Greek/Macedonian and not part Egyptian, much less part Black. (Also some historians speculate she may have had Persian blood? I guess? Again it’s a can of worms, not something i’m digging deep into because of the nastiness that you often stumble across) Unless there’s a new study confirming her mother’s identity or something that I missed, it’s simply incorrect to claim that Cleopatra was undeniably Black, because though it is ***possible*** she most likely ***wasn’t.***

But this topic really upsets me, because there are LEGITIMATE Black kingdoms and empires who were mighty and well developed and powerful like the Aksumite empire and kingdoms of Kongo and Loango and the Great Zimbabwe empire and the empires of Ghana and Mali and Songhay and the Ashanti kingdom and the WHOLE SWAHILI COAST THAT WAS INVOLVED IN THE INDIAN OCEAN TRADE ROUTE and they had their own great rulers, their own kings and queens and emperors and empresses, their palaces and castles, their own cities and towns, their own complex civilizations and dynastic royal families that deserve the attention Cleopatra and ancient Egypt get. They were erased—and Egypt was not—by white people to prop themselves up as the only race capable of forming civilizations and advanced societies as a means of justifying colonization and imperialism to “civilize” the rest of the world and as a result many of those other empires have been erased from our education system here in the states and many people cling to ancient Egypt as proof that we’re not inferior and aren’t savages like white people claim due to believing that since Egypt’s in Africa it had to have been mostly Black when Egypt, and the Ptolemaic dynasty and Cleopatra in PARTICULAR, are literally the worst example that could’ve been chosen and were the only African kingdom spared erasure FOR A REASON.

Anyway, I don’t like it, it’s disingenuous and does US wrong because we need to give that energy to other African kingdoms that need and could use the fame Egypt + Cleopatra get, and we deserve a better education system to teach us this stuff. I hope this answers your question? And I don’t mind any kinds of asks 🥰

[freesia-writes]

Ch 15: First Date

Author's Note: It's happening... it's HAPPENING! Everybody stay calm! 😉 ~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 4.5k (they deserved it)

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Hunter sharpened his butcher knife absentmindedly, the scrape of metal on metal providing a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. It had been almost a month since the festival, and things had settled into an almost monotonous routine. There were no complaints from him, however, and he found himself quite content with the few regular things on his plate – work at his shop, projects at home, and time in nature with Lyra. A smile touched his face but was soon followed by a rather sour expression as he thought about his family’s recent opinions. He’d not only been ribbed mercilessly at family dinner the night before, but he’d also endured some sort of an intervention, where the others seemed to turn on him all at once with what he assumed was well-meaning intention regarding his time with her.

“Hunter, everyone can see it but you,” Echo began, swirling the wine in his wooden cup. “What are you afraid of?”

“Who says I’m afraid?” Hunter asked, bewildered by the sudden attention. “And why do you all care so much?”

“Aw, I think it’s adorable,” Wrecker had said, clapping Hunter on the back so hard that he’d dropped the bite of sushi he was about to eat. “Looks like his senses aren’t so sharp in every area.”

“An effective joke, Wrecker,” came Tech’s factual approval. “He should ideally be able to sense the physiological signals of infatuation in another human, but apparently his ability to discern their meaning is not fully developed.”

“What?” Hunter breathed.

“He means you’re blind as a jogan-bat,” Crosshair offered helpfully.

“Perhaps he will be more attuned to the symptoms of sexual arousal, as they tend to be more pronounced in realms such as scent–” Tech continued, immediately cut off by a chorus of disapproving disgust. 

“Come on, Tech. I’m eating,” Echo complained with a pleading glance at Phee, whose mirth was apparent.

“You boys are ridiculous,” she chimed in, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. “He’s been a soldier all his life and you expect him to just forget all of that and start schmoozing the ladies?” Surprised by her support, Hunter’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch as he went back for another bite of sushi, hoping to actually enjoy this piece.

“Some of us didn’t seem to have any issue with that,” Crosshair remarked, staring pointedly at Tech, whose owlish expression of affront brought an impish smile to Phee’s face. 

“Aw, don’t get prickly just because you’re jealous,” she teased. Crosshair’s indignant retort faded into the backdrop of wandering conversation as they slowly found other topics to pursue. Once there was enough distraction to allow Phee to share a quiet word with Hunter, she leaned over to speak to him privately.

“Don’t start–” he began, but she held up her hands with authentic warmth on her face. 

“I’m not here to tell you how to live your life,” Phee interrupted. “You’ve had more than enough of that.” Hunter fell silent, mollified by her understanding. “And there’s nothing wrong with taking your time. Sometimes we just don’t stop to look at exactly what is holding us back. You know? But you’re a smart guy. And I’m just glad you’re enjoying your freedom.” 

She nodded, leaning back to the center of her seat with a clear intention of giving him space. Hunter remained still, staring at the table as he considered her words. He’d grown quite fond of Phee once they’d gotten past the showy front she had to maintain in her line of work, and he’d come to respect her insights too, which were often more accurate than he’d like to admit. 

His awareness returned to his work at the butcher shop, having set the knife and the sharpener down on the counter. He’d been unable to shake the general sense of confusion that accompanied any attempt to sort through the vortex of thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t something he’d ever had time to do, much less been inclined toward, and yet he was feeling quite directionless in a realm that he hadn’t ever thought he’d be a part of. How does one craft a life that feels worlds apart from their expressed creation and purpose? It was a question that nagged him constantly, and he alternated between feeling an overwhelmed futility and striving to figure out the perfect structure and approach. Life wasn’t quite as simple as a mission, however; he hadn’t been given any objective or parameters for his own autonomous future. He thought he would find that fact freeing, but instead it always kept him questioning. And yet, beneath it all, when he tried to tune in to a simple, basic voice within, he regularly found himself somewhat resolved around a singular idea…

The bell on the door chimed a happy note, and he meandered out to the front of the shop to see Lyra standing on the other side of the counter. There was a nervous energy about her that threw him off momentarily, but he wiped his hands on his apron before sliding around the edge of the glass case to give her a hug. They’d shared only a few, having tried it out along with their hellos and goodbyes, but for Hunter, it was one of the highlights of their interactions. She was always so soft and gentle, and the way she’d lean her head gently against the front of his shoulder somehow made him feel proud and protective while also giving the soothing sense of being nurtured and comforted. It was one of very few times in this new stage of life that he felt he could just stop all the thoughts and worries and let down his guard a little. 

They hugged for a lingering moment, warm and peaceful, before pulling apart to regard each other fondly. Her dark eyes were admiring and affectionate, yet she still had a spiky sort of intensity about her. She opened her mouth to speak, closing it and glancing off to the side for an uneasy cough before turning back to him. There was a long pause, and Hunter felt an opportunity to take a chance on something he’d been mulling over for a while.

“Hey, so…” he began, voice low and hesitant.

“Wait! Sorry…” Lyra blurted out, eyes widening. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you… I just… If I don’t get this out, I’m afraid I’ll never do it. And I really want to.” 

“Okay…” Hunter said slowly, more intrigued than affronted. “Let’s hear it.”

“Would you…” She paused, taking a huge, deep breath before saying the rest all at once. “Would you like to come over for dinner? Tomorrow? At my house?” Her fingers were at her lips immediately, and she nibbled at her nails as though she’d just confessed something dark and terrible. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction, nodding slowly as serenity blossomed in his chest. 

“I’d like that,” he answered quietly, watching relief change her entire demeanor. She brightened up considerably, dropping her hand from her mouth to grasp the strap of her purse, which he’d learned by now was her self-soothing move when she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Can I bring anything?” he asked, trying to focus more on the logistics than on his growing excitement. 

“Just your infamous meat,” Lyra deadpanned, keeping a straight face for a split second before his raised eyebrow melted her into laughter. “Sorry, the office ladies are getting to me. But no, nothing to bring! It’ll be simple.”

“Alright,” Hunter grinned. “Sounds good.”

* * * 

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The next day seemed to last forever, and Hunter busied himself with any task he could get his hands on to pass the time. But when he flipped the sign on the butcher shop window and hurried home to change, he suddenly wished he could stop the chrono altogether, feeling an unsettling sense of panic that, in his opinion, should not be happening. He took a shower, shaved his face, and pulled on a flannel shirt, examining himself in the mirror for a moment before swapping it out for a thick green sweater that Lyra had once said she liked. Grateful to have the house to himself, he spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what to do with his hair. She’d complimented it a handful of times, in a variety of different styles, so he finally resigned to leave it half-up, a small bun on top and the rest in loose waves down below. 

The front door slammed, accompanied by Wrecker’s eager greeting, “I hope you made flambaa cause I’m STARVING!” Cringing inwardly, Hunter’s first instinct was to escape through the window, but before he could come up with a plan, his brother had flung open his bedroom door.

“Wrecker, you’ve really got to start knock–”

“You haven’t even started cooking yet?!” 

“I’m not cooking tonight! I’ve got… There’s still a bunch of stew in the cooling chamber. You can have that.”

“Where are you going?” Wrecker asked, his voice slightly quieter with a touch of sing-song smugness about it. 

“Out,” Hunter evaded. 

“Mmm. Okay. Well have a great time… out.”

With a nod, Hunter headed for the entryway, pulling on a thick khaki jacket and brown boots. He waved to Wrecker, who was rummaging in said cooling chamber, and headed out with a spring in his step. The walk to Lyra’s took about half an hour, giving him plenty of time to get anxious about a variety of things, quell the anxiety with some rational thoughts and a focus on the path ahead, then repeat the process. When he got to her front gate, he took a deep breath, chiding himself for making such a big deal out of a simple dinner. His hesitation at her front door was only a moment before the enticing smells of food, spices, and wood smoke beckoned him to knock. 

“Hi,” Lyra said quietly upon opening the door. She wore a soft, creamy beige sweater tucked into a long blue skirt. Her hair was down, falling in feeble attempts at waves around her face, which was a mix of shyness and enthusiasm. She opened her arms for a hug, but Hunter pulled an arm out from behind his back, producing a small bunch of wildflowers that he’d picked along the way. 

“Hi,” he echoed. “I know you probably have most of these in your backyard, but I just grabbed them on the way…”

“I love it,” she affirmed, taking them with both hands. “Come in!” She led the way, guiding him along a simple hallway to a modest room that was a kitchen, dining room, and living room all at once, where she rummaged in a cupboard to fetch a vase. It gave Hunter time to glance around, both surprised and not surprised at what he saw in her home. There were framed paintings in every style he’d ever seen and random bits of nature peppered throughout. Her kitchen counter was covered in assorted bowls, colorful towels, and random cooking tools, and small candles dotted the large wooden dining table, the living room, and the shelves. 

“Okay, listen,” she began, placing the flower vase in the middle of the table. “I know it looks like I’m trying too hard with candles everywhere. But I swear I’m not.” She laughed a little self-consciously, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I don’t think a place can ever be too cozy… But… Okay, I may have gone a little overboard.” The realization came with a bit of an awkward shift in weight, as she ran a hand up and down the outside of her arm before dipping her head and turning back to the oven. Hunter chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement.

“It’s really nice,” he admitted. “I haven’t had a lot of ‘cozy’ in my life, so I don’t mind making up for lost time.”

“Excellent. I’ll join you on that mission.” Her use of the word stole him away from the peaceful moment for a split second, but he was soon back in the present. “Can I get you a glass of wine? I found one that pairs quite nicely with tonight’s menu… I really like food,” she confessed with a grin, taking a sip out of her own wine glass that was sitting on the counter. 

“Sure, thank you,” Hunter nodded, and as he leaned against the counter, dissolving into conversation with her as she put the finishing touches on their meal, he felt them both relaxing into their usual selves. The fire in the hearth and the heat from the oven made the entire cottage quite warm, and his jacket was soon hanging over the back of a chair. The next time Lyra turned around, having finished sprinkling the final herb garnish across the entree, her eyes raked up and down his neatly-groomed form. The rich green sweater hugged his physique just enough to highlight his athletic build, and a tiny bite of her lower lip was the only clue of her reaction before she hid her face quickly under the guise of looking for some water glasses.

When they moved to the dining table, Hunter’s mouth was watering at the sight of what lay before them. A motley assortment of candles illuminated a simple yet delicious-looking spread: there was freshly-baked bread wrapped up in a flowery cloth beside a thick chunk of butter in a handmade dish, a colorful and crisp salad in a large wooden bowl, and at the center, a large, round pot full of steaming meat and vegetables. They fumbled awkwardly with the serving utensils for a moment, each unsure if they should serve the other, but soon enough their mismatched plates were full and they dove in. 

Hunter had never experienced food like this. Tart lemon provided a snappy contrast to the rich, buttery sauce that she’d roasted the meat in, and a hefty amount of garlic was complimented with small fingerling potatoes and root vegetables nestled together in the pot. It took a significant amount of self-control to avoid wolfing the entire thing down as quickly as he could, so he purposefully took it slow, buttering a slice of impossibly soft bread and using it in the hand opposite his fork to scoop up a bit of extra sauce with each savory bite.

“This is amazing,” he sighed, looking up at her with a downright dreamy expression on his face. “Do you always cook like this?” 

“Not always… But kinda,” Lyra said, smiling demurely behind her wine glass. “I really enjoy the process, so I’m always trying out new recipes or helplessly repeating old favorites. But I also love ‘snack dinners’, which are… well, pretty self-explanatory. So it just depends on my mood, the time I have, and how tightly my pants are fitting that day.”

“Well, either way, it sure beats ration bars,” Hunter muttered.

“Ration bars?” she repeated curiously. “Isn’t that what they used in the GAR? I thought I remembered them talking about it in the office I worked in on Coruscant…” 

“Uh… Maybe. I guess. I don’t know. I… I’ve had 'em for… travel… and stuff. Cheap, fast, and easy, you know? Maybe they sold the surplus when the war ended,” he answered quickly, kicking himself for such a careless slip-up and a response that was anything but subtle.

“Oh, makes sense,” she nodded, chasing a potato around her plate with her fork. It was let go as quickly as it had arrived, and as the conversation continued, Hunter felt himself relaxing again. Maybe he didn’t have to be quite so guarded with her, but old habits were hard to break. And there was never any need to share more than was necessary, after all. 

Dinner was followed by dessert, which was some kind of impossibly rich chocolate mousse swirled together with bright, fresh berries. The wine was a perfect companion, bringing out the flavors immaculately, and they soon felt pleasantly full and tingly. They chatted and ate until each had leaned back in their chairs, hands folded contentedly on laps and bellies as they regarded each other in blissful satisfaction. 

“So I’ve seen a lot of these around your house,” Hunter mentioned, gesturing to some small sprigs of leaves tucked around the bread basket on the table. “Do they have some utility or do you just like them?”

“Ahh, my granny leaves…” Lyra smiled, earning a furrowed brow from Hunter. She picked up one of the thin stems, holding it up so that the pointy leaves dangled in the same direction. “They look like a little hand motion that my grandmother used to do – she’d pinch all her fingers together and shake her hand at us.” She illustrated the motion while Hunter grinned at the apparent affection she felt for the nostalgic detail. “It was a very diversely-used signal for her; we’d get it if she disapproved of something, if she thought something was delicious, if she was trying to emphasize her words… But usually when we were in trouble.” A sigh broke her explanation. “The way the leaves fold together reminds me of it, so I always feel warm and fuzzy when I see them on the trees out there. It’s like she’s scolding me everywhere I go,” she laughed. 

“Sounds encouraging,” Hunter attempted, feeling a need to offer some sort of meaningful memory of his own but coming up blank. 

“Maybe I see too much character in nature,” Lyra shrugged. “I feel so content out there that it’s like being surrounded by old friends whenever I walk. But I guess I’m also scared of a lot of stuff, so… Ah well.”

“Why?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter as he realized the directness of his question in such a vulnerable area. “Sorry – you don’t have to answer that, I just–”

“No, it’s okay,” she said quietly, fidgeting with the end of a sleeve. “I don’t know, honestly. I mean, everyone has twists and turns in their life that shake them up a bit… I just feel like…” She fell silent for a moment, unwilling to meet his eyes as she scanned across the table. “I guess I wish I were more resilient. And brave.”

“Hmm,” Hunter nodded slowly, sensing that this wasn’t a time for advice. Lyra lifted one shoulder slightly, again grazing a hand up and down the outside of her arm – a frequent tell of mixed emotions. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” she continued, finally looking up at him with a depth and openness that made his mouth feel a little dry before she looked away to the fireplace. “I wish I had your strength.”

“Well, I did get beat up by a girl at the Farmer’s Market…”

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. They relaxed into their mirth for a moment then both took a breath, suddenly at a fork in the road between authentic discourse and lighthearted banter. Lyra glanced back to Hunter from her distant stare into the fire, tilting her head at him fondly. “You… Um… That color is really nice on you.” Each word was confessed shyly, and each was received with equal uncertainty of how to respond.

“Erm… Thank you.”

“Want to sit somewhere more comfortable? These wood chairs dig into my butt after a while,” she said, cringing for a second at her awkward choice of things to point out. He smirked, sure that if Echo were here, he’d have plenty to say, but also deeply grateful that Echo was not, in fact, there.

Hunter helped her bring the dishes to the sink despite her insistence that he could relax by the fire, and they soon found themselves side by side at the large kitchen sink, washing everything by hand. The warm soapy water was disproportionately soothing, and they lost themselves in random discussion as they finished the last few cooking utensils. Pulling her sleeves down, Lyra gestured toward the sitting area, inviting Hunter to join her. There was one small couch facing the hearth, as well as a plush armchair on the side. Hunter reclined in the corner of the sofa, watching her stand awkwardly between the two pieces of furniture. 

“I can sit here if you’d like some space to stretch out,” she murmured, pointing at the chair. He found it somewhat odd, but didn’t want to question; instead, he beckoned to the seats beside him.

“Plenty of space,” he said. “Plus, I mean… It’s your house.” She smiled in response, settling herself neatly on the middle of the three cushions, and leaned back just slightly as they relaxed back into conversation. Elbows brushed, memories were shared, and comical observations were made as the minutes ticked by. Eventually, they settled into silence, the last few words giving way to a deep, contented sigh from Lyra. 

Hunter adjusted his sleeves, still rolled up to the elbow from both the heat and the dishwashing endeavor. He felt overwhelmed with gratitude, a deep sense of comfort and luck that seemed at odds with an underlying thought that he shouldn’t be there. It always whispered doubts, accusations, worries… That he’d be “found out” somehow. That he’d be rejected. That he was living a lie, and none of this was real. He shifted in his seat, moving a little closer to Lyra, which tipped her own cushion toward him, tilting her body gently against his. 

She tensed for a moment, eyes flitting toward his knees, then she tentatively, precariously leaned into him the slightest bit, pausing halfway as though anticipating resistance. But he loved the way it made him feel, and he found himself yearning to stretch his arm across her shoulders and welcome her even more closely against his chest. Somehow, though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it, instead settling to leave his arms at his sides, fingers toying with one another in his lap. 

“Hey, remember that little flock of squawkers?” she said suddenly, turning slightly against him to look into his face. A tiny grin accompanied her memory, and Hunter’s cheek curved in shared mirth. 

“I do, although I think we scared them a lot more than they startled us.”

“They have a huge nest that they all share,” Lyra continued conspiratorially. “I went back a few days later, and there were a bunch of eggs in this awesome little round… pile… thing. I don’t know, I didn’t get too close. But they were definitely not happy with us being near it.”

“Did they flap at you again?” he asked, meeting her gaze with a slight shift of his shoulders. He suddenly became aware of how close their faces were, trying to disguise his sharp inhale with a clearing of his throat. 

“No,” she answered, picking up on his demeanor and turning back toward the fire after a quick skim of her eyes over his face. “But I kept my distance,” she finished, drifting off as though into a distracting thought. They remained quiet for a full minute, each seeming to wrestle with their own internal dialogues, then Lyra broke the silence with a nervous jumble of words. “You smell really good.”

“Ah, yes… That’s… Omega gave me some cologne?” He said it as though he were confused or surprised by the situation himself. 

“It’s…” she took a deep sniff, letting her breath out through parted lips that seemed to communicate more than the lighthearted sentiment of her words. “You should limit your use of that. You’re gonna have creatures of all inclinations fawning over you. Although you probably already have that…”

“Oh, you know me…” he said sarcastically, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand then realizing he didn’t have anywhere to put it, having dug it out from between them. He angled his upper body toward her to awkwardly prop an elbow on the back of the sofa cushions. “Just… swarming with attention…” He cringed at his own words, shaking his head and making a mental note not to attempt stupid humor again. 

“I’m not surprised,” Lyra mumbled, quiet enough that she thought he couldn’t hear it over the shuffling of her climbing to her feet. He smiled, following suit without knowing why, and soon they were standing in the living room, facing each other in front of the fireplace. 

“I should get going,” he proposed. “Don’t want to keep you up too late.”

“Oh, um, okay. Yeah. Work tomorrow…”

Hunter’s fingers twitched at his sides as she met his gaze with an appreciative vulnerability on her face. Pushing down the insecurities that plagued him at any opportunity, he opened his arms for a hug. A deep sense of tranquility melted over him as she wrapped her arms around his waist, turning her head to the side and tilting it against the front part of his upper chest where it met his shoulder. He tightened his arms around her upper body and rested his cheek against her hair, a smile touching his lips as she let out a blissful sigh. 

“Thank you for everything,” he said quietly, holding on to her for a few extra seconds before loosening his arms regretfully. 

“Thank you for coming. I could talk to you forever,” she admitted honestly, then turned to head toward the entryway. Hunter followed, pulling his jacket on and trying to keep a calm exterior despite a giddiness bubbling up within. He hesitated on the way down the hall, distracted by a sudden awareness of a large amount of electronics with a variety of frequencies, as well as a lot of metal overall. There were no doors that he could see, and he tilted his head, puzzled by the sheer amount of materials he sensed that didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the quaint, rustic cottage. 

“Everything okay?” Lyra asked softly, turning to face him from where she’d stopped at the front door. 

“Yeah, sorry… Uh…” Hunter wanted to ask about it but had no idea how to go about it, considering that he hadn’t revealed anything about his enhancements to her. “I thought I heard some electrical humming or something…” He hoped it sounded innocuous enough, although her slightly nervous shift on her feet made him wonder if he’d gone too far in speaking up about it. “Wrecker said that sometimes lightbulbs do that if there’s a short in the line,” he added for good measure.

“Oh,” she answered, glancing inconspicuously around the hallway. “I’ll have to check them. It’s a rickety old house sometimes,” she chuckled. “All kinds of creaks and complaints, you know.”

“Gives it character,” he mused, still pondering the undeniable perception of more metal and electromagnetic fields than one would expect in such a place. “Anyway…” He brushed it off, looking back to her and giving one last nod as he thanked her again for dinner. He walked home slowly, pulling his coat tightly around him, thoughts swirling through his mind with relentless demand. 

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[nestastits]

Hello!!

So, as a Nessian stan I have a question because I love your takes, and I would love to know it on this specific topic. So, when I first read ACOSF, I had to put the book down a few times during the hike scene because it brought up some "bad memories" lol. When I re-read the book now, I completely skip the scene to the moment she's crying, and he's comforting her because I just can't handle the rest of it very well, so I really wanted to see your take on the hike because maybe with a different perspective I can see it with different eyes and not be triggered by it 🤡

Okay so the Hike scene is definitely one of the hardest scenes to read in Acosf and one of the most misinterpreted as well.

I know many are upset at Cassian specifically for this scene because of him saying it was “punishment”. But I think it’s important to note that Nesta had just told Feyre the truth of what the pregnancy would do to her. And it’s also important to remember that Nesta didn’t do it to help Feyre or because she loved her, Nesta did it to ultimately hurt Feyre for allowing a vote to be placed on her. Now I do not blame Nesta for telling Feyre she had a right to as her sister, but she did it for the wrong reason. I’m still mad at Rhysand for lying to Feyre, I’m still mad that Rhysand treated the knowledge of his mate’s life being in danger as a threat more so to him than to Feyre. I’m still mad that Rhys went about it as a high lord instead of a mate, and that he ordered the IC to lie to her. And while the IC could have told Feyre, they ultimately must follow what their high lord says and since Rhys treated the situation as a court matter instead of a family matter, I understand the complications of telling Feyre the truth.

Once the truth is out and Rhysand learns of it, he threatens Nesta’s life. I know many are upset at Cassian for not barging into Rhys office and killing him for threatening Nesta’s life but the situation is complicated for Cassian too. He knows Rhys is not bluffing and he knows the extent a mate would go when their mate is pregnant, Rhys could of very well seen Cass as a threat to Feyre and killed him too. It’s also important to remember Cassian had a right to be upset at Nesta in this scene. She had snuck out the HoW to see Feyre for answers, fought with Amren (rightfully deserved), and told Feyre what the baby would do to her in the wrong way because Nesta was hurt herself too. He was also upset that she backtracked on all the healing exercises and mental improvement she had been working on in this scene. And he himself didn’t understand why Nesta had done this. Nesta didn’t even understand why she did it. Just that a line had been crossed.

Cassian has also been paying attention to all of Nesta’s methods of coping. He knows that Nesta would want to be alone and away from eveything, he knows she’ll want silence to think. This is why he decides to take her to the sleeping mountains (I believe this is what they are called? lol). He is hard on her at first because he doesn’t understand why she just did this. It’s also important to remember that the Mother was encouraging Cassian to keep Nesta going. He says how this female voice in the back of his mind told him “just one more” this is the Mother! Nesta broke down into herself and stopped talking entirely, she wouldn’t say anything to Cassian. He is not at fault for not knowing that she wasn’t drinking, he is not at fault for not knowing she was suicidal, he’s not at fault for not knowing why she was scared of fire. Nesta is a reserved person who doesn’t let anyone in. Especially Cassian because of how she feels for him. Cassian still tries his best to help her despite not being let in by her. The Mother tells him to continue this journey for Nesta. And it helps Nesta once she finally breaks down and just pours all of her feelings to him.

The breaking down part of the hike was essential for Nesta’s healing journey! It’s where she finally lets Cassian in, it’s where she finally voices all these things that have been slowly eating away at her for years, it’s where she finally lets someone else know her fears. Cassian does a wonderful job at reassuring her that “There’s nothing broken to be fixed”. He tells her how the sharpness and edge she has is not bad at all, it just needs to be directed correctly. He tells her how she will get through her trauma and be better for herself first and then the people she chooses to let in as well. He holds her through all of it and places soft kisses to her temple to help reassure her too. Then he trains her with the art of sword combat. When he tells her to “Begin” I feel like it has a double meaning. First to “begin” mastering the use of a sword, secondly to “begin” a new chapter of her life where she can start truly healing without doubts.

I also want to say Nesta is Sjm’s self inserted character. Sarah has said that a lot of Nesta’s thoughts and journey mirrored hers. The hike scene is something sjm went through herself. She wrote this scene for Nesta to be able to open up. Sarah said she went on a hike similar to this that helped her. I think this is why acosf is a tough book to read because it was especially hard for the writer to write all the things she personally felt into a character. Acosf is more of a “healing” book than a plot/story book. There are many mental health scenes that are hard to read if you haven’t gone through something like Nesta, or if you have never had the mindset she had at the beginning of the book.

Hope this helps 🥰

[ifthesewings--couldfly]

My Long, Spoilery Review for Inside Out 2

Despite me having decided to wait for Inside Out 2 to drop on Disney Plus before seeing it, the quantity of clips circulating on social media made it absolutely impossible to stay spoiler-free until the next three months or so, and since critique and public alike seemed to really like this movie, I decided I wanted to see the whole thing before I got spoiled for good. I know I probably played the Big Mouse Game by doing so and I’m not happy about it, but from a storytelling standpoint, Inside Out 2 did deserve to be enjoyed as a whole.

‼️ATTENTION SPOILERS AHEAD‼️

The movie is as good as everyone makes it out to be. The new emotions didn’t feel like they came out of nowhere like I initially thought (except for Nostalgia, which I found forced and mildly annoying) and the new concepts, like Riley's Sense of Self, are brilliant. One of my favorite scenes was Joy visiting the place where the Sense of Self is kept along with Sadness. I liked how the topic of Anxiety was handled in a non-clichy way, and how she wasn’t made to be the villain, but in the end, she turned out to care about Riley just as much as Joy and the other emotions did. The only reason why she bottled them up was why she genuinely believed they were getting in her way of helping Riley. The pacing of the movie seems a little fast as first, but the idea of setting it during a three-days hockey camp is the perfect timeframe for the story they wanted to tell: a new situation, but still, not one that could have consequences in the “real world” if you get what I mean. I found it to be the perfect scenario to tell how things that might seem “the end of the world” to us, in the end are not actually that serious. In the end, this isn’t one of those movies that makes you say “I like the sequel better than the original” but rather “this continuation is so natural, it feels like first and second movie are two parts of a whole.” Pixar is building a way more solid franchise than anything Disney has done recently - I consider the two studios two separate entities - and if this level of quality is being kept, I actually wouldn’t mind an Inside Out 3.

Now, for the things I liked less.

The emotions were too “personified” if this makes sense. I didn’t like the fact that emotions can somehow feel emotions themselves (e.g. Anger stating that “He can’t always be angry”, or Joy stating that it’s hard for her to be positive all the time). I didn’t also like the fact that emotions can apparently have feelings for each other. I perceived an unsettling intention of pairing up Riley’s emotions from the creators of this movie. Sadness with Embarrassment, Joy with Anger, heck even Fear with Anxiety (“I can change her”? Really?) I don’t know what the creators were trying to do here. Non-canon ships are fine, they’re the soul of every fandom, but when they’re being fed to you by the creators themselves, it comes off as weird. Disgust simping over Lance Slashblade was a fun gag, but trying to imply the emotions could get together as couples was really not. And speaking of forced things, I feel the inclusion of mixed-technique animation to be somewhat forced and proof that both Disney and Pixar are falling behind in terms of technical innovation. At this point, it’s clear they they are no longer the standard for Western animation.

My rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ out of 5

[bcbdrums]

About your soul fan mail post:

I don’t think anyone’s upset about Spirit receiving attention from women. It’s more of the fact that he cheated on his wife about 57 different times. Soul continues to be loyal to Maka while Spirit floats around.

I’m not saying Spirit isn’t like a good dad or that he doesn’t deserve slack but it’s not the same scenario here.

Spirit cheated? My short response: prove it.

I actually really appreciate what you said. I appreciate your thoughtfulness about the topic and that you didn't jump to Spirit being wholly unforgivable, like I see a lot of fandom do. (And a lack of condemnation of other characters for other sins, arguably more grievous...) But I really want to address this topic, and you've given me the perfect opportunity.

And to be clear, my own viewpoint on cheating is that it's wrong. Plain and simple, it's wrong. Physical, mental, emotional... It's all wrong. It's not something I agree with on any level.

In any case, talking at length about Spirit Albarn is something I love to do so here is my argument that will stray as far as to suggest: he never cheated at all.

LONG text post under the cut, includes both manga and anime context.

What proof do we have that he cheated other than the perception of a five year old? We have Maka's flashbacks at the very beginning, we get to see her trauma from her dad's supposed cheating. But before I get into Maka's possibly incorrect perception...

Where is her mother???

Seriously, where is the woman? I propose: she left soon after Maka was born. I propose that she either left the world of Shibusen entirely, OR that she left to work at one of Lord Death's other locations around the world. And clearly...she did not come back.

Evidence:

Maka's favorite memory of her mother being the divorce. Maka says that clearly and without hesitation, and even Crona who has no concept of a normal family life knows that this is bizarre. How on earth could her favorite memory of her mother be...the divorce proceeding???

The mother was not at Maka's kindergarten graduation. Subjective point, you say? Yes, perhaps. But how would Spirit have the opportunity to dance with other moms if his wife was there? (Not that dancing with other people is wrong, which I'll come back to.)

No family photos include the mother. But she's the one taking the pics, perhaps? Still... Any normal photo album is going to have photos of the mother and child. And since Maka places her mother up on a pedestal and loathes her father (on the surface), why does she have photos with her father but not with her mother...?

In the clown arc of the manga (I just call it the clown arc, forget the chapter names) when Maka and Soul learn the Devil Hunt Slash technique, the clown attacks her mentally/emotionally and...which relationship does it attack? It attacks her father. If her mother is sooooo special to her, why doesn't it attack her mother? And we see more of her actual feelings about her dad. But this most isn't about Maka, so moving on from that...

Now, what's this all have to do with Spirit cheating or not cheating? And an incorrect perception on Maka's side of things?

Now, we're back to my original post about Soul getting all the fan mail and such. So let's start with...just who is this man?

Ahem. Spirit Albarn...is an attention whore. And he likes women. Both these things are true. We see the brief moment in the manga of Azusa looking at a teenage Spirit hitting on a girl. But more telling is Spirit's adult behavior.

In a manga/anime loaded with disgusting fanservice and misogyny (and misandry for crying out loud, but one thing at a time) there was ample opportunity for writers to give Spirit some gross behavior... But they did not. Not once. We never see Spirit behave lewdly toward women. Not one single inappropriate glance, comment, or action. It never happens in either canon.

What DO we see from Spirit?

We see that this man...likes...to drink. He's likes to drink and he is a happy drunk. And he likes being around people who are happy.

We see (in the manga) that he will lie and build himself up to get more attention, when he was making up stuff to Risa and Arisa about how he is the real power in Death City, not Lord Death.

We see him enjoying the company of the cabaret girls, putting his arms around them, and that is the most he ever does. He's more physically affectionate in the flashback with Azusa to that teen girl than he is to the cabaret girls.

Now, is going to a bar or club, or to some place like...say.... Hooters... cheating? Subjective again. My personal opinion is yes. In this sense, I do think Spirit cheated. I think putting his arms around the cabaret girls at all is a level of cheating. But probably a bigger chunk of the world considers going to a club a normal social activity, and would disagree with my opinion. Meanwhile, the women are just doing their jobs. It's their job to give the customer attention and to sell drinks.

Also we must consider that this man has shown himself repeatedly to be an emotional basketcase. At the club, the women merely mention his wife or Maka and he goes all to pieces. Every single time. You really think this man would be emotionally resilient enough to get into bed with anyone else? Let's be real... He doesn't stand a chance of following through even if he's thinking it.

But back to who is this man? Spirit Albarn is...a celebrity.

Spirit isn't just any death scythe. He is Death Scythe. He's Shinigami's personal weapon. He is the biggest celebrity one can be in Death City and in this universe. He's gonna get far more than fan mail. He's gonna get women following him around (like Soul had), stalking him, falling all over him, coming at him in public for photo ops and autographs and who even knows how far some crazed fans will go...

Which brings us back to little Maka.

Maka seeing him surrounded by the waitresses at the club? Back when she was only five, he was still a new celebrity and would still be getting crazy attention like that. The women Maka saw on the street? Who is to say it's not a photo op? And the one that makes no sense is Spirit dancing with the curly-haired woman at what was clearly based on the surroundings some very large fancy event... It's normal to dance with people other than one's spouse??? That's a normal social behavior, not cheating at all. Now if they're up grinding on the person, that's different... Spirit wasn't doing that anything we saw, nor allowing it to happen to him.

Also.... Back to her mother's absence... Why was Maka at this party watching her dad?? Escaped the academy's daycare room perhaps?

How did she see her dad with the women on the street?? Maybe he didn't want his little girl in the fan photo and told her to wait for him for a minute, since these adoring fans ran up?

Who was watching her (rather, not watching her) that she was able to sneak out of the house to follow her dad to the club?? Where he was surrounded by way too many women for that to just be waitresses, those were fans admiring the celeb.

Maka's mother is not there. Her mother has not been there. And poor tiny Maka is probably deeply confused, needed to cast blame, and is going to draw understandable (wrong) conclusions from seeing her daddy with other women all the time.

I repeat, Maka's mother...was not there. Now let me phrase the same statement differently... Spirit's wife...was not there. She left them!

I repeat: cheating is wrong on every level, and I personally don't think he should have been at the club. But let's assume I'm right, that his wife was never there... And really, really think about this.

It was a teen pregnancy. The woman was supposedly some incredible meister, but...then she got pregnant. She's not going to be out fighting kishin egg monsters and whatever while in her second and third trimester. Having a baby...ruined the woman's life. No more battles for her. Bye-bye fierce warrior, hello stay-at-home mom. Hello post-partum depression, perhaps. I honestly think she ran away from it all. I don't even think she went to work at another branch of Shibusen, I honestly think she just...left them.

And so Spirit is married in name, married on paper... He may have truly and genuinely cared for that woman. He may have genuinely tried to make it work. He did marry her after all, and he raised Maka lovingly and attentively. But a marriage is two people, and Spirit...was very clearly alone.

The overall point is: nearly all of Spirit's actions make sense given the total context. He's an attention whore. He likes women. He's the biggest celebrity there is. And we don't see him do anything gross or lewd. We see an effectively single dad... A happy drunk forgetting not to put his arms around the women who are paid to give him attention and sell him more booze, because he's lonely and desperate for affection. That's ALL we see, in both anime and manga. That's the extent of it. That's as far as we see him go, and nothing implies he went any further.

So again... I don't condone cheating. What I don't understand is why the fandom at large won't seem to cut him any slack. Especially when the evidence weighs heavily on his side.

Thanks for your thoughts, Anon!

[invisibleicewands]

Hello! I really love your film/series reviews! Could you provide your insightful look into "A Very Royal Scandal"?

Hi, Anonymous!

Well, thank you in advance for your trust, I'm not sure I can provide an interesting opinion to be honest, but since I've managed to watch it I'll try to tell you my random thoughts.

Honestly, when last year I first read the news of a movie with MS about Prince Andrew I was very skeptical. Not only for the topic, of course, but for the fear it could be a product like Vardy v Rooney.

Now, although I’ve found the movie not so essential (especially after another similar one at the beginning of this year), I think it's one of his best movies of the last decade. Maybe worthy of an award (finally!) with a bit of luck.

I had already seen the Netflix version “Scoop” months ago and I had found it good, well made, catchy. But compared to A Very Royal Scandal, I can say that Emily Maitlis was right saying that the Amazon version is 'another beast'. Not just because Scoop was more focused on Sam McAlister's research of infos about Prince Andrew's scandal than on the interview itself, but because in the Amazon version there is a deeper analysis of the main people involved in this interview, of their thoughts, of their worries, of their mindsets. Let's say that Scoop was more a kind of glossy "Working Girl", while AVRS is a mix of Frost/Nixon in The Crown environment, a real drama.

I really liked the suspence, the storytelling, the photography, the attention to the details. The story is never boring and goes forward flawless, with rythm, wisely built, even if the subject is delicate to handle, and this is not something that is so obvious nowadays. Then, the actors. All impeccable, not just Michael and Ruth but the supporting ones too. If I have to find a fault, I would say that Netflix probably chose actors more aesthetically resembling to the original characters (Keeley Hawes was a better choice for Amanda Thirsk for example), but fortunately this time the talent of the cast managed to compensate that part. Ruth really captured the essence of Emily, her grit, her spirit, her dedication to the work, more than what Gillian had done I think. She was really great, she gave a powerful performance not just as Emily but as a woman in general, brilliantly managing the responsibility of sending a strong message to the audience in the end.

And Michael. A professional as usual, never doubted. He played the role at 360 degrees, unsparingly, using all his art, his tricks and his experience, you can see it. He handled the part masterfully, with confidence, without wavering or shame. He portrayed the character brushing him with all those shades that only him can give. And here lays the problem, for me. The shades. Because even if it was necessary to give a certain meaning to the story, I think his character, Prince Andrew, didn’t deserve or own a so profound introspection (I know, he said he didn’t want to show his judgement about him, but I’m not so merciful, sorry). From this point of view, I found Rufus’ impersonation more suitable to describe the character attitude. Cold, superficial, creepy, rude, arrogant, egomaniac, frustrated, vapid, childish, stubborn and opportunist all at the same time. Maybe it’s because of his cute nose (a prosthetic would have been useful here, more than the weight he gained, true or false it can be…) but honestly Michael gave him a sense of compassion and a frailty that Prince Andrew doesn’t seem to have. The result is that I saw more Michael Sheen than Prince Andrew in this movie. I saw parts of his previous Bill Masters/Brian Clough/Roland Blum/David Frost/Aziraphale there (also a bit of Nye, though I didn’t really watch it) mixed together. Even parts of himself in real life, like during Staged. I could imagine him saying some of those lines in his real life, living some of those reactions for real. He felt so ‘transparent’ in some moments, and this is not a good feeling when you watch an actor in a story like this (funny, because, on the contrary, he said “the more different you look, it really does help psychologically”, so this means that he felt he looked different from himself here, which is not the case to me). I suppose it’s because I’ve seen too much of him now that I’m not able to separate him from the character anymore. Don’t know.

I don’t deny it, his performance was great, brave, perfect and everything, especially considering the effort to make a movie like this while he was preparing for a 4 months long stage tour on theatre. But I can’t say it was a part that left me mouth open, like the one in Dirty Filthy Love, Fantabulosa, Frost/Nixon or MoS, for example.

Anyway, I still hope he gets some recognition (and that Amazon decides to show the series also in Europe), because it’s a crime that international audience can’t see what an amazing quality actor Michael is.

P.S.: There are some lines that looked like easter eggs, specifically chosen by MS. "Wait and see", "Nixon"... Coincidences?

[magicshopaholic]

hey, do you read fic at all? i was wondering if you had any recs, i feel like i don't see you interact with fic a lot on here! i love your stories, so wondered what are your favorite authors too :]

Hello! The short answer to this is yes, but it comes with the caveat that I haven’t read much lately, primarily because I have no time but also because now that my characters are getting more and more fleshed out with every fic, reading other fanfic feels like my members are cheating on their OCs 😕 (I read this really good Namjoon fic where he met the reader at a party, and spent a whole week imagining Namjoon cheating on Kaya with that Y/N and it kind of killed me)

Having said that, I still do read fics when I can, definitely those that don’t interfere in my head with my OCs. I’m joining collabs and book clubs as much as I can so that I read more; but in the meantime I’d love to recommend some of my favourite fics and authors to you and any other readers:

(Please read the warnings on each fic before proceeding)

1. Poetry of the Stars by @jjiimin: This is the best fic I have read my entire life (barring one legendary series in the HP fandom - iykyk) and I honestly have nothing else to say about it. Riley has unfortunately deactivated her Tumblr account but I’m so glad I got to tell her how incredible her story was before she did so, so this is my number one. It’s 25K+ words iirc and was one of the first fics I read in the fandom and I just read it all in one go because I couldn’t stop.

(Also a favourite is Irresistible by the same author but I unfortunately don’t have a link to it)

2. @sahmfanficbts: There’s no fic mentioned here because I recommend Sam’s entire masterlist. She’s one of my all time favourite authors in the fandom and I have read and will read every single BTS fic she ever posts. Every fic is so immersive and every character is so deeply developed that they just stay with me and I find myself thinking about them at random times. Just beautiful, fantastic writing.

3. The Rich Man’s Crochet Club series by @kpopfanfictrash: Funny, quippy dialogue is my absolute favourite thing and this series has some of the best combination of humour and heart. Shanna’s works are pretty popular so you may have already checked this one out but I’m gonna recommend it anyway. (I remember coming on anon to gush about it because I was shy af, but I absolutely loved it, Shanna :))

4. Four Seven Eight by @jiminrings: This is the one I’ve read most recently and I’ve had it in my drafts since then so that I don’t forget to write a review because it deserves a great one. So here’s my apology to Hannah for taking so long to do it 🤓 but this is an amazing series, full of angst and hope and has my recommendation for sure.

5. For The Crown by @chimknj: I don’t read mxm fics, particularly mxm smut, but there was no way on earth I was going to pass on this one. Gina and I share an obsession with A Song of Ice and Fire (and I mean OBSESSION - we talk about it 24x7) and the premise of this fic was so compelling and so exciting to discuss that the only thing better than that was actually reading it. The way Gina has written this - I was transported to Westeros instantly. Everything is subtle and nuanced and I found myself connecting with every single character (also Kingsguard!Namjoon was not something I knew I needed). Idk if she’s planning on writing future parts but if she is… fuck, I’m so excited I can’t even talk about it.

6. A Silent Heart Still Beats by @akinnie75: This is another fic I have in my drafts because its review deserves my entire attention. It deals with some difficult topics but is so sad yet hopeful. The OC is such a beautiful character inside and out and this doesn’t usually happen to me with fics, but she actually changed my life and taught me how to rise above, be compassionate and forgive. I won’t give away anymore but this is just a gorgeous, gorgeous fic.

7. Just Practice by @lamourche: I can’t BELIEVE I’ve finally found this fic again!!! I read it once and then lost it (now I realise it’s because the author has seemingly removed their masterlist) but I’d commented on it from my main blog. It is one of my favourite fics of all time: it reads like a college indie movie or like a Sally Rooney novel. I was crying at the end but I couldn’t even put my finger on what it was which just meant that it was the entire vibe of the story rather than a specific scene. It breaks my heart that I’ll never get to read this again but the author has all my appreciation and gratitude for writing it.

These are some recs off the top of my head that have stayed with me and I’ll probably add to this if I think of more. A huge thank you to all these authors for their wonderful work - and thanks to you too, anon, for the question. It felt great to go back to old fics and give a shout out to such talented writers <3

[eatbabiez]

HUGE TW for SA & r*pe (I’m gonna talk about my experience & what I discussed with Lilith, if this is a sensitive topic to you, I recommend you to not read this!)

So I keep having dreams about the guy who SA’d me. Side note, he was my childhood friend, our mothers have been friends before we were even born. Him & I basically grew up together & shared interests, you name it.

I was a very curious child & since I had books about the human body very early, I became curious about sexuality too. So my parents told me very very early about what sex actually is.

One time I also told my childhood friend about it (when we were 4, I think) & he immediately said he wants to try it. I was a pretty smart kid & knew that was NOT okay, especially at our age so I said no & ran away, but ever since that moment he just kept being sexual with me.

He held a vibrating game controller against me when we were playing video games, he attempted to touch me a lot, & demanded that I share a bed with him, when I felt more comfortable with sleeping on a separate mattress.

Our parents kept saying him & I should marry at one point & that we fit together so well & because he kept being sexual with me & kept “playing doctor” to, what I assume, touch me once again, my mind was like ‘yeah, I guess that’s what love is like’. That stuff quickly made me hyper sexual, I kept sexualising myself for him, and for other men on the internet (who were WAY too old for me) cause nobody taught me that this wasn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

I even read weird sexual fiction & kept texting men cause I thought, genuinely, that this was normal. Even until last year I thought I had to sexualise myself in order to be liked.

I broke off contact with the guy who SA’d me, probably 5 years ago? Up until then he always told me he’d have a crush on me & how we should marry one day, still paying most attention to the sexual part.

& for some reason I always thought that the touching wasn’t all. For some reason I had a faint memory of something,, more happening.

So I asked Lilith. Because she is the one who sent me some dreams that made me realise he only uses me as a toy, & she has been with me ever since I was born. And she confirmed that he actually r*ped me. When I was asleep. But also when I was awake, I just can’t remember.

Now I’m talking about all this because that realisation is just- messing with my head. & I thought I’d take the moment to say, you are not alone. In your individual experience. You are more than your body. You are deserving of true love. I’ve come to realise that. I am too healing from all that sexual trauma.

I still need to recover from what Lilith told me today. But if anyone has similar experiences & just wants to talk & get it all out, I’m here. I’m ready to talk to anyone about anything they want to get off their chest. 🖤

Thank you for reading

[imaginationxlost]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

tagged by @indecentpause to share seven snippets!

Long, so Under the Cut. Also from a few different WIPs! Because seven snippets is a lot!

One, from Sleepless:

My sword meets Zias’ and the force of the clash sends me skidding backward and I gasp for air, blinking quickly at him.

“You’re slacking today, Jack.” He says, smiling, and laughing slightly. “That normally wouldn’t have got you like that. Rough day at school?”

I keep my sword up defensively, staring at him. He’s talking, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re pausing in practice. “You could say that,” I say faintly, and his smile immediately falls away.

It was. I got reprimanded in AP Calculus for not paying attention, and the teacher didn’t at all care that I already knew the material.

Because I’ve taken this class before. So she called me out in front of the whole class, and took my poetry note pad. She didn’t even give it back at the end of class, so both my arms, from my wrist to the inside of my elbow are covered in tiny red writing.

And it was just second period, so I was more than a little stressed for the whole day.

“Please don’t make us start over in grade nine again after this. I’m so tired of high school.”

“Well,” he lowers his own sword, “for what it’s worth, you’re probably too old to pass as ninth graders at this point anyway, but you’re still too young to not be in school.”

“Hey, if we can pass as seventeen, we can pass as eighteen. We- We don’t have to be in school.” I relax out of the fighting stance, since he did. “Please, I don’t…”

Two, from Foggy Press Radio:

It was Halloween night, and Noah had his costume’s hat off and was fidgeting with it in his lap while he waited for Lucian to get back, when Haley sat down next to him.

“Your date ditch you?” She asked, fiddling with her tiara in her temporarily pink hair, “I still can’t believe you went with Pokemon rather than dressing as Finn to match me and Liz.”

“I didn’t feel like being the third wheel to Bubbeline,” he responded dryly, “And Lucille offered to make the costume for me; so why wouldn’t I?”

“Lucy’s running around as Elesa, isn’t she? I thought I saw her.”

“Yes, she is,” Noah muttered, “She loves matching costumes. Jenna is dressed as Iris. And no, Lucian didn’t ditch me, he just had something to go do. I’m just waiting for him.”

“I love,” Haley said, elbowing him, “That you didn’t even deny that he’s your date. Hilbert.”

“I’ve given up on that argument,” he put his hat back on, fixing his bangs under it, “and unless you want me to call you Bonnibel, don’t call me Hilbert again. Besides, when I played, his name was Noah. He is the player character, after all.”

“Oh tch, you’re no fun, Noah.”

Three, also from Foggy Press Radio:

Liz stares at him for a long moment before continuing like he said nothing, “Ghosts are a very broad topic, and one that deserves to be looked at on a more individual level, but for tonight, we’re doing an overview of the whole subject. The history of belief in ghosts and ghost hunting, and even a little fraud thrown in for Noah, because he is right sometimes, even if he’s an idiot about his boyfriend.”

He just sighs, staring down at the floor, while Haley bursts into giggles.

“You know, No, she’s right. You are an idiot about Lucian. When I dated his sister last summer-” Liz scoffs, but Haley presses on like she didn’t, “I saw a lot of him, and I’m poooositive he misses you.”

“He was at our house on Monday,” Liz says, “so I think that’s being worked on, but Noah’s still an idiot; because he definitely wants Lucian to be his-”

“Shut up Liz!” he snaps, leaning forward on his knees with both hands crossed to cover his eyes, and she stops talking at once.

“Noah? Are you okay?”

“Just move on,” he mutters.

Four, from The Fair Folk (ohhh I haven't even introed this one):

People are staring; who wouldn’t at the nineteen old kid waiting for a bus with two instruments and a large suitcase?

I’ve always hated people staring at me; hated attention and the spotlight. Every competition won, every round of applause had me sprinting off the stage as soon as I knew I was safe to. 

The only thing I had to turn to for comfort was the very thing that put me on that stage in the first place. It was inescapable. It even reshaped my body as I grew up with it.

I look at my hand, trying to ignore the staring of strangers. My fingers are twitching, yearning to touch an instrument to ease this anxiety. My long, calloused fingers and muscled palm; hands that literally grew differently for having been a musician growing up. 

“Do you know how to play both of those, Mister?”

“Not a Mister,” I say reflexively, glancing down at the kid, who can’t be any older than three or four, “and yes, I can.”

“Oh, sorry Miss!  That’s cool though!”

“Not a miss, either kiddo,” I say, smiling despite myself, “it’s Mx.”

“Oh! Oh! You’re non-binary? Mommy’s sibling is; it must be cool to be however you want. I like being a girl but boys get cooler toys.”

I don’t bother correcting her that I’m agender specifically, and instead just crouch down next to her and grin, “I’ll let you in on a secret,” I stage-whisper, “you can be however you want too. There’s no reason you can’t play with so-called boy toys ”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” I say.

Five, from Eyes Wide Open:

“I wish you weren’t involving yourself in this…” I say softly, and she scoffs. “I mean it, Mia. I wish you weren’t. You… you weren’t born into this like the rest of us-” I push my bangs back to show the tattoo there for a second. I intend to get that removed eventually, if I live that long. I refuse to have them marking me forever. “You could have- should have been able to just… live, but…”

“Well, my life was never gonna be free of it all. Even if it was just in the way all of you were affected, or the precautions for if something like this did happen. It’s never been normal, and I’d MUCH rather hang with you and make sure you’re not on your lonesome than maintain some false sense of normalcy.” She shakes her head. “I don’t wanna be normal if being involved lets me help my favorite big brother-cousin.”

“You’re too goddamn nice, Mia…”

“Great!” She laughs. “Can you tell that to my history teacher? He seems to think I have an attitude problem.”

I snort. “Maybe that’s because you do. Don’t talk back to your teachers if you want them to like you, Mia.”

“I’ll stop talking back when he stops being WRONG!”

I laugh into my hand, actually smiling. It’s been a while since I laughed, like, for real. Mia’s good at that though, making me laugh.

Six, from Storms (Anna's perspective):

“Yeah,” he starts tapping his fingers on the table whilst taking a long drink, “Thank you for letting me help, Anna. Issac wouldn’t have. He still thinks of me like the helpless fourteen-year-old I was when our parents died.”

“Hey, you’re still a kid Ethan. It’s his job to look out for you.”

“You’re only three years older than me,” he says dryly, “It’s weird for you to call me a kid. Maybe more like two and a half, depending on when your birthday is…”

“Sorry, anyone still in high school is still a kid to me.”

“You’re nineteen!”

“I’m twenty in May,” I say with a grin, “I’m closer to twenty than eighteen. You don’t get to claim half years with me, kid.”

“Ugh,” Ethan puts his head down on the table, “I still don’t think the age gap between us is significant enough for you to be calling me a kid.”

Seven, from Storms (Issac's perspective):

I immediately regret walking away once I do, having to hold myself up on the railing at the top of the stairs. No one else is up here. Ethan is at work, and Lexi is supposed to be at a friend’s house. If I- If I finish going up the stairs, I will be alone. I don’t want to be alone, but I know Anna isn’t following me, because I hear her voice, with her talking to them in the dining room. I don’t really know what she’s saying, but she’s not coming after me.

I sink slowly to sit down on the steps, trying to breathe slowly. What am I so scared of anyway? That Anderson will somehow be around the corner when I go up these last two steps? That’s patently absurd, and I know it’s absurd. So why is my heart racing? Why am I stopped here on the steps, starting to cry again like a goddamn little kid?

tagging:  Doing this always makes me anxious but lets try @novel-emma, @asher-orion-writes, @blind-the-winds , @kjscottwrites , @andromeda-grace , @radley-writes, @talesofsorrowandofruin

[verflcht]

⸻ [ . . . ] crafting spell for @nepnthc, who sent: i'm just kidding! oh , i'm so sorry , your face...

The sudden change in atmosphere was palpable within an instant, the heated summer air turning ice cold, grazing their skins with a shiver. Only on rare occasions would one be able to witness the drop of the blonde’s gaze. Something anyone could be sure of to feel. Zeev wasn’t picky about who deserved his attention as long as he received the same amount in return. Some though, he discovered, felt more sincere than others. 

In this particular case Enid had accidentally nudged a topic Zeev hadn’t expected. Usually he wasn’t easily surprised, heck, he had a poker face some gambling addicts would die for. Somehow the brunette had managed to hit a spot he wasn’t aware he had left open for her to invade. He felt too comfortable. 

Zeev rarely had bad days, especially when the sun was shining. There wasn’t much that could drown his smiles and ease. This particular day though was tainted with a memory that felt more like a hazy dream. He couldn’t exactly recall the circumstances, but he was painfully aware of the outcome. It was exactly one year ago since his little sister had died. The witcher couldn’t blame her for asking, just like himself, she wasn’t used to him sitting all by himself, quiet and withdrawn. His usual outgoing behavior was nothing but a trait of the past. He felt switched out with a version of himself he had thought to have abandoned. 

Asking him “did someone die or why are you so dejected?” probably wasn’t very clever. He had winced immediately, dropping his head so fast he almost snapped his neck.

“I’m just kidding!” she quickly claimed, pure guilt tainting her drawl. “Oh… I’m so sorry.” She fell down next to him, only noticeable by the way the greenery gave in and bent to accommodate her presence.  

Mindlessly he pulled dead weeds out of the dry ground, letting them sprinkle down from his scarred palm. Everything about his body spoke of defeat. Hunched back and low hanging head, the corners of his lips far from remembering how to smile. The shine in his eyes dimmed like midnight hues. 

“Your face…” she mumbled, eying him attentively. Of course she did. Anyone else would have gone away. Anyone else wouldn’t have been around long enough to ever witness that he was just as much human as anyone else. That his grief was just as real, even if he tried to cover it with laughs and sunshine. “I’ve never seen you this sad…” It wasn’t like she was talking to him per se, her voice nothing more than in thought babbling. She hesitated in touching him and he couldn’t blame her. 

She didn’t say it, but her face was as clear as the sky when he dared to look up at her. “Not today” he mumbled. “Perhaps I’ll tell you, but not today…” 

He felt like an antithesis pressed into a human frame. He wanted her touch, he wanted her presence, he wanted comfort and he needed her words — still he yearned to be left alone, to get lost in the darkening thoughts, to remember what is out of reach, to punish himself for an unknown crime, he wasn’t ready to share his feelings. Supposedly, he never would be.

[wespersdaughter]

the only heaven i’ll be sent to - benedict bridgerton

hozier masterlist | general masterlist

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton worships his wife as she deserves. Warnings: steamy but no explicit smut (very heavy mentions I guess) A/N: Listen y’all, I’m so desperate for a Benny of my own to worship me. There are also some more vulgar words and references in here, it’s raunchy, sue me.

IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 AND YOU INTERACT WITH THIS POST IN ANY WAY I WILL IMMEDIATELY BLOCK YOU.

Ever since you were young, you were certain the mamas of society kept secrets about the relations of married couples to protect their daughters. Your own mother had instilled it in your brain that even flashing an ankle or your bare hands to a man was sinful. To the point where you wore gloves and long socks around your own brothers and cousins.

When you debuted, you were half-scared to even speak to a man. You didn’t want to disappoint your mama, or disgrace your name in the eyes of the Lord. So when Benedict Bridgerton was introduced with a gentle kiss to your gloved hand, your stomach almost fell through your vagina.

He had the most beautiful eyes, bright with laughter and sincere curiosity. And when you danced, you hoped he couldn’t feel your heart race against his chest. Judging by his dimpled smile, he at least heard your breath hitch.

Your mama was not pleased that you had fallen for a second son, but he was the brother of a Viscount and richer than your entire family. Once you were finally married, Benedict’s affections increased. Slowly and steadily.

He took care of you so beautifully, making sure you were always comfortable with something before doing it. It was unlike anything your mother or sisters or housemaids described.

You were married for two months when you discovered why mamas were so evasive on the topic of sex. Once was not enough. The first time you and Benedict made love, you almost died. You were sure of it. The heady rush of pleasure replaced the blood flowing through your veins, and you lost all sense of yourself.

It took ten minutes of sweet nothings and gentle affection from your husband for your soul to return to your body. Even then, you couldn’t catch your breath. You were so… intoxicated.

That led to full days spent in bed, or in his studio, or in the games room, round after round, like rabbits. Sometimes you spend hours cuddled together, rocking back and forth lazily. Other times, he would lock the games room and lay you flat against the card table, eating you out so expertly the staff worried about the screams. Your personal favourite location to fuck was Benedict’s home studio. The staff were forbidden from entering, only he had the key and only you could use it if he was away.

You were his muse, he wanted to paint you in every position you could hold yourself in, preferably in the nude or draped in the many jewels he spoiled you with.

He even gave you painting lessons, so he could fulfil a fantasy he’d been harbouring since his days at Granville’s parties. Now that he was married, the thought of anyone other than him seeing you naked or painting you while you were in that vulnerable state was unbearable.

But he wanted to show you just how much he worshipped you. One final masterpiece, a culmination of all you learned, and a work that would influence the rest of his catalogue forevermore.

Benedict posed first, taking his sweet time getting undressed, purely to tease you. He knelt before his favourite armchair, head buzzing with images of you, on your knees, on your back, limbs and face twisting with ecstasy.

It made your job easier and more difficult. It was easy to capture how beautiful he really was, his eyes were glazed, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. The difficulty was not jumping him immediately after he got into position, or when he would take breaks. Your attention lapsed just looking at him so you dropped your pencil or brush a few times.

Each time he’d laugh and in his deep, lustful tone say “It will be worth the wait.” For his sake, you sure hoped it would.

The sexual tension only built when it was your turn to pose. He specifically requested to undress you, then made sure to position you just perfectly. You were perched on his armchair, legs thrown over the armrests, one hand reaching to where his chin would be, the other gripping your plush thigh to keep them spread.

The hand reaching out trembled, from strain, tension or anticipation, you weren’t sure. Your body was close to overheating with need. You mentioned it to your love who smiled gently.

He finished his sketch, took his shirt off again and knelt before you.

You tangled your fingers in his hair.

“I worship you my love, and I will for the rest of our lives.”

[lemonlover1110]

The Insincerity Of The Stars

[Chapter 3] Suguru's Ways of Clearing His Name

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Pairing: Suguru Geto x f!Reader

Work has never been an exciting thing for you, ever since you started to work. But now more than ever, getting up to go to work is something you dread. From the very first moment when you open your eyes until you shut them again at night, you’re dreading the whole experience.

“So what you’re telling me is… Suguru is your coworker.” Shoko tries to take in and analyze the words that you just told her. After a week of working by Suguru’s side, being in an uncomfortable work environment, you finally get to vent to someone about your horrible week.

“Worst of all Mr. Chinen is the uncle of his fiancée, so I don’t know if I’m willing to jeopardize my job to tell her.” You confess to Shoko and she sighs. She grabs her glass of wine and chugs nearly half of the full glass.

“I can tell her.” Shoko offers and you shake your head.

“Nice offer but is it really going to work out? After the ruckus at the engagement party? Also, who are you going to point the finger to?” You begin to question, and she doesn’t have any responses. She sighs, trying to think of something else. You speak so she can focus on something else and not waste too much time on trying to find a solution on something so complicated which doesn’t involve her. “She’ll find out one way or another. He did it once, he’ll do it again with another girl.”

“Hmm… You’re onto something.” Shoko responds but she can’t help but still feel bad at the fact that Suguru’s fiancée is getting cheated on, and the poor woman probably has no idea.

“It makes me wonder…” You begin, trying to recall any strange behavior from Suguru while you dated. “If he ever did the same to me.”

“I wanna say once a cheater always a cheater, but maybe that isn’t the case here.” Shoko says, making you tilt your head. But you don’t want to ask more about it, because you think she’s right. Suguru never gave you a reason to make you think he was cheating.

“So… I’m sure Suguru sent you an invitation for our engagement party, so why didn’t you come?” You question, and Shoko furrows her eyebrows. You didn’t know each other at the time, but now that you know that Shoko and Suguru have been friends for so long, you wonder why Shoko opted out from coming.

“I didn’t.” She answers. “His mom doesn’t really like me, so I guess he listened to her.”

“Like always.” You scoff. It was the main problem in your relationship. It was the only one. Always intruding, insulting you, and he always let it happen. Always siding with her and after she left he’d be like “I didn’t want to pick a fight with my mom, you know I love you so much, please don’t be mad”, and it’s crazy how you always let it slide.

“Enough about them.” Shoko wants to change the topic, not wanting to ruin the night about past troubles caused by people that don’t deserve your time or attention.

“How are things with Uta-” You begin but she puts her index finger up aggressively, practically shutting you up.

“I don’t want to talk about her.” Shoko quickly tells you. “I’m here to talk about something else. Not relationship problems.”

“Alright then… Do you want to go to the movie theater next week? There’s this movie coming out and I really want to see it.” You ask her and she nods in response. She’s about to ask more about the plans, but her phone rings and interrupts. She grabs it from the side table and looks at who it is, and once she sees, she sighs.

“Speak of the devil.” She mutters. She picks up the call and puts the phone on speaker. 

“Hey Shoko, it’s been a-” You hear Suguru’s voice on the phone, and you just look at Shoko,  trying to figure out what she’s thinking. What does she have up her sleeve?

“What do you want? I don’t want to talk to you.” Shoko makes her tone clear as soon as she opens her mouth. Every word reflects her current emotions.

“I don’t know what she told you about me, but it’s not true. She- She left me, ya know? She decided to leave because I wasn’t enough for her. She was the one that-” Suguru begins to spew whatever comes to his mind, trying to defend himself. Trying to get his old friend back. Your hands ball up into fists hearing his words, discrediting you without a reason.

“Is this how you talk about all of your exes, Suguru?” You speak up, interrupting him. The line goes silent, and he doesn’t know what to say. “How about to tell her about your dear mommy, Suguru? Or does that give you a bad look?”

“Call me when you’re ready to act like a man, not a teenage boy.” Shoko says before hanging up the phone. Shoko sees how that minute shook you up, and she sighs. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have picked up his call.” Shoko apologizes and you sheepishly smile.

“It’s alright, you couldn’t have known.” You assure her. You pick on some lint that’s on your pants before standing up from the couch. “Glad I left.”

“Glad you left too. We wouldn’t even know each other.” Shoko comments as you walk to the kitchen to look for something to drink.

“We would, we just wouldn’t be as close.” You reply, which does make sense since Suguru and Shoko have been friends for a long time. You would’ve met eventually but definitely not have the bond that you have now.

“Can I sleep over?” Shoko asks, and you hum in response.

“Remember I wake up early so don’t complain when you hear my alarm.” You remind her, and she clicks her tongue.

“Can’t you wake up at a normal hour for once?” She asks, making you chuckle.

“I’m still waking up at four.”

-

“Good morning.” You smile at Yumi who is on the phone, chatting with a client. You walk straight to your office, and it’s empty. It’s always empty at this time, Suguru always arrives five minute later, always. And you enjoy those five minutes that you are alone, knowing that his presence isn’t nearby. His vibes aren’t anywhere close for that time and you excel in that small time frame.

But today instead of coming in five minutes later, it’s only three. He has a smile on his face as he drops his stuff on the temporary desk for him that’s in your office. He tries to greet you but you ignore him. And it’s been like this every day that he’s worked here. But now you’re angrier than before.

“Sorry about-” He begins, wanting to clear the air before getting started with the work day.

“Shut up. You really want to tell Shoko I’m lying to clear up your name?” You stand up, already tired of being in the same room as him. “You really get more and more pathetic as time goes by. I’m actually glad that all of that happened because now I know who you truly are.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He tries to think of the right words but he can’t. You don’t care to hear anything else from him, instead you walk out of the office with no direction whatsoever on where to go. You have a meeting with a client soon enough so you have to go back soon. 

You think about where to go, until you think about your boss. He’s in his office most likely and you want to speak with him. You know he doesn’t have any sort of meetings this early in the morning so you walk over to his office and knock on the door. Once you get approval you pop your head into the office.

“Hey… I have some complaints.” You begin, and a sigh escapes from Chinen’s lips. You completely walk into the office and close the door behind you. “When am I getting my office back? When I agreed to this job you told me that I wouldn’t have to share my office with anyone, yet here we are.”

“It’s just a temporary arrangement while we look for an office for Mr. Getou. Believe me, he’ll be out of your office soon enough.” Chinen says, rubbing his temple. It’s so early yet he’s so tired.

“Soon enough is not what I want. I need him out now.” You cross your arms, a demanding tone coats your voice. He won’t fire you if you demand something. You’ve learned that he prefers this over you being overly nice, trying to tell him your needs. 

“Did he piss in your coffee or what? Mr. Getou is not so hard to get along with.” Chinen responds, making you roll your eyes.

“I’ll give it two weeks before I quit.” You bluff, knowing that you’ll stay either way, but you want to scare him.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Chinen sighs. You walk out of the office and go back to your own.

Suguru sits quietly, and his eyes land on you, watching as you sit back down at your desk. You don’t care to give him any attention. He still doesn’t know what to say, so both of you are quiet.

-

“Wanna eat lunch together?” Sakiya asks, barging into your office. You smile at her, and nod in response. “There’s this new Chinese place that opened just a block down.”

“Sure, I have to meet with Mr. Chinen first. Apparently he has something very important to say.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, wondering what the hell he has to say. Perhaps what you said in the morning scared him, and he managed to get an office.

“Where’s your officemate?” Sakiya asks, looking at the empty desk. You shrug, assuming that Suguru left early to grab lunch. You stand up and grab your purse.

“I’ll make a quick stop at Chinen’s office then meet you at reception.” You tell her and she nods. She turns around and walks out, and you follow soon afterward, taking a different direction to the office you were at earlier in the day.

You know, and quickly open the door, a sigh immediately escaping your lips as you see Suguru seated across from your boss. You look back and forth between them for a minute before clearing your throat and taking the initiative. “What is it?”

“I need a favor tonight.” Chinen begins and you take a deep breath, trying to think of an excuse. 

“I have plans tonight.” Is all that you manage to say. No excuse, no nothing because your private life is simply not that interesting. Plus if you were to get into details, a lie can be disproved. “I’m sure Mr. Getou can do it, whatever it is.”

“Please don’t be like this. You’re simply the best divorce lawyer ever, and Mr. Getou is going to need your help.” Chinen begins, knowing flattery is the best way to convince people. But you’re pissed and it’s not working.

“If I were the best, you wouldn’t have hired him.” You argue, and he remains quiet, knowing that you’re right.

“My friend is getting divorced, and she really needs your help. I just want to help her out. She called me asking for help.” Chinen begins. You sigh and take a seat as well, listening in. “You’re the best divorce lawyer I know, and Mr. Getou can’t do it alone. To be frank I just hired him because he’s dating my niece, but otherwise we wouldn’t have needed him around.”

You smirk, now that you hear that you’re more willing to help Chinen out. You know Suguru is embarrassed, and you steal a look his way and can see his cheeks have tinted pink. “Please just have dinner with her tonight, get to know her, the basis of the divorce and any advice, then you can choose if you want to represent her.”

“How will my time be rewarded? Are you charging your friend?” You ask.

“You’re going out to eat at an expensive restaurant, all of it paid, do you need more?” Chinen asks and you hum in response.

“I could do it during company hours. My meal would be covered plus I’d be paid.” You say and he can’t argue because it’s a great point.

“You’ll be paid.” Chinen responds, rubbing his temple. You grin before standing up from your chair.

“Send me the details and I’ll be there.” You walk out of the office, heading to the reception. Meanwhile Chinen just stares at Suguru, trying to figure out what is up with you two.

“Why does she dislike you so much? She’s not friends with everyone but she’s usually so nice and doesn’t complain about anything. She came into my office this morning, threatening to leave if I don’t get you your own office soon.” Chinen begins, staring Suguru down. Suguru has been put on the spot and doesn’t know what to come up with just like that.

“I’m kind of invading her space, can you really blame her?” Suguru responds, not saying something that could paint you in a bad light. He tried to do something similar last night, and that clearly didn’t work out in his favor.

“Yeah, I guess. But she’s not like that. She’s not the type of person to react like that.” 

“Guess you find out more about people the longer you spend time with them.” Suguru says, standing up from his seat. He begins to walk away.

“Maybe she was one of the two people in the bathroom during your engagement party and seeing you every day in her office just embarrasses her.” Chinen tries to make sense of the situation, saying something that makes Suguru completely stop his tracks. Suguru slowly turns to look at Chinen.

“I doubt she’s that type of woman.” Suguru chuckles, trying to mask his nervousness. Chinen is right, you were in the bathroom fucking someone. That someone being Suguru himself. Suguru doesn’t want to accuse you, because then it all goes back to him.

“You’re right. I’m just trying to make sense of all of this.”

“Yeah… I’ll try to change those hard feelings about me tonight.” Suguru assures him.

“Don’t impress her too much or else she might fall in love.” Chinen jokes, and Suguru chuckles. Suguru is left speechless because it’s the other way around. He can only laugh. Suguru is about to leave again but Chinen speaks again. “Again, don’t do too much. Don’t want you to get your hands sticky with her.”

If only you knew, Suguru can’t help but think.

“I know you don’t like my niece all that much, but try not to hurt her by messing with my favorite associate.” Chinen brings up which makes Suguru’s eyes widen. Now that wasn’t expected. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, just don’t do anything.”

“Right, sir…” Suguru is struck, and that’s all that leaves his mouth. Chinen just smiles at Suguru.

“Now, we’re friends. You can call me Kisho.”

[books-and-catears]

I liked the one about a ghost MC it was a really cute idea! I wanted to request something similar, where the MC who has a the appearance of the Japanese slit mouthed woman. She is a regular human and you can decide if she got the scar's from an accident or not, but she always where's a face mask to hide it and eats alone rather then with the brothers. When she's asked why they say "People can't eat when I they see my face." But one day she finally trusts the brothers enough to show her face.

OH MY GOD I KNOW THIS GHOST. If I'm not wrong, this ghost is called the Kuchisake Onna, kuchi meaning mouth.

This is so wholesome I love it. Your asks are so adorable :')

It has been forever since the accident. And yet the scar makes it feel like yesterday. Two scars running up towards your cheeks, making it look like you're constantly smiling. You hated mirrors at this point, without your mask especially.

You hear loud talking from the dining room downstairs as you stare at your meal on your study table. When was the last time you ate a meal with other people?

"What do you mean you won't eat with us MC?" Mammon and Asmo parotted every other day.

"People can't eat when they see my face." You left with that reply, refusing to answer the follow up questions.

Yours was a face only a mother could love, they said. Some screamed, some smiled sympatheticallly, the others nervously scattered away from the last time you tried to eat out by yourself. The restaurant requested you to leave since they were losing customers.

You walk up to the stairway, watching the brothers in their usual chaos. Maybe - just maybe, they won't be repulsed. Surely they've seen more horrifying things than you?

"Um..." You cleared your throat loudly. All of them stopped and looked at you. You usually never showed up until half an hour after meals.

But today you called out to the one of them. "Would you mind eating with me tonight...?"

Lucifer

"Of course I wouldn't mind MC."

He promptly got up with his plate as if he was already prepped for this day. Swiftly follows you into your room.

He sat down across you and began eating normally. "Thank you for inviting me in MC. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Nothing just..." You said untying your mask. "It felt like a good day." The mask fell off your face into your lap.

You paused and stared at Lucifer. He only looked shocked for a split second before a hidden rage clouded beneath his eyes. "Did someone deliberately-"

"No it was an accident. I was getting my teeth fixed when the lights went out and I moved. And something cut through my- well you can see." You explained.

"I see. Well that's quite unfortunate." Lucifer said and began picking at his plate.

You felt uneasy as chewed your food."You can leave if you feel repulsed. I wouldn't force you to-"

"No such thing MC. I was just thinking of consulting Satan and Solomon. Surely they know of spells that can heal your scars if you want them gone." Lucifer replied promptly. "And it's going to take a lot more than scars to scare us demons away."

"Lucifer...thank you." You said quietly.

"If possible I'd like to eat dinner with you from now on, MC. Frankly it's much calmer and it's a relief from my brothers."

After a long time, you laugh without your mask on.

Mammon

"I'll be right there, MC!"

Hurriedly grabs whatever food he has making a mess and jumps to his feet. He is in such a hurry, it's a miracle he didn't drop half of his dinner.

He plops down across the table from you, grinning ear to ear. "Of course you'd choose the Great Mammon to eat with ya!"

You nodded and chuckled, "Of course. But would you choose to eat with me?" Your pulled your mask away from your face.

His eyes went wide and then watery in the same instant. Is he..crying? "I-Im sorry..." You feel horrible so you hurry and tie the mask back up. Mammon grabs your hands and holds them down.

"I'm not crying stupid human! I'm just...you..you must have been in pain..when that happened." He said. "Who did this to you..."

"It's okay it was an accident, Mammon." You try to calm him down.

"Then why do you hide it? It's not even your fault!" Mammon said pouting. You looked down, "People get uncomfortable..."

Mammon shot up from his chair. "WHO DARE MAKE YOU FEEL BAD ABOUT IT? Show me I'll get them all! Noone messes with my human! I'm yer protector ain't I?! You never have to wear that thing around me!"

You blushed as he moved forward and hugged you, burying your face into his shoulder. "Mammon..."

You knew he was the best protector out there.

Leviathan

"I'm coming right away, don't worry MC!"

Stumbles around with his plate at your sudden invitation. His day has come. He is the chosen one.

He struggles to sit down, feeling estatic and nervous at the same time. "I didn't think you'd want to eat with me of all people, MC..."

"After tonight, maybe you'll feel that way about me Levi..." You said, taking off your mask. His face lit up as he let out a loud "Woahhh!"

Thinking he was scared you tried to hide it again before he screamed, "MC you look just like my favourite character from that horror romance anime "I fell for my best friend's scarred smile! That's so cool!"

You blink at him, blushing. What is with him and his oddly specific anime names!? Levi was oblivious to your shock ,going off at his own tangent. "You could pull off the perfect cosplay, come to my room tomorrow I can design it for you and then I'll make my own to go with it and we can go to the next convention-"

"Levi Levi calm down you'll run out of breath!" You couldn't hold in your laughter.

He stared at you awestruck,"So cute...why would you hide that cute face MC?" You shake your head, "Not everyone sees it as cute Levi."

"Well sucks for them to be such stupid normies." Levi blushed and scoffed.

Levi was the best friend everyone deserves and you were glad to have him.

Satan

"I'd be delighted to join you MC."

Was slightly taken aback at first but quickly composes himself and his dinner and follows you. His pace faster than usual.

Pulls out your chair for you like a gentleman and sits down himself. You smile and blush at the action. "So how was your day MC?" He asks like a gentleman, avoiding the elephant in the room, choosing it normalise it. You let the mask fall off your face.

"Oh..." Satan sat up straight, his shoulders stiff, his eyes going wide in anger. "Who dared to-"

"No no no Satan it was an accident!" You had to explain the whole thing for him to calm down. Then he nodded and held out his palm. "May I see how the deep the scar is MC?"

That was new. Noone has wanted to touch your scars before. When you nod, he reaches out and runs his fingers softly across your scars. "Hmm don't worry. They're not too deep. I can have them gone in a matter of days. That is if you'd like to me to."

It's like he knew. As much as you hated that scar, it kind of helped you see people's true intentions. You looked down unsure. Satan held your hand. "It's normal to get attached to scars you have for too long. None of us here will treat you any differently with or without it."

You smiled at him and held one of his fingers playfully. He laughed, his cheeks turning pink. "Ah now that's a smile I'd love to see everyday. May I have dinner with you more often MC?"

"Of course." His words and his presence were always calming to you.

Asmodeus

"I was wondering when you'd ask MC!"

Daintily picks up all of things and paces after you. He was excited but he restrained himself but he didn't want to scare you off.

Sits down close to you, smiling gleefully. He's just happy to be there with you. Grabs something off your plate with a fork and holds it upto your mouth. "MC come here let me feed you!"

It was probably the most nerve wracking to open your mask in front of him. The Avatar of Lust, the most beautiful being in Hell, and you- ugh, what's the point? You've come this far, let's get it over with. You put your mask down, bite off the potato off his fork.

You'd think Asmo would probably gasp and act all dramatic and hysterical. But instead he cupped your face, his eyes filled with worry and tenderness. "MC how long have you had this...?"

"A little over three years." You answered honestly. Asmo looked like he was about to cry. "You've been hiding away your pretty face from people for three years..." Asmo pulled you in a hug. "Noone deserves that. It's too lonely."

"Oh I'd hardly call it pretty-" Before you can even retort, he is glaring and pouting at you, holding your shoulders.

"I think I know beauty a little better than you, MC. And I say you're gorgeous and I'm going to eat with you everyday now." Asmo huffed to which you laughed.

Everyone deserves a hypeman like Asmo in their lives.

Beelzebub

"Oh? Me? Sure MC!"

Is surprised but happily goes along with you with all his food. You know he loves you when he gets midway from eating just to eat in your room.

He sits across, already muching away at his food. "Thank you for asking me to eat with you MC." You nod and tentatively take your mask off, trying not to draw too much attention for it.

Beel looks up shocked, his mouth full of food but he stopped chewing. He involuntarily reaches out to touch you, "Does it hurt MC?"

You shake your head. "It's years old Beel. It's okay. " Beel looks genuinely relieved at that and goes back to eating again. He doesn't seem bothered by it at all after that.

"Say MC will you be free next week? I could use your help in the new workout I'm doing. I need to train particular muscles for the big game they said." He switched to a whole new topic just like that. "Also this means I get to eat with you every day right?"

You felt warm inside. You were more than just your scar and Beel made you feel like that by hardly saying anything at all.

Belphegor

"...me huh? No I wouldn't mind."

Has a smug grin on his face as he gathers up his meal and slowly heads upward with you, making sure his brothers see how you chose him over the others. Cheeky cow.

He sits leaning into you cause he's too lazy to sit up straight. "So what's the special occasion MC? A face reveal?" Wow this one is direct.

He is staring right at you, as you pull off the mask slowly, thinking if it was a bad idea. His eyes grow wide for a split second before his fingers are already near your mouth feeling the scars.

"Deliberate or accident?" He asks. "Accident." You answer. He nods, "Good. I'm too tired today, wouldn't be able to take appropriate revenge." His fingers never leave your face.

"Is that why you keep it covered? You're embarrassed of it?" He asks. You think about it for a while. "I think I accepted it, it just seemed to make people uncomfortable and scared, if I smiled or opened my mouth to eat." You answer.

He smirked. "Then smile more. Let their cowardly selves feel uncomfortable. It's their problem that they can't see how cute your smile is."

That was surprisingly thoughtful. You smiled at him. "Thanks..."

He smirked back, "Also I'm going to be eating here from now on. My brothers annoy me."

He's cheeky but he has a good heart. Smiling never felt so easy.

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[somnambulants]

yelena requests you say? can i throw in my hand and ask for something with yelena telling you she loves you for the first time? 👉🏼👈🏼😌 thank you in advance!

open up those blinds

Word count: 1.3K Warnings: BW spoilers

Yelena knows she isn’t good with love. It doesn’t come easy to her. Not anymore. There was a time in her life that she remembers the words I love you had fallen from her lips quicker and with more ease than breathing.

It’s very distant. Very far away in her mind, like she was a whole different person and she kind of was.

But she remembers.

To be fair, she’d also been six and thought she’d been saying those words to her mother, her father, her sister. Her family. None of it had been real. Not even her love and especially not theirs.

Except Natasha. Her sister. But Natasha, her sister, was --

Either way, Yelena now can’t recall a time since where she’d told someone she loved them.

Not genuinely anyway.

In the years since escaping the red room, she’s had multiple relationships – multiple flings, she would call them actually and all of them had ended more disastrously than the last.

She’d been slapped by a lover scorned a lot more times than she’d admit but it was what is was in her mind. Life went on.

She doesn’t do love. Love is for children, as far as she’s concerned. She doesn’t need love. She has Fanny and all she really needs is her dog. And to her own slight wariness still; she will pick up Alexei and Melina’s calls when they do reach out.

But that’s it. She doesn’t need anyone else.

She’s not a total recluse though, she likes people — the normal ones — most of the time and she knows she’s charming. She can have anyone she wants. She just doesn’t care enough to keep them.

Not until she meets you.

That’s when it all changes.

It’s such a clichéd way to meet; like one of the rom-coms she secretly enjoys but would never tell anyone she enjoys.

She��s walking Fanny one day and all of a sudden, her dog – the Houdini of dogs – escapes out of her collar and lead and is running off down the street like something’s chasing her.

“Fanny, come,” she calls out after her, exasperated. It’s futile. Fanny keeps running, too fast for her to catch up so she has to jog after her, still calling out as her dog disappears entirely from sight.

She growls under her breath while she follows. “You ungrateful dog,” she mutters to herself. “Never giving you treats again. Or belly rubs. Or letting you sleep in my bed. See how you like it.”

As soon as she turns the corner, she finds Fanny, no longer running. And then you, the reason she is no longer running.

You’re on your knees on the ground as Fanny stands over you, paws on your shoulders, licking your face as you laugh and pat her on the head gently.

“Fanny,” she barks again to no avail. She might as well be invisible for all the attention she’s getting from her dog.

“Nice dog,” you call out to her, as Fanny gives you another lick on the check.

Still on the ground, you have to look up at her as you say it. You’re covered in mud and dirt, clothes dishevelled and covered with Fanny’s pawprints, and before she knows it, Yelena’s falling, falling, falling.

“Thanks,” is all she says, at a loss for words. Something that never happens to her. Normally she’d be saying something quippy and borderline obnoxious by now, while she flirted with you shamelessly.

You grin and hold out your hand to her. “Y/N.”

--

The first time you tell her you love her, she stares at you, wide-eyed and silent for long enough that your face starts to fall before you force a smile that probably wouldn’t even convince Fanny, who is sitting in the corner, paws over her eyes like she can’t bear to watch the train wreck in front of her.

Yelena wishes she could do the same.

“It’s okay,” you tell her, expression taut as you try to smooth away the hurt she can see plainly. You turn away as you say it but Yelena doesn’t miss the way your lip trembles; the way this is clearly not okay. “It’s okay. I’m going to go have a uh, shower, okay?”

You don’t come out of the bathroom for hours. Yelena sits on your shared bed and silently cries to herself, wondering what the hell is wrong with her.

She loves you. She loves you so much. She knows she does.

She just can’t say it.

That night, in bed, Yelena stares at the ceiling still thinking, or more aptly agonising about it while you flick through your emails beside her.

You’d returned from the bathroom eventually, your eyes red and not quite meeting her own but you still had given her a kiss on the cheek that she felt in no way deserving off.

You haven’t broached the topic again – haven’t so much as gone near it and things between you have just settled uneasily. Like it’s an elephant in the room neither of you can bear to address.

Fanny is curled up by Yelena’s side, nose pressed against her thigh. She’s looking up at her with her big doleful puppy eyes, as if she can sense Yelena’s despondency. Every so often, she’ll lean in to lick her on the arm.

Eventually, you’re the one that gives in and breaks the awkward tension between you both.

“You’re quiet, tonight,” you say, finger hovering over the keyboard as you scroll. She can hear the anxiety in your voice and hates that she put it there. “Everything okay?”

It’s clearly not. You both know that but it’s your way of giving her an out; a way to put this behind you and pretend it never happened if she says ‘yes’. It makes her love you — and hurts a little — all the more that you’d do that for her if she wanted you to.

Yelena doesn’t answer you for a long second, chewing on her nails as she continues to mull over what she can do to fix this.

She doesn’t know how to do this; no one prepared her for this. For you.

The silence stretches on long enough that she starts to panic. It pretty much bursts out of her. “I do. Love you, you know that?” she blurts out, stumbling over the words. It’s definitely not what she was planning on saying but now she’s talking she can’t stop. “So much. I’m just not… good… I’m not good at love. I don’t want to ruin this.”

Her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of its chest as you pause, your eyes no longer flicking across the screen, just staring at it blankly now. She wonders briefly if she’s having a heart attack. It feels like it.

She watches your brows furrow a little as you digest her words. Trained from a young age, Yelena is an expert at deciphering body language; and even more so with you so she knows by the look on your face that you’re trying to figure out what to say.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

Gently, you close your laptop and turn to her, shifting so you can pull her into your arms. Yelena doesn’t think she’s breathed out this entire time and so air comes out of her in a rush as she eagerly leans into you.

“I think you’re pretty great at love, actually,” you tell her quietly after a long stretch of silence, your voice careful but still completely sincere. She can feel your lips pressed against her temple as you speak. “And I love that about you. You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready yet.”

She can tell you’re being honest. There’s no inflection in your tone that indicates untruthfulness. And even if she wasn’t trained to spot lies, you were not a particularly proficient liar even on your best days.

In response to your words, she finds that she can’t speak and instead just twists around so she can kiss you.

It’s less co-ordinated than usual but she kisses you fiercely, hoping you can feel how much she loves you as she does.

The way you smile against her lips tells her you do.